“He said he wasn’t, but he could be,” I say. “There is no way to be sure with him.”
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I had better make some calls and try to find out.” He kisses my forehead. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, hoping I convince us both that I am. “Make the calls, Kyle. Do what you need to do.”
He hesitates but releases me, already pulling his phone from his pocket, motioning toward two cups he’s set on the desk. “Don’t drink that. It’s insanely strong. I didn’t test it until I was walking back to the room.”
“I can make more,” I say, welcoming something to do. “How do you like it?”
“Half cream and lots of sugar,” he says, and I start to walk away as he catches my arm. “I know you aren’t fine, so I’m not going to ask if you are.”
“I am,” I insist. “Really.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, “but I’m going to fix that. I promise.” He releases me and I all but run into the hallway, not sure why I’m this rattled. Kyle is here and amazing. My sister is safe, and yet one phone call from Michael and I am unsteady, rattled to the core. I bypass the kitchen, choosing the bedroom instead, and the minute I see my neatly made bed, survival instincts kick in. I cross the room, tear away the blankets and then just for good measure, roll around in it a few times. Satisfied it looks slept in, I walk to the bathroom, brush my hair and teeth, but at no time do I look in the mirror, and I know why. The old me is surfacing, and I don’t want to see her. She can’t be here. She is too weak. She can’t survive. And I am going to survive.
I start to exit the bathroom when memories assail me. Me tied to a bed for hours on end. Michael using me like I’m some sort of doll, jacking off over and over, sometimes on me. Fucking other women he let touch me. I hate him. I hate him so much. I blink and I’m staring at myself in the mirror and I’m right. The old me is here, but she isn’t weak. She is angry. She wants to kill him. I shove off the counter I’ve somehow leaned over. I am going to kill him before this is over.
***
Kyle
My first call when Myla leaves the room is to Royce, who needs to be ready for Alvarez to show up at any moment. My second is to Blake. “Tell me you have someone for me on Alvarez,” I say when he answers.
“Fuck no,” he says. “Kara and I’ve been up all night trying to find him. He’s a ghost and fucking Honduras makes that an easy thing to be.”
“He called Myla this morning. He’s on a plane moving to an undisclosed location. I need to know it’s not here.”
“Have you traced the call? It’s doubtful, but that might give us an originating point.”
“Not yet,” I say, my eyes landing on her phone on the nightstand, “and Blake, man, if I give you the number, Kara cannot call her.”
“Give her some credit, man. She knows she’s operating like she’s undercover. She gets the psychology of it all.”
I grab the phone and look at the caller ID. “The number he called from was blocked, of course,” I say, “and I have no fucking clue why I haven’t asked her for his number.”
“He won’t have one,” Blake says, “but I have magic fingers. I can do a lot with her number. What’s her number?” I hesitate and he knows. “Give me the fucking number, Kyle, or I will come there, bring Kara, and get it myself.”
Grimacing, I give him the number. “If he shows up here-”
“Kill him,” he says. “We have the locations where the women are now. We’ll get them out. You just keep him the hell away from Myla.”
“We both know we can’t be sure we’ll save those women that way.”
“We will save them.”
“Just fucking find him, Blake,” I say, hanging up, my gaze lifting to the doorway where Myla now stands holding two cups of coffee, her expression unreadable. “I talked to Royce first,” I explain as if she’s asked, “but bottom line. He’s one of the best hackers in the world. We need him looking for Alvarez.”
“I understand,” she says, crossing to hand me my coffee. “I promise.”
“He wants to know if you have a number you call Alvarez on,” I say, accepting the cup.
“No number.”
“Ever?”
“Ever,” she confirms.
“What comes up on your phone when he calls you?”
“It’s always blocked.” She changes the subject. “Is Kara with Blake?”
“She is and she’s trying to help.” I sip my coffee. “Perfect. Thank you.”
“Of course,” she says, her expression solemn. “Now I feel like I need to talk to Kara.”
“No,” I say. “You don’t.”
“No?”
“No. Your instincts to say you shouldn’t see her now were right.”
“Why were they right?”
“You know that answer.”
“Because I’ll worry about her and I’ll get reconnected to a world I can’t quite have yet.”
“Exactly,” I say. “You can’t reconnect with the real you, or you’ll make mistakes. And Kara knows this. Blake just told me she does.”