“Before you leave,” he says, drawing her attention and mine, since I have no idea what he’s about to say. “There’s going to be a security team coming in late this evening to install a new system and cameras,” he continues, clearly intent on giving his team full access to the building and being prepared for whatever comes our way. “I’m asking them to complete the task after hours as to not disrupt your work, but if you could make sure all appropriate people know as to not be concerned.”
“Of course,” Barbara says, her tone saying that her mind is clearly elsewhere at this point. “We appreciate the extra protection.” She’s gone by the time she’s spoken the words, leaving Kyle and I alone.
I grin and pick up my sketches, pointing to them, and feeling quite proud of myself for my morning success. No models. No more victims. Kyle winks, his eyes alight with understanding and support, and as I walk to the Keurig, I have this sense in that moment of really not being alone anymore. Unbidden though, when I reach for one of the chocolate coffee pods Michael had arranged for me, I hear his voice. Does it please you? The photo shoot comes to my mind, and I toss the pod in the trash, walk back to my desk, and reach for my sketchpad, pretending to work to hide my reaction from Kyle, who I can’t tell about this. He won’t want me to do it. I know he won’t, but if I refuse, there will be consequences none of us want to pay.
***
The day ends without a photographer or any contact to explain why, but that is not unlike Michael when he travels. His unpredictability is part of what makes him elusive to his enemies and the authorities. Kyle and Blake are determined to change that, though, planning a virtual hack party tonight, delayed by the need to keep my routine looking “normal” if anything about this life could be called such a thing. The instant we arrive in our room, Kyle and I change into workout clothes and head to the gym, even bypassing a scan of the room.
It’s on the treadmill, with Kyle by my side, that the photo session starts bothering me again and I’m not sure why. These are the kinds of control games Michael plays with me to prove he owns me. About ten minutes in, I decide I’m worried because I know this is going to upset Kyle, despite the fact that there is nothing dangerous about pictures. I can’t even call them demoralizing, considering the things Michael’s made me do or done to me. Twenty minutes into the run, I don’t think that’s what’s bothering me at all, but I don’t know what is. Thirty minutes in, I still can’t figure out what the heck is grinding at my nerve endings.
At the forty-minute mark, I have an epiphany that hits me like a heart attack and I punch the stop button on my machine, grab my towel, and force myself not to visibly show how freaked out I am right now. Kyle does the same and glances at me. “Are we done?”
“Yes. And I just remembered something I need to tell you back at the suite.”
“How important is this something?”
“I think you’d rate it as a “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” moment.”
“Okay then,” he says, wiping the back of his neck. “We’ll talk in the room where I can react accordingly.”
And we stick to that decision, enduring the ride upstairs and the walk down the hall to the room, in silence. Once we’re in our private space, Kyle flips the locks, points to the bedroom, and follows me inside. “Tell me,” he says, the instant he joins me.
“Don’t we need to…?” I motion to the room for a scan.
“We cancelled housekeeping and set up an alarm on the door today to let our team know when someone enters,” he says. “We’re clear. Tell me.”
“Michael-”
“Alvarez,” he bites out. “Call the fuckhead Alvarez.”
“Alvarez,” I say, thinking Kyle really isn’t going to be reasonable about those photos. “He told me that if he couldn’t come to me this weekend, he’d have me go to him.”
“And you said?”
“That I really didn’t want to leave before the store opening and I really wanted him to come see my work.”
“And?”
“He said he’d try but then he wanted to have photos taken of me today, but the photographer he was arranging didn’t show up.”
“What photos?”
“The photos aren’t important,” I say, going back to my point. “What’s important is that the photographer didn’t show up. Maybe he didn’t set it up because he’s coming here after all. And if he comes here now, there’s no way the FBI is ready. Royce was just calling them today.”
“He did call them and they’re actively involved,” he says. “We’ll be ready for him.”
“He could show up tonight for all we know.”
“Everyone is on standby for that possibility and if he’s flying in here tonight, Blake and I will find him.” He sits down at the desk and keys his computer to life.
“I want to help, then,” I say, joining him. “Tell me what to do.”
“Order us some food,” he says. “I’m starving.”
“That’s not helping.”
“I’m pretty fucking starving, sweetheart,”
“Okay, aside from the food. What can I do?”
“Start making a list of every detail you can remember from this past year. Any name, place, person, or company Alvarez ever associated with. Even favorite foods and restaurants are noteworthy. These things help more than you know.”
I key the other computer to life and pull up a Word document. He turns my chair around and faces me, his hands on the arms of my seat. “Food first, sweetheart.”
“I just want to do something to make a difference.”
“You have and we are. We’re going to be ready. I promise.”
“What if he insists I go to him this weekend?”
“Then we get those women out and we get out.”
“If we don’t get him, he’ll come after me and Kara, which means everyone in our circle, your circle, Kyle.”
“Not if he thinks you’re dead.”
“Yes well, about that plan,” I say, logic hitting me where hope had blinded me before. “Why do we believe he’ll think me dead any more than you did? If he wants me to go to him this weekend, I have to go.”
“You’re not going,” he says, his tone absolute. “We’ll find him.” He cups my face and kisses me. “I’ve got you now, sweetheart. You aren’t getting away.”
***
Kyle and Blake don’t find Alvarez, any more than the FBI does. For three mornings in a row, I wake up in Kyle’s arms with the knowledge that every effort we’ve made the day before to find him and be ready for what he does next, has failed. In fact, Michael is not only missing, but completely silent, zero communication with me at all. The possibilities are night and day: He’s either in hiding, something he does when he’s under an imminent threat, or planning to surprise me by showing up here this weekend.
With this in mind, come Friday morning, we are all up at the crack of dawn, preparing for what could be the day Michael shows up to see me, or sends someone to take me to him. I retreat to my bedroom to shower, and Kyle lets me, mostly I think because he’s talking back and forth with Royce and struggling to get in the shower. Alone for the first time in days, I remind myself that this is all bigger than me. I am not what’s important. Michael Alvarez is dangerous and even if we save those girls he’s kidnapped, there will be others if he escapes. The idea that I can stop him is a powerful drug, one I’ve lived on for a long time, and it fuels me now.
I dress with a potential confrontation in mind, choosing a black, fitted dress, the last one I have with me that reflects my obsession with front-zippered bodices. And while it allows for easy access to a weapon, I hesitate before I attach the gun to my bra, nervous about Michael finding out I’m wearing it. If he does, and I can’t shoot him and still protect those women, it could be me who dies.
Not allowing myself to think of such things, I flat-iron my hair to a sleek brown shine, and take extra care with my make-up to hide how sleep deprived I am, choosing a shiny red lipstick to draw attention
from my tired eyes. Finally, I make coffee and head to Kyle’s room, finding him at the bathroom sink, having just put a light blue and black striped tie through the collar of his starched white shirt.
“Coffee,” I say, walking to him and handing him his cup.
“Thank you,” he says, accepting it from me, his blond hair laying in long, sexy layers, his green eyes giving me a keen inspection. “How are you?” he asks, sipping from his cup, and sighing. “Damn, I needed that.”
“I thought you might,” I say. “You haven’t slept at all. How are you?”
He sets the cup on the counter and pulls me in front of him. “I’m fine. And you just avoided telling me how you are.”
“No. I didn’t. I’m just…here. That’s how I am when I’m preparing for him. Just here. I want to get this day over with.”
“I understand,” he says, and he does mean it, but he doesn’t understand. No one can understand what Michael Alvarez does to me, except me. And I don’t want them to ever have to understand. “Tonight, we might not even be here anymore. You might be-”
“Don’t, please,” I say, flattening my hand on his chest. “I can’t think like that. I have to accept being here, to keep being here, you know that.”
He gives me a grim, reluctant nod. “I do,” he agrees. “Give me five minutes and we’ll leave.”
“Okay,” I say, and when he kisses my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin, I feel his dread merge with mine.
I slip away from him, entering the bedroom, and sitting down at the computer, and my heart squeezes with the message that appears in the live chatroom. It’s from my sister: How is Myla? It reads next to her name. I don’t even hesitate to answer. I type: Nervous but good.
Kara: Define good.
Again, I don’t even think. I just type something our mother used to say: Splendid, darling.
Kara: Myla?
I type: Yes. My chest tightens and I add: I love you. I miss you but if I talk to you-
Kara: I know. Stay focused. Stay strong. I want to pull you out of there, but I know I can’t and it’s killing me. But I am so very proud of you for what you’ve made possible. You’ve already saved lives. I love you.
I swipe at the dampness on my cheeks and stand up, only to find Kyle standing right behind me. “You saw?”
“I saw,” he confirms.
“It just felt like time.”
“Then it was time,” he says, but I see in his eyes what I already know. I just told him I couldn’t connect with the possibility of an outside world, but I just did just that. And I know why I did it. I was afraid that when this day was over, I wouldn’t be able to tell Kara I love her.
Kyle pulls me to him, and says exactly what he did three nights ago. “I told you. I found you. I’m not letting you go.” I believe him, but what I don’t say to him is that if it means protecting him and Kara, as well as all of those innocent women – if it means destroying Michael Alvarez so he can’t hurt anyone else – I might have to let him go.
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.”