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 temporary 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. 

It’s in that moment that Kyle’s gaze catches mine, and in its depths I see genuine concern, but there is also a promise of protection, and this kind of cool calmness somehow reaches across the table and soothes my frazzled nerves. Suddenly, I am not alone, and while thinking I am not might be dangerous, I can’t seem to care. He is here. He makes at least this one afternoon bearable. 

It’s three o’clock when Barbara finally leads me down a hallway to the design studio, but just as we’re about to enter, she’s called to the lobby, and I pause at the door to wait on her, which leaves me alone with Kyle. “What’s was going on with you in the conference room?” he asks softly, more of that genuine concern in his voice I’d seen in his eyes earlier.

 “Nothing that isn’t always going on,” I assure him, hating this biting emotion in my chest. “I should go on inside.” Afraid if I say more, I might lose my necessary composure, and knowing he isn’t likely to grab me and delay my departure, I turn away, but he firmly orders, “Stop.”

Inhaling, I face him. “Kyle, please I-”

“That nothing was something. I need to know what it is to protect you.”

“It’s nothing you can protect me from.”

“I can and will protect you, but I need details.”

“It’s not about danger,” I say. “Not really. Michael called. He hit some nerves and I can’t seem to shake them.”

“What nerves, sweetheart?” he murmurs softly. “Did he threaten you?” 

“It’s nothing new,” I repeat. “He’s coming back in a week.”

“When was he supposed to come back?”

“Two weeks. But you never know with him. Please let this go right now so I can try to let it go.” 

He gives me one of those intense, green eyes stares, and then nods. “Okay. But-”

“I know. You’re here and I actually really appreciate that.” I don’t wait for his reaction, instead entering the design room, which is lined with sewing machines, and filled with tables and a good dozen mannequins in random locations. In the center of it all, at the only round table, surrounded by six helpers, is a stunning redhead I know to be fashion designer LeeAnn Orlando. So intent is she and those around her on whatever she is saying, that no one seems to notice my entry. A good minute passes and I’m still standing here. Feeling awkward, I decide to walk around the mannequins, a little thrill with each of my designs, I pass and approve. That is, until I stop in front of what is supposed to be my all-time favorite gown, one that my mother started to design first, only to find it has gone horribly wrong. First of all, it’s a pale pink, not the emerald of my mother’s eyes, and the waist and bodice are just plain all wrong. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. This is all fake. It’s not me. It’s not a real clothing line, but I find myself turning around, and irritated to find that that I’m still being ignored. 

“Excuse me,” I call out, at the same moment Kyle enters the room, assuming guard just inside the door, while LeeAnn continues to keep on with the snub. “Excuse me,” I call out a little louder, and this time she glances up, irritation etched on her pretty face, arrogance in her demeanor that says that I am beneath her. 

“Yes?” she asks. 

“Can I please discuss this design with you?” I ask, indicating the dress. 

Reluctance radiates from what has to be every particle of her being, but she crosses the room to stand in front of the mannequin with me. “What can I do for you?”

“I should introduce myself,” I say. “I’m-” 

“Of course I know who you are.”

There is a slap to those words. “Obviously you’re no fan.”

“I’m a fan of fashion, not people.”

“Well then this dress is not the fashion statement intended. The waist, bodice and color are off.”

“The color is set to the season of release, which is summer. The bodice and waist had to be adjusted to be workable.”

“I’ve made this dress myself. The bodice and waist were just fine, and I want the green I requested.”

She rolls her eyes. “Look, Myla. I know you think you’re in charge, but there is a reason Michael hired me.”

Michael. She called him Michael. I am stunned when I should not be, and in fact, I’d celebrate any affair between them if I wasn’t clear on her role now. She is how this label would exist without me. She makes me disposable, but I do not dare blink. “And Michael put me in charge,” I say, my well-honed survival skills kicking in. “Which is why I won’t waste his time involving him in this. Now, if we can’t come to terms on this dress, but most importantly, my role here versus yours, then I will make it clear to him that I’m interviewing new designers. Think about it overnight and we’ll chat tomorrow morning.” I don’t give her time to reply, crossing the room, leaving the gauntlet on the ground, the shattering of my admiration for one of my idols, with it. 

Kyle is, of course, watching my approach without reaction, when I know he’s heard the exchange. His expression is unreadable, his stare hooded, the door opening beside him as Barbara appears. “The models are beginning to arrive,” she says eagerly. “Come. We’re in the room off the reception area.” She waves me forward and disappears again. 

I glance at Kyle. “Models,” I say. “You should enjoy this part of the day.” 

“The only woman I’m watching is you,” he assures me, a hint of something warm slipping into his tone. 

I swallow hard, not sure why, but in that moment, I feel vulnerable with this man, exposed in ways I have never been with Michael Alvarez, and my defenses rise. “I guess that’s what you get paid the big bucks for,” I spout, and it’s not only out-of-character snideness, but I regret it the moment I say it. 

He doesn’t like it either, the glint in his eyes a telltale sign that says he wants to reply, but it is gone an instant later, and so am I. Exiting into the hallway, heading toward the lobby. I’m almost there, when I stop and face him. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” he asks. 

“About what I just said,” I explain, and realizing I’ve already brought too much attention to us, I enter the lobby. “Where am I going?” I ask Heather. 

She smiles and motions me toward a door, but her face freezes as her attention shifts to Kyle. Poor thing. Michael is right on one thing. His normal crew would not work out here. Kyle might be intimidating big, quiet, and good looking, but those guys look like they will corner you alone at any moment. And they will, I think, my gut twisting with a memory I cannot allow to surface right now. 

Stopping at the door, I turn to Kyle, lowering my voice for his ears only. “Heather can’t take you standing by her desk the entire time I’m in here. You have to come inside.” 

His lips quirk ever so slightly and he gives me a nod before we enter the room, me first, and we find a row of five chairs in front of some sort of a red carpet I assume is meant to be the runway. Barbara motions me forward to join her, then points for both me and Kyle to sit. “This is your runway show,” she says, handing me her clipboard. “Names. Agencies. Stats. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I say, feeling excited all over again, and hating how easily that keeps happening, but the thrill is gone the instant the first girl enters the room and starts strutting her stuff. She’s gorgeous. She’s perfect. She’s everything Heather is at that receptionist desk, which is perfect for the slave trade operation Juan and Ricardo recruit for every chance they get. I need to get her out of here. I mark her card with a negative. Three more girls walk for us, and I do the same. I’m starting to feel sick. I can’t hire models. I have to find a way out of this.

Barbara waits until I’ve declined girl number five before standing in front of my chair, hands on hips. “What isn’t clicking?” 

“I don’t know,” I say, and afraid just coming here is putting the girls on the wrong radar, I change direction. “Maybe I should look through the agency books before we have more come out?”

 “We have ten more lined up,” she says, “and we need to shoot the campaign in the next three weeks to make the launch publication dates for the top five fashion magazines.”

Top five fashion magazines. My designs. My dream. But these girls are potentially in hell. I’m back to this being a nightmare. “I’m sure I’ll find someone,” I lie. I’m not going to find anyone. I’m not going to let this happen.

“We need three girls for the plan you approved earlier.”

“Yes, I meant three.”

“Maybe if I leave you alone.” She glances at Kyle. “What are your thoughts?”

“I’m just waiting for one of them to pull a gun so I can shoot them,” he says, in a completely dry tone. 

I gape at him and Barbara chuckles, waving a finger at him. “You have a sense of humor you hide beneath that robot shell after all.” She glances at me. “I’m going to send another in.”

I nod and she walks away, and the minute the door shuts, Kyle leans forward, elbows on his knees. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“Same as always,” I whisper, but I don’t look at him, because that bubble has started again, and it’s a big one, a really, really big one. “I think I’m going to talk to them about a more iconic kind of campaign. A decadent cherry, though I have no idea how cherries mean clothing. I will figure it out.”

“Myla-”

The door opens again and another woman is walking the floor, but I’m not really seeing her, and Kyle isn’t watching her either. He’s watching me. He’s seeing too much. He knows I don’t want to be here, and there is no way I can deny that any longer. I don’t want to be here. I barely make it through the rest of the girls. Finally it’s over, and Barbara is ridiculously sweet about me declining them all. 

“We can look at model books tomorrow,” she says, “and have another round sent over. It’s only Monday. We have all week to get this nailed down. We just need to do it by Friday.” 

“That sounds good,” I say, when it doesn’t at all.

The next few minutes become a blur. I grab my purse and briefcase and Kyle is forever by my side. We exit the building and he holds the door for me. Once we’re inside the Mustang, sealed into the safe zone of being alone, he doesn’t turn on the car. “What happened in there?”

“A lot,” I say, turning to look at him. “I’m not going to pretend it didn’t, because you know it did.”

“Tell me.”

“Not now and maybe not ever. I’m not making a decision about trusting you right now in this moment. I need to get on a treadmill. I need to clear my head. I need to leave here now.” 

“Then we go,” he says, cranking the engine, and putting us in reverse. And oh, how I wish I could go in reverse and turn back time. If only I hadn’t taken that waitress job. If only I hadn’t gone to San Francisco for a job in fashion. But I can’t go back and I have to face facts. Michael threatened Kara. He sees her as a lingering threat he wants addressed. He absolutely will kill her if I don’t find a way to contain her. He will kill her if I run. He will use those models for his sex trafficking if I’m here or if I’m gone. He has to be stopped. And I’ve fought too hard and long to fail now. I need a revised plan. 

And at the core of that plan I have to consider the man sitting next to me being either my only ally or my worst enemy.