Chapter Eighteen

Myla

Nothing happens. All day we wait, and wait, and wait some more for word from Michael, but nothing happens. Evening arrives, and Kyle and I linger in my office near closing, in no hurry to leave, simply because the building is surrounded and we’re protected. Finally though, it’s inevitable that we leave. 

“He’ll be waiting for me at the hotel,” I say, packing up my briefcase. “That has to be what’s happening.”

“We’d know if he was there,” Kyle says, stepping to the front of my desk, his back to the open door. 

“Like the FBI knew where he was the past fourteen months?”

“We’d know,” he reiterates. 

“Forgive me if I’m not confident,” I say. “But I’m not confident.”

“Knock, knock.”

At the sound of Heather’s voice, Kyle steps aside, giving me a view of her holding up a white box with a red ribbon. “I was about to leave when this came for you,” she says, grinning with the excitement of the unknown, while my stomach knots with the certainty that Michael is near. “It looks exciting,” she says, rushing forward and setting it on my desk. “Can I see what it is?” 

“I think it’s one of those gifts you look at by yourself,” I say, aware of Kyle’s heavy stare resting on me and the package. 

She laughs, shoving long blonde hair behind her ear. “One of those fun packages. I’m jealous.” She eyes Kyle, who’s standing to the left of her, looking stoic and unaffected, when I know better. “Ah well, then,” she says. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Heather,” I say, watching as she leaves, Kyle right behind her to shut the door.

I grab the card on top of the box, trying to open it, but my stupid hand shakes. Kyle is there in an instant, opening it for me, and much to my distress, he reads it out loud: This is for your sexy photo shoot, bella. Another surprise to follow. Michael.

He gives me a hard stare, and grabs the box, and opens it to reveal a red lace bra and panty set, with garters. “What the fuck is this?”

“I told you-”

“You said there were some kind of photos, not that he wanted to turn you into a porn star.”

“I design lingerie, too.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Because it’s pictures, not him touching me, and if that’s what it takes to keep him happy and finally end his reign of horror, I’ll do it.”

His rejection is instant. “No, you won’t, he could use those pictures on porn sites. Hell, he will use them.”

My throat thickens. “He won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he bites out.

“He has pictures of me,” I spit out. “Horrible pictures, and you haven’t found them while you looked for me. He wants to own me. I’m his possession.”

He presses his hands on the desk. “You are not his possession and I’ll find the pictures-”

“Please don’t. I can’t bear the idea of you seeing them.”

“Myla,” he says softly. “That does not matter to me.”

“It matters to me. And I have to do this.”

There’s another knock on the door, and he firms his voice again. “You will not do this and you will listen to me.”

“You can’t-”

“Don’t think I can’t stop you, because I will. You take my lead on whatever happens next. The end.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, walking to the door and opening it. 

“What do you need?” he all but growls. 

“I need to talk to Myla.”

At the sound of LeeAnn’s voice, I welcome anything that might give me an excuse to work late and perhaps miss the photographer that may well show up at the hotel. It’s impossible to know with Michael. “What is it, LeeAnn?” I ask, forcing Kyle to take a step back and let her enter.

“I was instructed to take you for a little surprise,” she says, her tone less than pleased. “It’s inside the new store.”

“Instructed by who?” Kyle asks.

“Mr. Alvarez,” she says, brushing a wavy lock of red hair out of her face. “He’s been planning this all week. He said you should bring the gift he sent you as well.”

“Oh,” I say. “Of course.” Then saying what Michael would expect, I add, “This is fun,” only I sound more like it’s torture.

LeeAnn doesn’t seem to notice, giving a smirk. “Right. Fun. He said you’d say that.” She eyes the box on the desk. “Grab your gift and let’s get going.” 

“I’ll carry it,” Kyle says, scooping it up. 

“That won’t be necessary,” LeeAnn says. “She’s to come with me alone.”

“That’s not happening,” he says, removing his phone from his pocket to look at a text, his expression unreadable. 

“We’re inside the facility,” she argues. “Didn’t you have security installed a few days ago?”

“The security for Myla is me,” he says, typing a return message to whoever contacted him and then returning his cellphone to his pocket.

 “She’s just going with me,” LeeAnn snaps irritably. “It’s no different than her walking down the hall with Barbara.”

“Aside from Barbara actually liking her?” he asks dryly. “She’s not going with you alone.” 

LeeAnn doesn’t deny his statement. “Fine,” she says, turning her attention to me. “Follow me.” She rotates on her heel, and I inhale a deep breath, my gaze colliding with Kyle’s. He motions me forward, his expression hard, his mood dark and focused. I want to ask about his plan and about the text message, but I am aware that Michael could be here, and catching him could make the timing critical. 

And so I walk forward, entering the hallway, my heart thundering in my ears. And considering the storefront is on the other end of the building, it’s not a short trip, nor does LeeAnn slow or look for me even once. Even when we arrive at the entrance, and she faces us, she focuses on Kyle, not me. “You can wait out here.”

“Not happening,” he says. 

She makes a frustrated sound. “This is private,” she says. “Not for your eyes.”

“Vague statements get you nowhere with me,” he replies. “What’s inside?”

“Her newly decorated storefront for her viewing.”

“And what else?” he asks. 

“At Mr. Alvarez’s request, we’re doing a private photo shoot of Myla in her clothing line.”

“We being who?” he presses. 

“We have a photographer and several models,” she says, and I know that means that I’m expected to “perform” with them for the camera. 

“Those people are in the storefront now?” I ask. 

“Yes.” 

“I haven’t met them, or checked them out,” he says. “In other words, this “surprise” is put on hold.” He shoves the box in his hand at her.

“Mr. Alvarez will not be pleased,” she says, forced to take it, and finally looking at me. “You know he will not be pleased.”

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.”