Kyle’s hand comes down on my arm. “She doesn’t have a choice. I’m in charge, per Mr. Alvarez. If he has a problem with my decision, tell him to call me.” He turns me and starts walking.
“Kyle,” I whisper.
“Not now. Not here.”
“But-”
“Not now, Myla,” he warns, his grip on my arm holding steady all the way back to my office. “Get your things,” he instructs as we enter, “and don’t ask me anything else yet.”
I do as he says, while he grabs his computer, then directs me out of the office, and the instant we’re outside, he shackles my arm again and leads me to the passenger door of the Mustang, where he helps me inside.
The instant he joins me, I twist around to face him. “What is going on?” I demand.
“Give me a minute, sweetheart,” he says, revving the engine and putting us into drive, multi-tasking to dial his phone. “Are we sure he wasn’t there?” he asks whoever answers, almost immediately. He listens a minute. “No,” he replies. “He wanted Myla to do something for him I didn’t let her do.” Another pause. “Yes. Right. That’s the plan.” Another pause. “Are we sure he isn’t at the hotel? Just be fucking sure.” He ends the call.
“Is he in the city?” I ask.
“We don’t think so,” he says, “but we can’t be certain.” He stops at a light. “We’re going to have a conversation before this night is over about what happened back there.”
I brush away his anger, focusing on the real threat. “He’s going to be furious.”
“Good,” he says. “Then maybe he’ll get his ass here where we need him.”
“The FBI is involved now” I argue. “They aren’t ready for the full outreach yet.”
“They have an emergency plan,” he says. “They can be ready if it means ending this.”
“What if he just decides to kill you for defying him?”
“He won’t.”
I twist around to look at him. “You don’t know that.”
“Calculated risks are necessary. I just took one.”
I shut my eyes and face forward, inside a Mustang that might not be spinning out of control, but I sure feel like we are.
***
Kyle
To say that I am pissed at Myla trying to sacrifice herself again is an understatement. We walk into the hotel room, and I head into the bedroom while she takes off for the living area. I dump her briefcase and my computer, and tell myself to calm the fuck down before I go after her, but fail in my effort. I pursue, catching her arm before she reaches the living area and push her against the wall, my legs framing hers.
“You will never do that again,” I growl. “You are not disposable. You are not porn.”
“And yet, you just put yourself on the assassination block? How is that different?” She grabs my jacket. “How is that different? You tell me to trust you. You tell me you aren’t letting me go, but then you invite a bullet to the head.”
My fingers slide under her hair, my hand wrapping the back of her neck to pull her mouth to mine. “I’m not letting you go,” I say, my mouth slanting over hers, my tongue stroking against hers in a hot, possessive claiming I don’t even try to tame. “He doesn’t get to kiss you.” My hand slides to her backside, melding her to me. “He doesn’t get to touch you. And he damn sure doesn’t get to see you in fucking lingerie. The only reason I get those things is because you let me, because you choose me.”
“I do choose you, Kyle.”
“Then no more him, ever. Say it.”
“No more,” she whispers.
“No more ever,” I say.
“No more ever,” she repeats, and we linger there, breath mingling, heat flaring between us until we are suddenly kissing, both of us wild with need. I barely remember how my zipper is lowered, how the thick pulse of my erection is between her legs and her panties are in my hand, torn away in a hard yank. But I damn sure remember lifting her and pressing inside her. Holding her against the wall and thrusting deep, hard, fast, the soft, sexy sounds she’s making, the way she clings to me, driving every move and pump of my body. She drives me wild, and it’s her who takes us over the edge, her body spasming around me, pulling me into release, taking me there the way she takes everything I am, and I can’t seem to find a reason that’s a problem.
When it’s over, we melt into each other, our breathing slowing, and I carry her into the bathroom of my bedroom, sitting her on the sink, and handing her a towel. Neither of us speak as we clean up, but once she’s tossed the towel, I press her knees together and settle my hands on top of them. “Myla,” I say softly. “I don’t want this for you anymore.”
“This is bigger than the two of us,” she says. “We both know that. That’s why you put yourself on the line. That’s why I might have to as well.”
“You’ve done your share. It’s time for someone else to do theirs.”
“And that’s you? You die instead of me? That’s unacceptable and if I have to take some damn pictures to protect you, me, and other people, it’s nothing compared to what I’ve endured.”
“Sweetheart-” My phone starts to ring and I reach for it. “Fuck. I have to-”
“I know. Get it.”
I glance down at the caller ID to find a masked number, turning away from Myla to answer. “This is Kyle.”
“Hola, Kyle,” comes a heavily accented male voice. “Explain to me why Myla is not at the photo shoot I set up for her.”
I walk into the bedroom, and sit down at my desk, keying in a message to Royce: Alvarez on my phone.
“My understanding was that you wanted her to stay alive and frankly, I plan to stay alive myself.”
“How does a photo shoot get either of you killed?”
“My understanding is that if she dies, I die. And you have enemies. I had no idea who was in that store, what they intended, or what they might do to hurt her. Not to mention that you’re fucking LeeAnn, who hates Myla and wants to replace her in every way. I assume since you’re paying me a million dollars to protect Myla, you don’t want that to happen.”
He’s silent for several beats. “We’ll postpone the photo shoot. What’s happening with Myla and her sister?”
“Myla wants nothing to do with her sister,” I say.
“How can you be sure?”
“My professional opinion,” I say, “and I have zero indication that I’m wrong.”
“You’re tracking her communications?”
“I have the records I can send you, but I am curious. Why did Juan tell me her sister is FBI when she’s ex-FBI?”
“FBI, ex-FBI. Semantics. And if you couldn’t figure out where she is and what she is, that would be a problem.”
“So you know where she is?”
“New York, married to Blake Walker, a pain in the ass, ex-ATF agent, both of whom I plan to kill when the time is right.”
So Myla is right. He’s setting Kara, and it seems, Blake up. “Which is when?”
“When they come for her, and they will.”
“Don’t you think I needed to know this?”
“Unless she tells her sister that she’s alive, they won’t come for her until we go public with the fashion line. I’ve yet to decide if you’ll be around when that time comes.”
“Well since my contract ends before that date, I’ll be gone.”
“I might make it worth your while to stay.”
“I might consider an offer,” I counter.
“We’ll talk when I get to Dallas.”
“Which will be when?”
He laughs. “Do you really think I’d announce that? Just do your job. Keep my woman safe.”
“About your woman,” I say, that term grinding on my nerves. “I assume Juan’s trusted with her?”
“Of course, Juan’s trusted.”
“Then he has special privileges with Myla?”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s afraid of him. I think he’s touched her and he tried
to get her alone today, but I didn’t let it happen. I don’t want to interfere if you share her with him.”
“No one touches her. She stays with you. Period. And if you touch her, I will cut your hands off. If you fuck her, I will shoot your dick off.”
“Okay then, I think we’re clear. If Juan tries, should I follow that protocol?”
“I’ll deal with Juan. What do you know about the FBI nosing around my operations?”
“Aren’t they always?”
“Present day and you knew what I meant.”
“I’m paid to protect Myla. I know nothing about the FBI investigation of you.”
“Two hundred thousand dollars says you do. Make this count. What do you know about the FBI nosing around my operations?”
“Someone close to you is talking.”
“How close?”
“I always say, look to the man trying to fuck your woman, and you find your enemy.”
He is silent, seconds ticking by like hours. “I’ll be in touch.”
The line goes dead and I dial Blake. “Alvarez knows you and Kara are married. He’s planning to kill you. Go to Italy now.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ll get Kara on a plane, even if I have to tie her up to do it. Are you sure he’s not playing you? Does he know who you are?”
“I’ve been off the grid since joining Walker. He doesn’t know me and Royce covered everyone’s tracks when they came here. We’re good. You’re not.”
“Be sure. Be really fucking sure.”
“I just talked to the man. I’m sure.”
“You talked to him?”
“I did and just go. Now.” I end the call and rotate to find Myla sitting on the bed. “You heard?”
“Of course I heard. They’re leaving?”
“Yes. They’re leaving. And Alvarez now trusts me and doubts Juan.”
“He’s smart. If he knows about Blake, he will know about the entire family.”
“But he doesn’t know we’re here. I’m sure of it.”
“He knows the FBI is looking into him, right? Is that what I heard?”
“Yes. He knows and he thinks Juan is behind it.”
“He’ll go underground for a few days and evaluate,” she says, “and if he decides he has to stay there, he’ll come for me. He’ll take me with him.”
“He’ll come for you and I’ll kill him. Then this is over.”
Chapter Nineteen
Myla
Michael Alvarez is lying on a table. He is naked. There is plastic wrap over his body. The room is wallpapered with the images of all the women he’s turned into sex slaves and all the kids who overdosed on his drugs. There are more on the ceiling, so many they are overlapping each other. I am in the outfit I wore the night I met him. The shirt pink. The jeans black. The boots with tiny silver buckles. I stand over him, a knife in my hand.
“Bella,” he murmurs. “Don’t do this. You love me. I love you.”
“I hate you,” I say, looking around the room. “They hated you.” I raise the knife, waiting to feel guilt over what I am about to do, but I do not. I want him dead. The world is a better place without him. But then something happens. The image shifts and it is me naked on the table, him standing over me, holding the knife.
“You betrayed me,” he says. “And know this, bella. I will kill everyone you love.”
I gasp and sit up, blinking the television screen into view and an image of Dexter, holding a knife above his victim. “Easy, sweetheart,” Kyle says from beside me, his voice bringing everything back to me. The living area floor. Chinese food. A Dexter marathon. Ten days of hearing nothing from Michael Alvarez. “You had a nightmare.”
“No more Dexter,” I say, pressing my face into my hands. “Turn it off. I just dreamed I was Dexter about to kill Alvarez, and then it reversed, and he was Dexter, about to kill me and everyone I love. How can he be this silent this long?”
He grabs the remote and turns off the TV. “You said he’s done this before.”
“He has, but I was always happy when he was gone. Now, I just want him to come here. I want to kill him.”
“We’re all fighting over that honor,” he says, pulling me into his arms, my head resting on his chest, his heart thundering beneath my ear, his hand on my head. I shut my eyes and the nightmare slams into my mind: “You betrayed me,” he says. “And know this, bella. I will kill everyone you love.”
I sit up. “Kara and Blake are still in Italy, right?”
“You were with me when I talked to Blake tonight. You know they are.”
“Right. Yes.” I lay back down and stare into the dimly lit room.
“That’s it,” Kyle says, sitting up and taking me with him. “You are making yourself crazy.”
“Dexter made me crazy. We’ve watched it every night for over a week.”
“You were obsessed,” he reminds me. “You wanted to watch it.”
“Because you got me addicted to it.”
He glances at his watch. “It’s midnight. We need a plan to relax you. A hot bath. Cartoons.”
“Cartoons?”
“No serial killers. Guaranteed.”
“Good point.”
“Or there is always my favorite distraction. Naked, wild, hot sex.”
“I vote for naked, wild, hot sex.”
He stands and pulls me to my feet. “A woman after my own heart.” He scoops me up and starts walking toward his bedroom, despite the master suite being closer. We avoid that room, I think because it reminds us of Michael Alvarez. It does to me and I don’t know why. Michael has never been here or in that bed. And hopefully he never will be.
***
Day Eleven
Still in my pink silk robe, I’m standing at the bathroom sink flat ironing my hair when Kyle walks in, already dressed in a blue pinstriped suit and looking like sin and sex. He leans on the counter next to me. “I have something for you.”
I set down my flat iron and face him, frowning as he holds up several jeweled bobby pins. “What are those?”
“A special tracking device the FBI has been working on for you,” he explains. “The first two have the actual chips in them. The third is just a hair clip that you can give to the staff and tell them you want it to be a part of your accessory line. That will keep it from looking odd that you’re wearing them all of the time.” He indicates his watch. “I have a tracker here as well.”
I take the bobby pins and fold my hand around them. “You’re afraid we’ll get split up.”
“I’m not going to let us get split up,” he promises, his hand settling on my hip. “But if we get ambushed and Alvarez is not present, we’re going to have to let them take us to him.” He gives me a keen look. “Are you prepared for that? Because if you-”
“I am. I can. Whatever it takes to get him.”
His expression fills with what I think is admiration. “You are so very brave, Myla.”
“No. I’m just pissed off. I’m angry. Whatever it takes to get him. Let’s do it.” I turn to the sink and slip those bobby pins into my hair, and I revel in the idea that I am now the single most dangerous person Michael Alvarez ever met.
***
I wake on day twenty-four of Michael’s silence in Kyle’s arms. Yesterday was day twenty-three. Tomorrow will be day twenty-five. I wonder if this is a test or a strategy to make us both crazy. “Do you know what I want?” Kyle asks, letting me know he’s awake and knows I am as well.
Rolling around to face him, I curl my fingers on his freshly stubbled jaw. “Coffee?”
His lips curve. “Coffee is good, but I was thinking bigger.”
“Pancakes again?”
“Yes and no. I want to wake up with you in my bed.”
“I am in your bed.”
“My real bed in New York. My apartment is only a few miles from where Kara and Blake live.”
“I’m curious about your man cave. Take me there.”
“I will, Myla. I am going to take
you there.”
I smile, and it is a smile I feel to my soul, but it fades quickly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid it won’t happen. I’m afraid. I hate that I’m afraid. How can I be afraid of so much when I lived so many months without that emotion?”
“It’s called waking up,” Kyle says. “I’ve lived it after a few undercover operations. It’s bittersweet pleasure. You’re you again, but what you did when you weren’t is still there, haunting you, sometimes clawing at your soul.”
“There is something to be said for what you don’t know, or let yourself realize, not being able to hurt you,” I say. “It worked for me.”
“But it can hurt you,” he says. “It just takes you off-guard when it does, and when that happens, that’s when you’re broken.”
I sink deeper into the pillow, not sure how I feel about that, because I am waking up, and when Michael returns, I’ll be awake to live it.
***
On the twenty-seventh night of silence, three eves before the opening event at the store, I remember falling asleep in Kyle’s arms, his heart thrumming beneath my ear. But it is not long before a fit of nightmares follow, mostly about my months with Michael Alvarez. I remember Kyle comforting me. I remember falling back to sleep. I remember the first moment of tragedy in my life.
I am in the corner of the closet, fifteen going on twenty until this moment, when I feel ten, tears streaming down my cheeks. Kara, not much older than me, is hugging me. “Shhh,” she whispers. “Don’t cry.” The sound of my mother’s scream fills the air, and I sob, but Kara covers my mouth. The memory flashes forward, to the funeral. I am dressed in black, on my knees in front of my parents’ caskets. Kara, is beside me, hugging me. “We will always have each other. Remember that, sis. We are not alone.”
I sit up straight, looking around the brightly lit room, to find Kyle missing. Throwing off the covers, I hurry through the apartment and find him in the kitchen in nothing but pajama bottoms, his chest bare, his hair a sexy, mussed up mess. His eyes light on me and then narrow with concern. “What’s wrong? Aside from a night of nightmares.”
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