Deep Under

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Barbara steps to my side, sliding her arm over my shoulder. “Do you love it?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, unable to find my voice, that bubble of emotion now in my throat. “Yes, I do. I love it.” And truly I do love it, just not what surrounds it. Not what got me here.

  She turns me to face her, her hands on my shoulders. “Soon this place will be filled with the visions I am certain she inspired.”

  “She did. Very much so.”

  “I see her in your work.” She releases me and eyes her watch. “How about a tour in thirty minutes? I moved our meeting back to give you time to be settled, so we start in an hour.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  “Great,” she says, “then make yourself at home and you will note that there is a Keurig right here in your office.” She indicates an adorable round glass table in the corner right next to a bookshelf and a cozy looking brown leather chair. “And,” she adds “I hear we stocked your favorite chocolate coffee.” She turns and stops in her tracks at the sight of Kyle standing in the doorway, his shoulders all but touching the frame. “Is this a safe stop for her?”

  “It’ll do for now,” he concurs, “and I’ll need full access to the facility.”

  “I was told you would,” she says, “and there are no deterrents to keep you from looking around anyway.”

  “Then I can already tell you security changes are coming.”

  “You won’t get any complaints from me about making things safer, but I do not want my staff feeling as if they have something to fear. Understand, Mr.—?”

  “Kyle,” he says. “Just call me Kyle. And I’m discreet.”

  She gives him a once over. “Nothing about you says discreet, sir.”

  He arches a brow and then amends his words to, “Diplomatic.”

  “That I can accept and live with,” she approves.

  He gives her an incline of his head and steps just inside the door while she accepts the invitation to depart, quickly crossing the room and disappearing into the hallway. Kyle shuts the door and immediately removes the same box he’d used to scan the hotel for listening devices. I face the largest photo of my mother, her dark hair draping her naked shoulder, a sleek silver formal gown hugging her curves, my heart squeezing with the sight of her. She was beautiful, but she doesn’t look like me. She looks like my sister.

  Kyle steps to my side. “The office is clean, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that changed tomorrow, when they think I’ve already cleared it. The same goes for the hotel room.”

  “That’s good,” I murmur, only half listening, Kara on my mind. My mother on my mind.

  He places himself in front of me, blocking the wall from my view. “Myla, you do know that all of this-”

  “Is fake. Yes. I know.”

  “No. It’s not fake. That woman, those women, and the love for your work, that is not fake. Your talent is not fake.” He reaches up and caresses my cheek, sending goosebumps down my spine, but this time, his touch is calming in ways I don’t try to understand, but welcome. “I need to-” he begins.

  “I know,” I say.

  He hesitates, as if torn about leaving me, before he walks toward the door, and then pauses there, turning to look at the photos of my mother. “She was beautiful,” he says. “And you do look like her.” He opens the door and exits, shutting me inside as he leaves me with a compliment that means more to me than he knows. Or maybe he does know. Maybe he really does see the me I’ve successfully blocked everyone else from seeing.

  My cellphone starts ringing in my purse, and I know without looking who it is. I dig it out, and answer, “Hi Michael,” sounding cheerful, which is just one of my practiced emotions.

  “Bella,” he murmurs, his voice deep and rich, but oh how I know the way it can whip and cut. The way, quite literally, he can whip and cut. “Do you love everything?

  “I do,” I say, walking to sit at my desk, a cushy high backed velvet chair my new, but wobbly, throne, my briefcase on my desk where Kyle left it. “The lobby is stunning. Barbara is as wonderful as I’d hoped.” I laugh. “You got me chocolate coffee.”

  “I know how you love your coffee,” he says, his little gifts part of his way of making me his pet. “I hate that I am not there to enjoy this with you, but business must come first.”

  “Where are you exactly?” I ask, gauging the time I have to enact my plan.

  “South America, but I should be home in a week rather than three.”

  This news twists me and my plans in knots. “That’s wonderful,” I manage. “Three was forever.”

  “It would have been an eternity without you otherwise,” he says, though I worry his motivation is really about assessing my loyalty and dealing with me. “How do you like your new bodyguard?” He asks.

  “He just stares at everyone and he freaked the poor receptionist out. When I joked that he’s a robot, his reply was to simply stare her down yet again.”

  He chuckles, something I always welcome, as it means for that moment he’s content, a state of mind we all want him to have. “No personality,” he says, “but that’s fine. I’m paying him to protect you, not make everyone feel at ease.”

  “His coldness and constant monitoring is rather suffocating,” I say, knowing this will actually make him want to keep Kyle, not the opposite. “I don’t like it.”

  “You always have guards. I always have guards.”

  “I know, but…is there a threat I don’t know about?”

  “There’s always a threat, but with us separated and you on your own in a new place, the chances of you being targeted are higher.”

  “Why not use your men?”

  “Kyle fits into your fashion industry more discreetly, and he’s from Dallas. He knows that area and his references are exceptional.” There are voices in the background and he answers in Spanish, which I’ve pretended not to understand, but do. “Tell him he’s dead,” he says to the other person. “See how he replies then,” he adds, before returning to me, to say, “Negotiations on a deal are heating up. I need to go.”

  “Okay. Thank you again for all of this.”

  “The world will know your gift, as we do,” he promises, but unlike Kyle’s, his are jagged edged, promising to cut me and make me bleed. As is his pause, which is followed with, “You haven’t mentioned the photos of your mother.”

  That fizzle of unease starts up again. “No, I…they choked me up. I feel emotional, so it’s hard to talk about them, but they are wonderful. It’s such an amazing gesture.”

  “It’s a connection to family that doesn’t risk death. It is something I thought you would like.”

  The fizzle becomes bitter cold ice at what I know to be a threat, and I go into auto-pilot, barely remembering what he says next or what I say. Suddenly, the call is over and I am standing when I had been sitting. Family that doesn’t come with the risk of death. He was threatening Kara. Wait. My God. I’ve been a fool. If I am front and center in this fashion business, she will come for me. She will find me. And he knows it. He didn’t hire Kyle to keep her away. He hired him to know when she arrives. To know when the time to kill her has arrived. I consider a moment, to wonder if Kyle is involved, and I don’t think so. I really don’t. But this is my sister’s life I’m playing with. I have to find out for sure, because it’s time to accept the fact that my plan can’t work when she’s in danger. I need help.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kyle

  I’ve barely exited Myla’s office when I get a text that reads: Fuck, fuck, fuck. Call me at this number. Blake, of course, because who else uses “fuck” to say good morning, how are you, and what’s for dinner? And considering I’ve known him long enough to decipher three “fucks” as a problem, I start for the lobby and exit to the parking lot, hoping like hell Kara doesn’t know about Myla, and is now on her way here. Scanning the parking lot, I head for the Mustang, unlock the door, climb inside. Comfortable that my crew has my car under secure watch, I punch in Blake’s tempor
ary number, protocol indicating that it will be blocked, secure, and appear disconnected should anyone else try to use it, as is the case, with all numbers we maintain, once one of us is undercover.

  Blake answers his on the first ring. “Holy fuck. You have Myla, and hell no, Kara doesn’t know. It’s killing me to keep this from her but she wouldn’t stay away. But holy fuck. You have Myla.”

  “I know, man,” I say, relieved that he’s on board with this, but Kara isn’t. “I couldn’t believe it when it was her.”

  “How is she?”

  “Being manipulated by dreams and family, but smart and strong enough to use it to survive and protect Kara. But I need to get her the hell out of here.”

  “Does she know who you are yet?”

  “I can’t tell her until I can assure her Kara is not only safe, but will stay that way, and that leaves us with two options.”

  “Alvarez dead, arrested, or thinks Myla is dead, which forces her to hide her entire life.”

  “I’m not sure he wouldn’t reach for her outside a jail cell,” I say. “She’s too close to him for him to just let her go.”

  “So we kill him,” Blake says, no hesitation, decision made. “Let’s talk logistics. Can we get to him?”

  “He’ll come for Myla,” I say. “But I need to bring her into the loop, prepare her for what comes next, and I need to extract as much information from her to destroy the cartel and tear down that sex trade operation now, not later.”

  “If we get enough from her we might have to bring in the Feds,” he says. “And that dirties things up.”

  He means it makes killing Alvarez more complicated. “He’ll be in my face, and I’ll be in his.”

  “Fuck, man. That was supposed to be me. You better enjoy it for me.”

  “Oh, I will,” I say. “I will. But back to Myla. She has tolerated being in that man’s bed, doing God knows what, to survive and to protect Kara. If she thinks I’ve endangered her sister, this will fall apart. I have to be able to convince her that Kara is safe, out of reach, and that she will stay that way until this is over. She’s been through hell to protect her sister. If she thinks I’m endangering her, I’m not sure how she’ll react.”

  “I couldn’t get Kara on the plane to Italy and I wasn’t leaving her here alone.”

  “What about the Ella case?”

  “I have men on the ground chasing what, right now, is an iffy lead. If I get something solid, I’ll use that to get Kara to Italy. We’re in New York.”

  “You need to get off the radar completely.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that,” he says. “I get it. I convinced Kara to go away for a few days with me to Seattle. I’ve arranged a private plane, and I’ll conceal our destination and identities, but I can’t keep this from her. I’m going to tell her when we’re there, give her some explosion time, and get her head on straight. She needs to get past the emotional aspect of this.”

  “Make sure she does, man, because I have the same issue here. I can’t keep lying to Myla. She knows I’m not what I say I am. I’m going to kill any trust I’ve started to earn if I don’t tell her the truth and fast.”

  “We leave in an hour,” he says. “I’ll tell her by morning and I’ll tie her to the damn bed until she’s reasonable, if I have to.”

  “That’s what I want to hear,” I say. “That’s what I need to be able to tell Myla.”

  “Understood.” He pauses a moment. “You never gave up on her, man. You were as obsessed with her being alive as Kara. More, even.”

  “It was a gut feeling.”

  “It was you doing what I couldn’t do and keep Kara sane at the same time. You did this for us. You are a fucking brother, a Walker in every way.”

  The emotion in his voice punches me in the chest, while mine hits me in the gut. Blake, his brothers, they are the family I never had, and that’s why I can’t leave this unsaid. “I am your brother,” I say. “And this started about you and Kara, but it’s become about Myla just as much. No. It is about her to me now.”

  “Fuck, man, I get where this is going. She’s vulnerable and you know that makes her off limits.”

  My jaw clenches. “I haven’t touched her.”

  “Not yet, but you were warning me where this is going, preparing me so I can prepare Kara. This isn’t just another undercover job. This is her sister.”

  “And I’m the one here. I’m the one undercover, keeping us both alive, and that means I’m going to do whatever I have to do to keep us both alive.” And instead of reminding him that he was undercover when he met Kara, I change the subject. “Tell Royce I need those emergency exit strategies now, not later.”

  “We’ve already arranged a private jet and the Rosa Airfield is on standby around the clock. Get there and you get out. F Hanger, with Louie. I’ll text you his number.”

  “I know where Rosa is.”

  “Kyle-”

  “I’m going to do what it takes to keep us both alive, and that’s not your call,” I repeat, and then hang up, immediately reaching for the door, only to have the phone ring again. I answer it and Blake says, “You’re fucking right. You do what you have to do. I trust you. We all trust you. Just stay the fuck alive and keep her that way, too.”

  “I will,” I say, and this time when I end the connection, I have one thing on my mind. Getting back to Myla. I step out of the Mustang, automatically scanning the parking lot again, and my gaze lands hard on a black sedan, with equally blacked out tint on the windows. I study it, catching a flicker in the darkness at the driver’s side that tells me someone is smoking. I don’t like it and I unbutton my jacket, walking toward it, a calm, steady charge; my fingers flexing, and ready to draw my gun. There are shadows behind the glass, movement. Panic. The door starts to open at the same moment I shove it back into place and point my gun at the window. It rolls down, revealing Ricardo, who I happen to know is a prime player in the sex trafficking operation, and a piece of slime I’d happily rid this world of now and forever.

  “Put your fucking gun down,” he demands.

  “I have no way of knowing if you are on Alvarez’s watch or working against him. The rules I agreed on with Juan include you telling me when you’re here.”

  “That’s not what he said. He said-”

  “I don’t give a fuck what he said. You identify yourself when you’re in my line of sight or not only will I blow your head off next time. I’ll enjoy it.” I reach for my phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling Juan,” I say. “I want to know that he knows you’re here.”

  “Fuck.” He scrubs his grubby, fat face, and I have a fantasy in my head that includes me shoving it against the steering wheel. No. The glass. Fuck. Both. With a lot of punching in between.

  “What do want?” Juan demands, answering the call.

  “Is Ricardo outside the factory under your instructions?”

  “Yes. Why the fuck else would he be there?”

  “Unless he tells me he’s here next time, I’ll assume he’s sidelining for one of Alvarez’s enemies, and blow his head off. That goes for anyone I discover who doesn’t notify me of their presence.”

  “You think-” he begins.

  I end the call and study Ricardo. “I’m going to lower my gun, and you’re going to drive away while I watch. Understand?”

  “Yes, you little prick.” He rolls the window halfway up and pauses. “Smart to make me leave. I like a man’s back.”

  “I myself,” I say, pointing the gun at his temple. “Like his head.”

  He murmurs something I can’t make out in Spanish, and then puts his car in gear, backing up while I step back, holding my gun on the car until he drives away. I scan the parking lot again, and when I’m sure it’s clear, then and only then do I holster my weapon, button my jacket and walk toward the building. I enter the lobby to find Heather standing at the glass, looking terrified and like she saw a ghost.

  “Should I call the police?�
��

  “Not necessary,” I say. “The guy was a gangbanger who picked the wrong parking lot. It’s handled.”

  “Oh. Are you sure?”

  “It’s handled,” I repeat, which is true. For now. At any moment, Alvarez could show up, and right now, I’m not ready for that to happen.

  ***

  Myla

  Kyle doesn’t return to my office before Barbara finds me for my tour that includes a ton of empty warehouse space. “We seem to be planning big,” I comment, surveying the high ceiling surrounded by steel and brick.

  “It had been vacant a long while, so we negotiated a really amazing deal,” she explains, “but why not plan big? We’re going to be big.”

  I refrain from telling her the growth might not quite be by her preferred method, but maybe she knows. I mean, why is she working for Michael Alvarez? The reality here is that as much as I adore Barbara, I have to face the facts. She has to know what Michael is, and what her exposure could become by working for him. This could be her final hurrah with a big payday, and that makes her loyal to him. Whatever the case, our tour continues and ends in the conference room, which is painted with a mural of New York City, and has a glass conference table, with six people around it, waiting on us.

  For the next hour, I listen to the status of production and plans for roll out, and at some point, Kyle appears and silently invites himself to the event by simply claiming a seat at the table. Another hour, and we’re still going, and everyone is responsive, excited and full of ideas, a combination that could make my dream perfection, if I could ever see this as my dream. But the bottom line is that a threat against my life, my sister’s life, and anyone I dare getting close to, is the manifestation of every nightmare I’ve imagined since meeting Michael Alvarez.

  Come lunchtime, we order in sandwiches, and dive into our marketing campaigns, and no one but me seems to question why Kyle is present, nor does he ask questions or contribute. The staff is just so into the launch, all animated, excited, and eager to please me, as if I am indeed their boss, and I have a fleeting moment in which I decide that once we launch, my death would be difficult to explain, but it’s a ridiculous comfort. Michael Alvarez doesn’t care about difficult, and he’d just kill my sister and keep me alive anyway. And her safety is what keeps me going, as does the bigger plan I’ve hatched that gives me a purpose so much larger than fancy clothes, which now seem rather petty and unimportant.