Twelve months of looking for Myla… That I’ve found her hits me as I walk to the spare bedroom by the front door, and I come to the realization just inside the entryway, my fists pressed to the wall, my head low between my shoulders. “Twelve months,” I repeat softly, the timeline surreal. “Twelve months and I found her.” Twelve months of knowing in my gut that she wasn’t dead, and living with an intense drive to find her.
No. It was an intense need, like I was supposed to be the one who saved her. But I haven’t. Not yet.
Now I need to think through a way to make that happen. I replay my interactions with Myla, looking for her motives, her alliances that I might have to fight. My first focus is on the very real fear in her eyes, but I quickly dismiss that as a conclusive way to evaluate where she is with Alvarez. Lord only knows that I understand how you can condition yourself to feel, and even embrace fear, as a way of being reminded that you’re alive. It can be a high you start craving and even needing. So I move on, remembering the shared looks between myself and Myla, so intense that she’d called us “dangerous.” I come to one conclusion. If she is truly seduced by this life, or by Michael Alvarez, even by way of being brainwashed, there is no way the attraction between us—and there is an attraction between us—could have been this hot and instant. Out of the blue, her statement about Kara replays in my head: I have no intention of contacting my sister now or ever. Those words deliver a jolt of reality and a rationale as to why she’s seemingly loyal to a kingpin.
Shit. I push off the wall, and run my hand over the newly forming stubble on my jaw. I’m speculating, but I have damn good instincts, along with a year of studying all things Myla. I would bet money that Myla believes Alvarez will hurt Kara if she does anything but show undying devotion to him. And the thing is, I believe she’s right, a problem Royce and I never talked about because we simply didn’t think finding Myla would be this easy, if at all. Cursing softly at what could be an imminent threat to Kara, I push off the wall and start unpacking my equipment, with the goal of securing the room and setting up private communication I can use to contact Royce.
A few minutes later, I’ve unpacked, set up three MacBook Pros on the desk, and claimed the chair in front of them, two of the dozen disposable phones I have with me charging next to me. I then move on to a quick hack of the hotel computer system, pulling up views inside and outside the building, though irritatingly nothing for this floor, where you’d think high profile clients would dictate monitoring. Once I have eyes on every spot I can manage, and I’ve confirmed nothing is needing attention at the moment, I reach for a phone, but hesitate as I glance at the door I don’t want to shut.
I leave the phone where it’s plugged in, and instead return to my keyboard, opting to activate a private messaging system to ping Royce and type: The assignment starts now. I’m in the private wing of the hotel for several months.
Royce: Who are you protecting?
Caution prevails, out of fear Kara and Blake are with him and I type: Are you alone?
Royce: Yes. Can you call me?
I really need to have a real conversation with him, but concerned the exterior hallway outside the room might be bugged, I’m stuck right where I’m at, with Myla in potential hearing distance. Standing, I scan the area and head to the bathroom, stepping inside to muffle the sound, but still managing to maintain a view of the hallway before punching in Royce’s number.
“Talk to me,” he demands, answering almost instantly.
“I will,” I say, “but softly. I’m not in as private of a location as I like. However, I’m in the private wing of the hotel, where they want me to work for the next eight weeks.”
“Protecting who?”
“Myla,” I breathe out, keeping my voice low. “I’m protecting fucking Myla.” Even saying those words is surreal.
“You have to be shitting me.” He sounds as disbelieving as I felt when I first saw her. “You have Myla?”
“I do. She’s still his woman, but in my professional opinion, she’s surviving and protecting Kara only.”
“Holy fuck. Of course, Kara would be his leverage against her, and so would any other family she had, if they existed. Is she suffering from Stockholm syndrome?”
“Considering how quickly she gravitated toward me, I don’t think so, but she’s scared. I think she might panic if she finds out I’m connected to Kara and I’m not sure how she’ll react. But my gut instinct is to get her out of here quickly, even if I don’t tell her what’s going on before we extract her.”
“If we do that, then we force her, Kara, and Blake into hiding for the rest of their lives if we aren’t careful. Hell. We might force ourselves there.”
“Then we have to do a turnaround on him. Let’s make him think she’s dead.”