A beat passes before Royce concedes, “You’re right. I’ll talk to Luke and between us, we’ll come up with a plan for handling Blake and Kara.”
“If you tell them-”
“They’ll want to be involved,” he says. “I know that, but I’ll be damned if I want to lie to them anymore than I know you do. Let me talk to Luke.”
“Don’t tell Blake and Kara anything until you talk to me.”
“Agreed. I’ll get with Asher and Jacob tonight, and we’ll put together several extraction options, but I can tell you, we’re going to need more information. Who is around you both? What is she doing in the next eight weeks?”
“I won’t know those things for a few days.”
“What can you tell me?”
I update him on the little I know. The business I kick myself for knowing nothing about when I should. Juan. And finally the recording devices and camera I removed. “Myla is terrified of Alvarez creating a worse version of what he can’t see on film.”
“Maybe he’ll have to come see for himself,” Royce says.
“Exactly,” I say. “But that means we need to be ready for him immediately, and at this point, I can’t be sure Myla would leave of her own free will, should we decide to extract her. And Royce, man. I don’t know if I can let him touch her again.”
“I get it, man. I haven’t met her like you have, but I feel like I know her. I feel the same. But if you move too fast-”
“All the women he’s forced into his sex trade operation are lost unless she can help us get to them. I know. Stay the course as long as I can.”
“And if you reveal yourself to her too soon, and you’re wrong about her-”
“I might end up dead. I got it. Not the outcome I’m looking for, but if it’s my judgment that I have to extract her without her prior agreement, I’ll make it.”
“Understood and we’ll be right there with you.” He pauses a moment. “It’s eight-fifteen. We’ll have eyes on you, but give me a verbal every ten to twelve hours so I know you’re safe. If you hit thirteen, I’m going to assume you have a problem. And try to contact me at a time and place where we can discuss plans.”
“Copy that,” I say.
We end the call and I flip over the phone, remove the chip and destroy it, before my gaze lands on the empty hallway, but I don’t see the empty space. I see that year-old security footage, and Myla’s green eyes looking into the camera, with a plea for help in their depths that I fully intend to answer.
***
Myla
Time seems to stand still as I pace the master suite, trying to get my head around everything that has happened in the past hour, and how it impacts my plans, if Kyle will impact them in a good or bad way, if at all. Whichever it might be, Kyle is a reminder that Michael trusts no one, not even me, completely, and I cannot ever forget that.
Dragging my hand through my hair, I ignore the bed, and walk to the window framing the living area in the far right corner of the room, staring out at the Dallas skyline without really seeing it. Instead, I think of the one year, two months, and four days I’ve been with Michael Alvarez. That’s how long it took for him to allow me any freedom and even that is a façade. And now, Kyle is here, and the very fact that he’s not Juan is a huge relief, but I don’t know his motives, and he’s just…I don’t know what he is, besides really overwhelming. And intense. And appealing in ways that make him very, very dangerous, especially since he has this crazy way of making me feel safe just by existing, but he could be part of this trap Michael is setting for me.
Blinking, I try to focus on the skyline, the twinkle of city lights touching the now dark horizon, but my mind drifts. He wants to trust you, Kyle had said of Michael. He’s right. He does, and though he’s resistant to really do it, this is a big step that I’ve struggled to make with him. This is a good thing that helps me become the new me, so why does it feels so damn dirty? Why do I still feel so damn dirty? I press my hand to my face, the blood rushing in my temples. I’m going to drive myself crazy if I stand here much longer. I need to do something. I need out of this room.
Crossing to the dresser, I open a drawer, pausing a moment with the memory of the statue that had sat on top and held a camera. Were the cameras meant to stay or were they were part of a setup and a game? Because if they were real, and Kyle saved me from them, that means Juan would have watched me dress and undress. Was Michael really going to let that happen?
It’s a horrible thought, considering Juan is not like everyone else to Michael. I think he would have let it happen. Juan has to go and maybe, just maybe, no matter what Kyle’s role in all of this, he’s the one who can make that happen.
Encouraged by that idea, I remove a pair of black workout leggings, a black tank top and sports bra, as well as socks, before walking to the giant closet by the bathroom, and flipping on the light. Quickly changing, I pull a black hoodie off a hanger, slip it on, and stuff my phone in the pocket. Somehow, I end up staring at myself in the mirror behind the door, trying to remember a time when I’d bought my own clothes, reveling in every item I’d saved and craved until it was mine. I don’t even know that person anymore, and my sister, Kara, wouldn’t know this one I am now. And she can’t ever know this me, nor am I stupid enough to forget that, though the very fact that Kyle was asked to keep me away from her says that Michael isn’t sure of that fact.
Knots form in my belly, where my hand presses, then balls into a fist. I need him to know that I’m with him and loyal. About to drive myself crazy all over again, I exit the closet, and don’t give myself time to think about the crazy butterflies Kyle’s presence seems to have given me, or about his hot, probing stares, all of which could be a planned seduction. I sure as heck don’t let myself think about the way he clearly analyzes my every thought and motive. I push onward and I don’t stop walking until I’m at the bedroom door and pulling it open, exiting into the living area, where I find him absent. Deciding he must be in one of the many bedrooms, most likely by the door, where he would know if I tried to leave, I hurry down the hallway and pass open doors, where he is not. Finally, I reach the last door, and I hear what I think is fingers hitting a keyboard.
Inhaling against a sudden rush of nerves, I step to the doorway, lingering just outside the room, and knock on the wall. In a blink, Kyle is standing in front of me, big and just so darn masculine, that musky, spicy scent of him exploding in my nostrils.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, his blond hair sexily messed up, his green eyes sharply alert, and guaranteed to see too much.
“Aside from no one trusting me and me not trusting them, everything is peachy. I just need to take a run. It’s stress management for me. I know you get dragged where I go, but-”
“Give me a minute to change,” he says. “And come in. I have security equipment I set up that I want to show you.” He widens the door and backs up, but I hold my footing, nervous about entering his bedroom, when Michael would be furious over such an action.
“I’m not going to bite,” he says. “At least not now.”
My gaze jerks to his, where I find mischief and laughter. “It’s not funny,” I chide.
“Perhaps not,” he says, “but the way your cheeks are heating is absolutely adorable and not at all what I expect from the woman at Michael Alvarez’s side.” He doesn’t give me time to digest that observation, let alone respond, before he’s moved on. “And yes. This room is where I plan to sleep, simply because it’s also our new security center.” He firms his voice to a command. “Come inside.” He disappears into the room, assuming my compliance. I could refuse, but somehow, I just don’t.
I step beyond the doorway, finding him waiting on me a few steps back, his room a reversed direction, smaller version of my own, only his dresser and TV are on the right wall, and his sitting area is much smaller. “Our new security system,” he says, indicating three MacBook Pros sitting on the desk directly in front of his bed. “I want to show you how to operate it.”
>
My brow furrows. He wants to show me how to operate it? This new premise that includes me knowing what’s going on around me is something that has me eagerly joining him at the desk. “Okay,” he says, leaning down to punch a button on computer number one, and displaying a visual for my view.
“Is that the hotel lobby?” I ask, surprised.
“It is,” he says, and then, hitting the “Tab” key, he shows me how to change the view to several other locations. “It’s that easy to see every location I have live.” He straightens. “Unfortunately this is just what I could hack-”
“Hack?” I ask, turning to face him. “You hacked the hotel security system?”
“I did,” he confirms, glancing over at me, “and are you really sounding panicked about that, considering all Michael Alvarez does in his life?”
“I…well…I’m the one here in the hotel, not him.”
“Exactly,” he says. “You’re the one I’m protecting, and I told you I’ll do what is necessary to keep you safe. Unfortunately, the hotel doesn’t have cameras on our floor, which is an important view for me and you. I’ll have to install equipment tomorrow.”
“What if you get caught hacking or installing whatever you want to install?”
“I paid the right people to make sure I don’t.”
“Right,” I say. “Of course you did.”
“I told you,” he adds. “I have a plan. I always have a plan.” He softens his voice. “And that plan looks out for my interests, not his, and my interests, are your interests.”
“I can’t-”
“Know that,” he supplies. “Of course you can’t. Trust takes time.”
“Trust,” I say, my throat going a little dry. “That word is…”
“Is what?” he prods, his green eyes hooded, but somehow probing.
Frighteningly impossible, like he’s frighteningly appealing in too many ways to count, but I settle for a reply of, “Difficult,” and eager to change the subject, I motion to the desk. “What are the other computers for?”
“One of them is for you,” he surprises me by saying. “You’ll have the exact same views. And the third is my personal device.”
I turn to face him. “Why are you including me?”
“I’d tell you that it’s to earn your trust, which wouldn’t be untrue, but safety is about awareness. You need to know who and what is normal and right around you at all times. I’m also going to install an encrypted text message program on your computer and phone that you can use to communicate with me. We can use it to talk, should we need to.” He glances down at me again. “Eventually, maybe you’ll believe it’s really safe to say anything to me through that connection or in person.”
“Doubtful,” I confess.
“I’m persuasive,” he assures me with a wink that would really truly get his eyes gouged out if Alvarez saw it, which tells me there aren’t any cameras I don’t know about. At least, not in here. “Let me grab my clothes and get changed,” he adds, reaching up and loosening his tie. “Feel free to sit down and play around with the security feed.”
“You don’t have to work out with me.”
“I’m working out with you,” he insists, already walking to the suitcase on the bed, where he begins shrugging out of his jacket. “Have you tried out the gym here?”
“Not yet,” I say, leaning against the desk, my hands pressed to the wooden surface while my mouth goes a little dry at the way his white shirt hugs a broad, muscular chest. “I just got here this morning.”
“Considering the size of the private wing we’re in,” he says, flipping open his bag, “I’m surprised there isn’t a treadmill in one of the rooms. I’m sure we can have one delivered.”
“I like the weights in the gym,” I say. “Of course, we’re in a hotel. They might not have much to offer.”
“There’s a great gym a few miles from here,” he says, shutting his case, and tossing a hoodie on top. “If this one doesn’t make the grade, we can go there.” He grabs a stack of clothes and walks into the bathroom directly behind him, but doesn’t shut the door.
I stare after him, repeating the word “we”, that is oddly right and still so very wrong. This has to be a test, because there is no other reason, or way, that Michael would allow me to be in such intimate quarters with anyone. Unless…he’s that afraid of my sister, and he really feels Kyle is the answer to keep her away. That has to be it. This is all about Kara, and the idea that Michael’s this focused on her is unsettling. Or maybe it’s not a focus on her, but rather on me. On trusting me far less than I thought he did, which means I have to tiptoe with every step I take. I face the desk, my hands settling on the back of the leather chair. Maybe Kyle is telling the truth. Kyle told me Michael’s worried about Kara, which I believe. So was he telling me the truth when he said he’s not setting me up? Maybe he really is more worried about Michael reading more into his actions, or mine, than he is about Michael assuming actions in the absence of video, which leaves me conflicted. I don’t want to be filmed, but I know better than anyone how Michael’s creative mind can paint a person an enemy. But it’s my enemies I’m most worried about right now. Who is Kyle and what are his motives?
My attention lands on the computer Kyle had said was for personal use, which would certainly hold some sort of clue to him as a person as well as his motives for being here. Not giving myself time to chicken out, I reach down and try to power it to life, only to have a password protector pop up. “Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart,” I hear from behind me, whirling around to find him looking hot and hard in gray sweats, a gray t-shirt, with his gun and shoulder holster over the top. “It’s password protected.” He snatches up his hoodie from the bed, pulls it over his holster, and crosses to stand directly in in front of me. “And I require at least one naked romp in the sheets before I give out my personal passwords. And since you seem to think that would get us killed-”
“It would get us killed,” I say, and then it hits me that I’ve inferred I might otherwise. “Not that I would betray Michael. I just…”
“Right. You wouldn’t. I get it.” He’s not smiling. In fact, he seems rather displeased before adding, “I guess you have to ask before you use my computer, then.”
“I just wanted to know what you were saying about me,” I say, wondering how any one man can exude the amount of heat he is right now. “And what your motives are.”
“I told you. I control what Michael Alvarez knows about you and me, and no one else. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I say, but I don’t move, my mind returning to the hacking skills he’s claimed, and truthfully, I’m curious about this man. So very curious. “Can you hack my phone and my computer?”
“Yes.”
“Will you?”
“Yes.” He motions to the door. “Ready?”
“Why would you admit that?”
“Because it’s what I do. I hack. And I’m damn good at it. You can’t spend months with me and not figure that out, unless I don’t want you to figure it out.”
“Why not hide it from me?”
“Because believe it or not, I want your trust, and I won’t get that without being honest.”
“Why?”
“Why what, sweetheart?”
“Don’t call me that or it-”
“Will get me killed?” he asks, arching a brow.
“Us killed.”
“Are you going to tell?”
“No.”
“Then unless it offends you, and since you feel like a “sweetheart” to me, when no one else has in a long time, I don’t see the problem. Does it offend you?”
“I…if it did, the fact that you just asked if it does makes it not.”
“Well then, problem solved. Let’s go to the gym, sweetheart.”
“You really don’t have to work out with me.” I eye his gun. “And how are you going to workout in that anyway?”
“It will suck but it’s easier to get to than an ankle holster.”
“Easier is you not working out with me.”
“Of course it is,” he replies, zipping up his hoodie to hide his weapon. “But I’m supposed to be the badass who beats everyone up and protects you. I can’t do that eating donuts and binge watching Dexter, though I do like me some donuts and Dexter, sweetheart.”
“You don’t have to do that, either.”
“Do what?”
“Make jokes and try to make me comfortable.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to try to make you comfortable or uncomfortable. I’m just being me and I happen to like donuts and Dexter. Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Like donuts and Dexter.”
“Éclairs are heaven and I’ve never watched Dexter.”
He looks appalled. “Did you just say that you’ve never watched Dexter?”
I laugh. “No. I’m not into serial killers.”
“He’s not like your average serial killer.”
“Any serial killer is a serial killer is a serial killer.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. He a vigilante with a code. You can’t appreciate it until you watch it.”
“Killers make me uncomfortable,” I say, and the fact that Michael is one, has me quickly adding, “I won’t watch it.”
He studies me a moment. “Do you like cartel movies?”
“Not at all and I know you’re surmising things about me right now.”
“I am surmising, and I imagine you think you know what.”
“That I am illogical in all I do.”
“No,” he says solemnly. “I do not assess you as illogical, in any way, shape or form.”
“Then what do you think about me?”
“I think there is far more to your story than meets the eye and those are the kind of stories that intrigue me. So. You intrigue me.”
“I think you’re flirting with me.”
“Am I?”
“Are you?”
“I’m just being the me I am with you.”
“Because they paid you to be.”
“No. But you said it and I know the truth. You can’t know that. Not yet.”
Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4) Page 6
