His lips curve. “I’ll take that for now.”
“For now?”
“There’s more to come,” he promises. “Wait and see.”
I press my head to his chest, and let myself believe that the “more” that is to come is good. It’s not plastic, knives, and serial killers. It’s my sister. It’s Kyle. Maybe it’s even me designing clothes. But when I get dressed, an odd sense of foreboding begins. And when I pick out my dress for the day, I choose the peach one again that zips all the way to the waist, and gives me easy access to my gun.
Fifteen minutes later, my hair pins in place, similar ones now in production, Kyle meets me at the door, his gray suit and silver tie perfection, but for just a moment his gun peeks from beneath his jacket, indicating he’s left it unbuttoned. He feels it too. We take the elevator in silence, the edge of expectation in the air. Now I know why I needed to call my sister so badly. Today is the day Michael Alvarez returns. We both know it.
Chapter Twenty
Kyle
The instant we’re in the Mustang, I hand Myla the scanner, rev the engine and get us on the road. “What am I feeling?” she asks when she’s cleared the car. “Because all of a sudden I’m ready to crawl out of my own skin.”
“The same thing I’m feeling,” I say. “It’s instinct. It’s what made you survive this long.” My cellphone rings and I glance at the caller ID. “Blake,” I say, since she’s so nervous, and I answer the call on speaker and set it on the console between us.
“You’re on speaker with me and Myla,” I answer.
“Myla,” Blake says. “Nice to finally fucking be meeting you.”
“Hi Blake,” Myla says, laughing. “You do like the “F” word, don’t you?”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to ride my ass like Kara on that, because we’re going to have a problem if you do. Okay, scratch that. I’m going to have a problem.”
“The problem,” I say, “is me and Myla are really on edge this morning and we don’t know why.”
“I’ve picked up some odd chatter that doesn’t make me feel like the fucking king of the world myself today considering Royce has no idea what the hell is going on.”
“Holy hell,” I grind out. “Tell me the FBI hasn’t gone rogue on us and set us up for a problem.”
“Oh no,” Myla says. “Please say no.”
“Don’t start fretting now, sweetheart,” Blake says. “It may be nothing of consequence. I’m still working through my data here and Royce is a beast when he’s pissed. He’s on this. He’ll bust some balls and get things in check. In the meantime, we put extra coverage on you today to be safe.”
“Copy that,” I say, pulling us into the parking lot of the factory. “We’re here now. Keep us posted.” I end the call, and maneuver us into a spot near the front door.
“If we’re on edge, and Blake’s hearing chatter,” Myla says as I kill the engine, “that has to connect. It has to mean today is the day.”
“You’ve always thought he’d show up for the opening of the store,” I say, remembering comments she’d made over our late night dinners and TV sessions, and sticking the scanner in my jacket. “It’s close. It’s time to be on high alert anyway.” I reach for my door handle. “Stay where you are and let me come around and get you.” I exit the Mustang, scanning the parking lot, which is still mostly empty at this early hour, round the Mustang and open Myla’s door.
“The longer he’s gone, the more I worry that he’s not going to just visit. He’s going to send someone to grab me and take me to him.”
“He’s trusting me to protect you, and he instructed me to keep Juan away from you,” I say, pausing before opening the front door. “He’d have me bring you to him.”
“With ten other men holding guns on us,” she says. “He won’t trust you that easily.”
“Relax, sweetheart,” I say. “We have an army watching us.”
But as confidently as I relay that message to her, I’m more than a little relieved when she steps inside the lobby, and even more so when we’re inside the controlled environment of her office. “Get comfortable,” I say, sitting down at the conference table and opening my MacBook. “We’re going to call this room home for the day until we hear more from Royce.”
“More than fine by me,” she says, pulling out her sketchpad, and keying her company computer to life, only to have Barbara appear in the doorway.
“Oh good, you’re here,” she gushes, her cheeks as pink as the silk blouse she’s wearing. “We need you in the storefront.”
“Why the storefront?” I ask.
“Why?” she asks incredulously. “We’re about to open to the public in a few days. We have to have everything perfect.” She motions Myla forward.
“We’ll be right there in a few minutes,” I tell her, which earns me a glower, but encourages her departure, but not before she gives Myla a pleading look and a prod of, “Hurry please.”
I shut my computer and motion Myla forward, meeting her at the door. “I just wanted to warn you that the storefront has cameras and recording devices. And stay away from the front door.”
“Where will you be?” she asks as we exit into the warehouse to start our lengthy walk to the other side.
“I’ll be right by your side. I just want you on high alert.”
“Right,” she says. “High alert.”
I want to say something to comfort her, but I don’t. Comfort doesn’t protect her and protecting her is all that matters right now.
***
The instant we walk through the back door of the store, Barbara is in our path. “There you are,” she says, lacing her arm with Myla’s and guiding her forward, leaving me to pursue.
Keeping them close, I scan the store, the half-moon shaped register desk in the center of the space, piled with clothes, while various employees work to hang them on display racks, the front display windows stacked with boxes. Myla and Barbara, on the other hand, disappear beyond an arched entryway near the rear of the space. Following, I find them in the center of a lounge-style sitting room surrounded by a half dozen dressing rooms. Confirming there is no separate exit, I leave them to fret over what several mannequins are wearing and claim the leather chair on the wall just outside the dressing room.
It’s nearly noon, and I’m still sitting there when Royce calls. “I have you on camera. I know you can’t talk, so just listen. The FBI staged a raid on several low-end Alvarez targets. The raids went down over the past few nights and amounted to pretty much nothing.”
“Why the fuck would they do that and not tell us?” I ask, because just listening already isn’t working for me.
“I blasted them, but the plan was a good one. It makes Alvarez feel they’re focused on low quality targets that do nothing to harm him, thus he can come out of hiding.”
“Let’s hope like hell that works.”
“Blake’s picked up further chatter he feels indicates it has. He believes Alvarez is on the move.”
“Based on what?”
“I have no fucking clue,” he says. “He was talking that hacker shit you two talk, but he says this is the first time he’s ever pinned down anything he believes indicates Alvarez’s possible movement. He must plan to surprise her for the grand opening.”
“Too obvious,” I say, choosing my words cautiously.
“What are you thinking?”
I watch the UPS man walk in the door and start chatting with Barbara. “Today. My gut says today is dangerous.”
“I’ll sharpen our guard and alert the FBI.”
We end the call and I stand, rounding the corner to check on Myla as I have a half dozen other times since arriving to the store. She’s alone in the lounge now, standing a few feet from one of the mannequins, her gaze taking in the pale pink dress it’s wearing, pure pride in her expression. It’s her creation, her dream that she’s looking at in that moment, and I vow to make sure that Myla has her fashion line, no strings or monsters attached.
***
Myla and I return to her office mid-afternoon and spend the rest of the day there, but the anticipation of what might happen, and hasn’t, is wearing on Myla. Come six o’clock, Myla grabs her purse from her desk and sets it on top. “I’m ready to leave.” She glances over at me where I sit at the table. “This is when it will happen, right? When we leave.”
I give her a slow nod. “That would be my expectation.”
“Then let’s leave.”
As ready as she is, I give her a nod, and quickly key a message into the chatroom I have live with our surveillance team: We’re headed out the door, receiving an immediate: Copy that, in return.
Shutting the lid to my computer, I stand, meeting Myla at the corner of her desk. “It’s over after this. Remember that.”
“I do,” she says, her chin bravely lifting. “And I have never wanted something as badly as I do this moment, other than his death.”
“I want to kiss you right now,” I say softly.
“I’ll taste better when he is no longer on my lips.”
I don’t tell her that he isn’t because she is the one who has endured his torture, much of which I haven’t asked her to talk about. One day, maybe she will, but that day will be easier if he is no longer a threat. “Remember your gun,” I say, before giving her space, and she doesn’t hesitate. She moves forward, but instead of exiting the office, she pauses by the door and stares at the photos on her wall of her mother. I step behind her, close but not touching her, silently letting her know I am right here with her.
“I hate that he used her like this,” she whispers, expressing what I’ve always thought but not said, but she doesn’t give me time to reply. Her spine straightens just a little more, and she steps forward, sureness in her pace that tells me those photos have destroyed her fear and enraged her anger. I step to her side in the lobby, the receptionist’s desk already shut down for the night.
We exit the building into an exceptionally humid March Texas night, and I stay close to Myla again, our shoulders all but brushing, surveying the area for trouble, which is nowhere in sight. She slides into her seat, and I seal her inside, and in a matter of a few seconds, I’m inside with her, doors locked, while I shove my computer under the seat. Automatically now, she grabs the scanner and checks the car, her task complete by the time we’re out of the parking lot.
“Maybe he’s waiting at the hotel,” she says, clearly remaining as certain as I am that tonight is the night, while my gut says an ambush is headed in our direction.
“We’re not back there yet,” I say. “And we’ll know if he’s in the room or the hotel.”
She doesn’t reply and I eye the rearview mirror, spying the car I know Asher is in, now in our line of sight. I’m also aware that Royce and Jacob are at the hotel, waiting on us, and watching for trouble. Five minutes passes slowly, and we arrive at the Ritz without incident. I pull into the garage, driving to our normal spot and parking. I reach under my seat for my computer, but instinct has me thinking better, leaving it under my seat and my hands free.
“I’ll come around and get you,” I say, unbuttoning my jacket and preparing to pull my weapon.
“I just want out and to get inside,” she counters. “I’ m getting out with you.” She glances at me. “Okay?”
I give her a nod and we open our doors, meeting at the trunk. We never get the chance to take a step further. A black sedan backs out of a parking spot, pulls in front of us, parks, and two men get out, pointing guns at us, one of them Juan. At the same time, two men get out of another parked car and aim their guns at us.
“Alvarez requests your company,” Juan says, a smirk on his lizard-thin lips.
I take Myla’s arm and pull her to me. “She’s not going anywhere without me.”
“You’re in luck,” he says. “You’re both invited.”
It’s a small piece of the puzzle that goes in our direction, unless Juan intends to kill me. “We’ll follow you,” I say, clicking the locks to the Mustang to allow Myla to get inside.
“That’s not happening,” Juan says.
“We’re not riding in a car with two people,” I say. “One driver only.”
He wants to refuse. I see it in the glint of his eyes and the set of his jaw, but the hesitation tells me Alvarez is really behind this not him and Alvarez wants me with her. He leans inside the car and speaks to the driver then shuts his door, with him on the outside. He then motions two men toward us. “You ride alone, but only after we search you for wires and tracking devices.”
“No one is touching Myla,” I say, pulling my weapon and shackling her arm. “And I’m not giving up my gun. Not when I spoke to Alvarez personally, and was to protect her. No matter what that requires.”
Juan’s eyes glint hard but he spits Spanish at the men and all but one backs off. “He gets her purse and both of your phones.”
“We’ll leave them in the car,” I say, clicking my locks, but really, nothing on my phone is traceable. I just want him to feel he wins when he refuses.
And predictably he does. “This isn’t up for negotiation,” he says. “You give them to my man. You have them back later.”
I hesitate long enough to make it seem like I care. “Give me your purse, Myla,” I say, taking it from her, and handing it to the man, who snatches it from my hand. I reach for my phone, but the man yells at me in Spanish, telling me to put my hands to my side. I step away from Myla, doing as ordered, my gun still in my hand. “Right pocket,” I say, but of course, he not only grabs my phone, but searches me for a second one, that I don’t have.
The minute he’s done and steps toward Myla, I grab her arm and pull her to me, my gun aimed at him. “Try it. Please.”
Juan orders the man to back off, and then glares at me. “Get in the fucking car.”
“Let’s go,” I murmur to Myla, holding onto her and helping her into the back seat of the car, with me instantly beside her.
The driver eyes me in the mirror and I lean forward, indicating my gun I have yet to holster. “Where are we going?”
“I’m following another car. I have no idea.”
It’s a smart reply that may or may not be true, but gives me no room to argue. I lean back in the seat, reluctantly holstering my weapon, as the car starts to move. I don’t look at Myla, nor does she me. We just endure the ride, and it doesn’t take long for me to figure out why Juan didn’t push to search us. Not only are we sandwiched between two cars, we’re headed to a small airport outside the city, and once we’re in the air, any such device will be inactive. No one will be able to find us. We have to hope like hell that Alvarez is on that plane, and we never leave the ground.
I know the minute Myla realizes the same, her fingers curling on her lap, then sliding down to the seat where she discreetly presses her hand to my leg, like touching me comforts her, like she needs to reassure herself I’m here. And holy hell, I want to grab her and hold her, and it hits me that there are things I need to say to her in case anything goes wrong. Somehow, some way, I have to find that moment, and make it happen.
We pull into the private airfield, and Myla leans closer to the driver. “Is Michael here? Is he in the plane?”
“I have no idea,” the driver claims. “I just drive.”
And he does, straight onto the airfield where a large private jet awaits us, the car in front of us halting, as we do the same, followed by the sedan behind us. Our driver gets out of the car and knowing we may not survive this, I gamble there’s no bug, turning to Myla, and discreetly grabbing her hand. “I need to tell you something.”
“I’m nervous,” she says. “I don’t know if I can still fake it with him anymore. I’ve been away from him and-”
“You can. You will. And this is not how I wanted to tell you this, but I love you. I am so fucking in love with you. I think I was even before I met you, as crazy as that sounds even to me.”
“Why are you saying this now? Stop staying it like it’s goodbye. It’s n
ot goodbye.”
The door opens behind her, forcing me to let go of her hand, and she mouths, “I love you, too,” before she rotates to exit the car. I stay with her, ready to grab her if necessary. Hell, I just go ahead and do it.
I step to her side and shackle her arm, while Juan appears in front of us. “Inside the plane,” he orders.
“Is Michael here?” Myla asks eagerly.
“Go inside and find out,” Juan says, a snide taunt to his voice, his eyes meeting mine, a challenge in their depths I plan to counter with a bullet between his eyes.
My hand goes to my gun. “She’s not getting on that plane until I talk to Alvarez.”
“Do you really think you can resist at this point?”
“Do you really want to risk her getting hurt in the struggle?”
His thin lips get thinner and he pulls his phone from his pocket, punching in a number and then listening a moment. “He wants to talk to you.” Juan hands me the cellphone.
“Kyle here,” I say.
“Had you let her get on that plane without contacting me,” Alvarez says. “I would have killed you.”
“Why am I taking orders from Juan?”
“I have plans for him,” he says. “Don’t worry about him.”
“I seem to remember we discussed the opposite.”
“That order stands.”
“So I do need to worry about him?” I ask, looking directly at Juan, and making damn sure he knows we’re talking about him.
“Keep her close and him at a distance.”
“You realize what a conflicting message that is?”
“That message will become crystal clear in about four hours. Let me talk to Myla.”
“Where are we going?”
“I repeat. Let me talk to Myla.”
I hand the phone to Myla. She presses it to her ear, her gaze going to Juan, who’s staring at her, which prompts her to give him her back. “Where have you been?” she asks, eager. “I was worried.” She is silent for several beats. “Yes. I’m glad. See you soon.” She rotates forward again and hands me the phone. “He hung up.”
Juan reaches for it, yanking it from my hand. “Angry much?” I ask, with an arched brow.
Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4) Page 22
