“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.