Deep Under

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Save it,” I say, shoving the gun in my waistband and taking the pizza. “Earn your paycheck, Les. Follow instructions.” I step back inside, shut the door and slide the lock back into place, before re-entering the bedroom, where I deposit the pizza on the bed, and pull my phone from my pocket, punching in Asher’s number.

  “A phone call is never good,” he says when he answers.

  “Les brought our pizza up without calling me,” I say. “Watch him.”

  “Copy that,” he says, and I end the connection, heading to the hallway and toward Myla’s bedroom, praying like hell we don’t have an Alvarez problem.

  Rounding the corner to the living area, I’m about to enter Myla’s bedroom when she appears in the doorway, the scanner in her hand. “You said clean up our mess,” she explains. “I was kind of freaked out that I didn’t let you scan my room.” She indicates the machine. “It didn’t beep at all. That’s good right?”

  “That’s damn good,” I agree, taking it from her. “I called Asher to confirm no one had entered the room since I scanned it, but just for peace of mind, I’ll double check it all.” She steps aside and I enter the bedroom, calling over my shoulder. “Any missed phone calls?”

  “No,” she says, moving to the sitting area on the far side of the bed by the windows, and sitting down on the couch. “We got lucky,” she says, watching me move around the room, “because he’s insanely possessive. And he’s back in a week. Honestly, he could be back any day. He’s big on changing his plans, to throw off his enemies.”

  “Which is why we have a plane waiting on us,” I assure her, relieved as the scanner remains silent. “Where is he supposed to be now?”

  “Honduras.”

  “I’ll have our team see if we can find him, but don’t get your hopes up,” I say. “He’s slippery or we’d have had him by now.”

  “You won’t find him,” she assures me, proving her hopes aren’t even close to being up. “He’s a master at not getting caught.”

  “And yet, we’re going to catch him,” I assure her, walking into the bathroom, giving it a quick silent scan. Turning off the power, I re-enter the bedroom. “We’re clear.”

  “Thank God,” she says, the compact she’d thrown at me earlier now in her hand. “What happened with Les?”

  “I haven’t decided what that impromptu visit was about yet,” I say, “so my answer is to be determined.” I cross to stand in front of her. “In other words, it’s pizza and movie night, and he’s the show.”

  ***

  Forty-five minutes later, Myla and I are sitting at the desk, having finished a damn good pizza, the empty box on the floor beside us, the computers pushed out of our way, but the security feed is live for the viewing. We’ve also finished watching Les huddle up with Juan in the hotel restaurant. “I guess we now know who he’s working with,” Myla says, twirling the compact in her hands, the way she has off and on since she finished eating. “And they can’t know you’re watching them.”

  “I have a feeling I know what Les was up to,” I say, standing and grabbing our trash. “I’m going to dump this at the door, and check out my theory.” I round the desk and enter the hallway, opening the door to set our trash outside, before running a hand over the surface by the doorbell, and bingo. I have a recording device. I start to remove it, and decide better of it, re-entering the room and flipping the locks.

  “He stuck a recording device by the doorbell,” I say, reclaiming my seat beside Myla, grabbing a footstool and setting it between us, both of us leaning back in our chairs and putting it to use. “I left it where it is. I want them to think that I think Les is more of an ally than he is and we can stage a little conversation they overhear in the morning.”

  “What kind of conversation?”

  “One that includes you disliking the way I’m suffocating you, but I’m going to think on exactly what I want them to hear.” She’s twirling that compact again, nervous I think, or anxious, and I get to the point. “What do you want to know? Ask your questions.”

  She straightens, setting the compact on the desk, and getting right to it. “You said Walker Security is run by three brothers?”

  “Right. Royce, who’s ex-FBI, Luke, who’s ex-Navy SEAL, and Blake, who’s ex-ATF. Royce is in charge because, well, Royce decided he’s in charge. He’s gruff, direct, and thinks he’s always right, but he gets away with it, because he usually is. He’s also one of the best agents the agency ever saw and one of the best men I’ve ever known. ”

  “And Luke?”

  “The calm one. Steady Eddie and the peacekeeper in the family.”

  “I’m afraid to ask what that means about Blake, if Luke’s the calm one.”

  “Blake’s the wild one, for sure. He likes things fast, hard, and wild. He’s also solely responsible for my overuse of the word “Fuck”, considering he uses it like it’s a common vowel.”

  That earns me a small smile. “That bad?”

  “Yeah. That bad. To a friend, Blake greets you with, “How the fuck are you?” and to an enemy it’s, “I’m going to fuck up your already ugly fucking face”. Though giving credit where it’s due, Kara has tamed his usage by a good twenty percent on at least Monday and Friday.”

  She full-out laughs this time, and there’s a delicate little musical quality to that, as illogical as it might be, has me imagining her naked body arching toward me, right before my mouth came down on her. “And he’s you best friend?” she asks, snapping me back to the present, where I’d like to repeat that fantasy in flesh and blood.

  “For a decade,” I say, “and on more than one occasion, Blake was the one who pulled me back to the real world when I came out of deep cover. He was also the one who knew how badly I needed to end that cycle.”

  “Why?” she asks. “What was it doing to you?”

  “Well I sure as fuck wasn’t turning into my father, but Blake scared the hell out of me, and convinced me I was.”

  She picks up the compact again, this time holding it close to her palm. “You still resent your father.”

  “Yeah,” I openly admit. “Probably too much, which in hindsight is why I never would have ended up like him. But I’m glad I made the change.”

  “And that change means what? What exactly does Walker Security do?”

  “Aside from being contracted consultants for most of the major airports around the country, whatever the hell we want, which is half the appeal. Right now, a handful of us, including your sister, are working a missing person’s case that started in the States and seems to be leading to Italy.”

  “Oh wow. That’s interesting. Who’s the missing person?”

  “A woman named Ella. She eloped and then disappeared. Her best friend Sara, and her husband Chris, are paying for the search. She’s a lucky girl. They’ve thrown a lot of money and resources into finding her, and I hear we got a lead on her yesterday, which I hope pans out.”

  Her expression tightens. “Michael makes sure the women he kidnaps have no one to look for them.”

  “But you had Kara, who was an FBI agent at the time.”

  “I wasn’t a planned abduction. I went to San Francisco for a job that fell through and took a job waiting tables at one of his restaurants to pay the bills. He came in and took a liking to me.” She holds up the compact. “I want to show you the data I collected.” She faces the desk and opens the compact, removing the center disc that holds powder, to reveal several tightly folded pieces of paper.

  I twist my chair around and join her. “How in the hell did you find out that could be removed?” I ask, starting to unfold one of the sheets, while she does another.

  “I dropped it one day. I’m just hoping the information I gathered is enough to save at least some of the women.”

  “Let’s see what we have,” I say, flattening out the page I’ve just straightened, and scanning a half dozen addresses to include cities and states, as well as if each is a recruiting site, or what she calls “holding camps” or “stag
ing areas”, as well as very detailed notes about how and when she knew those locations to be open. “How did you get this information?”

  “A lot of eavesdropping and sneaking into places I wasn’t supposed to be.”

  I turn her to face me, my hands on the arms of her chair. “That was stupid and brave.”

  “I’m not sure if I should say thank you or fuck you,” she says. “It’s not like I thought I was going to survive.”

  That comment punches me in the chest. “Yes you did, or you wouldn’t have kept fighting and you wouldn’t have created the best damn opportunity anyone has ever had to take down the Alvarez operation.”

  “You really think we can?”

  “If these locations check out-”

  “They will,” she says. “I kept tabs on them. Those are all active, though there were many others that shut down. ”

  “Then the sooner we get a plan together for an organized raid of these locations, the better. I’d like to get this over to Royce now, but once I do-”

  “He’ll want to talk to me,” she supplies. “That’s fine, but please tell me that he understands what my sister won’t. If I don’t stay until Alvarez shows back up, we will save no one.”

  “We’re all fully aware that just pulling you out of here does not achieve any of our goals, including making you and Kara safer.”

  “You better be right about him, but okay. Send it to him, because doing nothing isn’t saving anyone’s life.”

  That’s all I need to hear to go into action. I turn to the scanner I’ve set up on the desk, and insert the documents, pulling them up on my disc drive before I recall the secure chat room I created last night. “Can’t other people see you online?” Myla asks.

  “It’s set up with special firewalls that can’t be hacked,” I explain. “The same kind that terrorists use to avoid being listened in on.” I dial Royce, who answers with a, “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sending you some documents from Myla. And Royce. Hold onto your chair, man. She’s given us a comprehensive list of all the places and ways Alvarez recruits women for the sex trade operation.”

  “How comprehensive?” he asks, showing no other reaction.

  “Dozens of locations.”

  “I’m heading to my computer, but I’m going to have to compare these locations to the FBI database and do some research before I weigh in on this. How good do you feel about this?”

  “Very,” I say, frowning as Myla stands and leaves the room, when I was certain she’d want to know what was happening.

  “I’m at my computer,” he states. “Can you speak freely?”

  “With caution,” I say, anticipating what comes next. “And before you ask. Yes. She knows who I am, but you should know that she gave me this list, before she knew.”

  “I’m confused. Why would she do that?”

  “She wanted me to take it to the FBI after she pissed off Alvarez, got herself killed, and ensured her sister was no longer important to him.”

  “Holy hell. We need to get her out of there now.”

  “You yourself told me why that’s not an option.”

  “We’ll make him think she’s dead.”

  “That won’t help rescue the women in captivity,” I say. “She’s not going to let that happen.”

  “But if she’s suicidal-”

  “She’s not,” I say. “She’s selfless, the way most agents should be and are not. There’s a difference.”

  “That’s your professional opinion?”

  “Yes,” I confirm. “That’s my professional opinion.”

  “She sounds pretty damn affected by all of this to me.”

  “No more so than I was every time I was under as long as she has been, Royce. Does Kara know she’s alive yet?”

  “I haven’t heard from Blake.” I’m not sure if that’s good or bad news and seeming to read my mind, Royce adds, “They both know what’s on the line. Kara will not repeat yesterday.”

  “I hope not, because this is about more than Myla getting rattled. Myla is convinced that Alvarez sees Kara as a threat, and now that Myla’s out in the open, he plans to kill Kara, just to be done with her.”

  “Why does she think this?”

  “Aside from him all but telling her?”

  “That’s enough,” he says. “I’ll give Blake and Kara a heads up.”

  “What happened to the Ella case in Italy?”

  “We have a possible sighting of Ella, but nothing solid,” he says. “Blake sent our contractors to check it out.”

  “Send Blake and Kara.”

  “I’ll try, but Myla is Kara’s sister. It’s going to be a hard sell to get her out of the country.”

  “Fuck,” I say, scrubbing the newly formed stubble on my jaw. “And I’m about to make that sale harder too by getting Blake involved. I need a hacker. The only one I know better than me.”

  “What do you want him to do?”

  “Tell him to look for Alvarez in Honduras, returning to the States in a week.”

  “I’ll get him on it. Anything else?”

  “Aside from getting Myla out of here,” I say. “Nothing. I’m sending the files.” I end the connection, and hold down my Siri button, “Clear call log, Siri.” And the instant I hear, “Clearing call log,” I slide my phone into my pocket.

  Refocusing on the chat room, I send the documents, confirm receipt, and concerned about Myla’s extended absence, I push away from the desk to go on the hunt for her. Stepping into her open bedroom, I find her sitting on the ground, the couch of her sitting area at her back, her sketchpad on the coffee table, her long dark hair draping her pale face and my t-shirt. My t-shirt. I could get used to this woman in my clothes, in my life. Hell, I feel like I’ve had her there already, and I have to remember I’m new to her, even if she isn’t new to me.

  Seeming to sense my presence, she glances up. “Hey,” she says, nothing about her demeanor suggesting that she’s upset. “All done with Royce, I guess?”

  “I am,” I confirm, crossing to sit on the couch next to her, catching a glimpse of a drawing she’s begun. “Why’d you leave?”

  She twists around to face me more fully. “He was going to ask you questions about me, like how mentally stable I am and other things I didn’t want to hear and you couldn’t answer when I was there.” She taps her pencil on the pad. “And I have to do what I can do to help and right now, that’s keeping those models away from Ricardo and Juan, which means I need an advertising idea that doesn’t require models.”

  “You said yourself that they only pick women who have no one to look for them,” I remind her. “Don’t put guilt on yourself you don’t deserve.”

  “A model would be highly sought after in some of the more elite world’s Michael sets up.” She swallows hard. “He has levels of girls. Gold, silver, platinum. Some are worth more risk.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “They think I can’t speak Spanish,” she surprises me by saying. “It’s how I got a lot of the information I gave you.”

  “That’s impressive, sweetheart,” I say. “You’d make a damn good agent.”

  “Thanks but no thanks on that,” she says, flattening her hand on the pad, seeming to want, and even need, to focus on the ad campaign. “I’m thinking of something like a really cool multi-color wire mannequin, with a dress hanging on it. The slogan would be: We design. You make the style. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s brilliant, even if you weren’t trying to get away from models.”

  “Brilliant,” she says, but she doesn’t look convinced. “I guess we’ll see if they’re as kind as you. I just need to put it on paper and make it look good.” She turns to the table and starts drawing, losing herself in what she’s doing, unaware that I get up and go get my computer. Or when I return and sit down next to her, and begin looking for Alvarez myself.

  And I leave her that absorbed in her work, watching with interest as her creation comes to life. Be
cause I know what survival looks like. It’s needing to do something, anything, to make a difference. It’s convincing yourself you’ll be here tomorrow to survive another day. It’s me promising her we’ll get out of here alive, and meaning it. Because if I don’t mean it, we won’t survive.

  And Myla is a master of this type of survival, even if she doesn’t know it. She finds a place to put what she doesn’t think she can handle, knowing when to seal the little cracks she feels surfacing. She did it when she exited the room when Royce and I were talking. She did it by grounding herself in what she calls “the plan”, not in defeat and misery. She did it when she refused to talk to Kara. Because she knows, and I see, that Kara is her strength and her weakness. The problem is that Alvarez clearly sees that, too. Which has a bad feeling forming in my gut. If Alvarez really is targeting Kara, how and why did Juan think Kara wasn’t ex-FBI? Something doesn’t add up, and I don’t like how it feels.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Myla

  It‘s the first day in fourteen months that I wake without a monster either in my bed or in my head. I blink awake to the first dawn of a new, better day, immediately aware of the heavy weight at my back, an arm draped over my waist, warmth filling me. Kyle. I smile with the memories of him carrying me to his room again last night, and of how I’d ended up in my current state of absolute nakedness.

  He’d set me down in front of the bed, dragging the shirt off of me, his shirt, his hands all over my body, his big, hard body pressing me into the mattress. His shirt had come off next, followed by his sweatpants. There had been kissing, licking, touching. But when he’d told me to turn over, I’d refused. I close my eyes now, reliving it.

  “No,” I said. “Not this time. This time I get to do the touching. This time I get to kiss you.” My hand flattens on his chest. “Lay on your back.”

  “No,” he says. “You-”

  I lean up and silence him with a press of my lips to his, my hand on his cheek, lingering there several beats before I pull back and let him see the truth of my words in my eyes. “I have not touched anyone because I wanted to touch them in a very long time. And I want to touch you.”