It jolts her. I see it in her eyes, and she reacts, cutting her stare, to murmur, “I hope you’re right,” before with a trembling hand, she answers the call. “Hello,” she says, pushing around me to exit the bathroom and enter the bedroom. Seeing this as an opportunity to assess her relationship with Alvarez, I stay where I’m at, listening and observing, in search of the true heart of Myla. “Sorry,” I hear her say. “I had to run to the bathroom and left it on the bed. Yes. I know. I was just a minute.” There are beats of silence, then, “Of course I knew you monitored me. I didn’t know it was a secret, but I do wish that you knew that wasn’t necessary. Not with me, Michael.”
It’s exactly the right thing to say to feed the narrative I’ve set up. She wants his trust. He can give it to her and with it, enough freedom for me to walk her out of here without gunfire, but then there is silence. And more silence, and without seeing her face, I can’t know if that’s trouble I need to be ready to handle. Standing, I exit the bathroom, bringing the bedroom into view, finding her sitting on the couch, her body angled away from me, the phone at her ear, as if she’s trying to shut me out. I lean on the wall, listening, waiting. And watching.
“He’s fine,” she finally says. “He’s better than Juan. You know how I feel about Juan.” She hesitates. “I want you to trust me. You can trust me. I know it’s hard for you to believe it anyway, but you won’t be sorry for this.”
The sincerity in her voice grinds along my nerve endings with such force, it damn near crushes bones. Maybe she’s gotten really good at faking it with this man. Or maybe she’s actually come to care for him, even if it’s Stockholm syndrome, or simply her mind’s way of letting her survive. But if I assume she’s just surviving, when she might really be in love with Alvarez, the people who care about her, and that I care about, could end up dead.
“I will,” she promises. “Yes. I’m very excited about my meetings tomorrow and about how this helps you, too.” There is more silence. Then, “Yes. Goodnight.” She ends the call and stands, whirling around to face me, steel in her eyes. “You’re playing with fire. You’re missing the big picture and you need to get a view right now.”
“It sounded to me like the call went well.”
“A call means nothing,” she says. “It’s a temporary reprieve for both of us but we’re in the same hotel room around the clock for weeks. Those recording devices made sure he didn’t have to use his imagination about what’s happening when we’re alone. The minute he decides we’re sleeping together, we’re dead.” Somehow we’ve moved to the middle of the room, standing toe-to-toe again, as if a magnetic pull wants us together, and she realizes it at the same moment as me. I see it in her eyes. Feel it in the shift in the air. “This is dangerous,” she whispers, and it’s clear she’s talking about us.
“But I’m not,” I promise her, “and on some level you knew that, or you wouldn’t have pushed me to take this job.”
“I don’t know what I thought. I don’t know what I think now, but Michael’s possessive. The longer you’re with me and unmonitored, the more he’ll read into who and what we are.”
“Do you really want him to read into every interaction we have?”
“No, but…maybe you taking this job was a mistake.”
“Nothing about this feels like a mistake,” I assure her, letting her read whatever she wants into it. “You need protection and I’m going to do whatever it takes to ensure you stay safe. So yes. I’m close and if I have to get closer, I will.”
“What part of “you’re going to get us killed,” do you not understand?”
“No one is dying that I don’t kill or let die.”
“No one lives that Michael Alvarez wants dead,” she counters, her eyes narrowing, realization of some sort filling her face. “You’re not afraid.” She sucks in air and then lets it out, before calmly asking, “This is part of the test, isn’t it?”
“I’m the one who told you about the test in the first place.”
“What better way to make me trust you and then try to convince me to turn on Michael?”
“No,” I say, my voice hard steel. “That is not what is happening here. I’m not setting you up.”
“But I can’t know that, now can I?” She takes several steps backwards. “Please go.”
“I’m not setting you up,” I repeat, my voice as solid as the wall I can feel between us now that she reinforces by once again folding her arms in front of her. “Myla-”
“I need you to leave and please shut the door behind you.”
The urge to refuse, and to demand she trust me, is instant, but I have to force myself to repeat the golden rule of undercover work: Earning trust is critical. Earning trust takes time you won’t want to give it. And finally, assuming you have it too soon, can get you and everyone else killed. Accepting these things, knowing they are about survival, I inhale, and with Herculean effort, force myself to walk to the doorway, pausing under the archway without turning.
“I explained my motives and they stand. I’m looking out for only two people. You and me and no one else.”
Exiting into the living area, I pull the door shut behind me, accepting the divide she’s demanded, but not for long. In fact, as I walk away, something is clawing at me, warning me that I’m missing something. I stop walking, fighting the urge to return to Myla, every instinct I’ve honed over the years telling me to pull Myla close and keep her there, and do it really damn fast.
Chapter Four
Kyle