“I’m following another car. I have no idea.”
It’s a smart reply that may or may not be true, but gives me no room to argue. I lean back in the seat, reluctantly holstering my weapon, as the car starts to move. I don’t look at Myla, nor does she me. We just endure the ride, and it doesn’t take long for me to figure out why Juan didn’t push to search us. Not only are we sandwiched between two cars, we’re headed to a small airport outside the city, and once we’re in the air, any such device will be inactive. No one will be able to find us. We have to hope like hell that Alvarez is on that plane, and we never leave the ground.
I know the minute Myla realizes the same, her fingers curling on her lap, then sliding down to the seat where she discreetly presses her hand to my leg, like touching me comforts her, like she needs to reassure herself I’m here. And holy hell, I want to grab her and hold her, and it hits me that there are things I need to say to her in case anything goes wrong. Somehow, some way, I have to find that moment, and make it happen.
We pull into the private airfield, and Myla leans closer to the driver. “Is Michael here? Is he in the plane?”
“I have no idea,” the driver claims. “I just drive.”
And he does, straight onto the airfield where a large private jet awaits us, the car in front of us halting, as we do the same, followed by the sedan behind us. Our driver gets out of the car and knowing we may not survive this, I gamble there’s no bug, turning to Myla, and discreetly grabbing her hand. “I need to tell you something.”
“I’m nervous,” she says. “I don’t know if I can still fake it with him anymore. I’ve been away from him and-”
“You can. You will. And this is not how I wanted to tell you this, but I love you. I am so fucking in love with you. I think I was even before I met you, as crazy as that sounds even to me.”
“Why are you saying this now? Stop staying it like it’s goodbye. It’s not goodbye.”
The door opens behind her, forcing me to let go of her hand, and she mouths, “I love you, too,” before she rotates to exit the car. I stay with her, ready to grab her if necessary. Hell, I just go ahead and do it.
I step to her side and shackle her arm, while Juan appears in front of us. “Inside the plane,” he orders.
“Is Michael here?” Myla asks eagerly.
“Go inside and find out,” Juan says, a snide taunt to his voice, his eyes meeting mine, a challenge in their depths I plan to counter with a bullet between his eyes.
My hand goes to my gun. “She’s not getting on that plane until I talk to Alvarez.”
“Do you really think you can resist at this point?”
“Do you really want to risk her getting hurt in the struggle?”
His thin lips get thinner and he pulls his phone from his pocket, punching in a number and then listening a moment. “He wants to talk to you.” Juan hands me the cellphone.
“Kyle here,” I say.
“Had you let her get on that plane without contacting me,” Alvarez says. “I would have killed you.”
“Why am I taking orders from Juan?”
“I have plans for him,” he says. “Don’t worry about him.”
“I seem to remember we discussed the opposite.”
“That order stands.”
“So I do need to worry about him?” I ask, looking directly at Juan, and making damn sure he knows we’re talking about him.
“Keep her close and him at a distance.”
“You realize what a conflicting message that is?”
“That message will become crystal clear in about four hours. Let me talk to Myla.”
“Where are we going?”
“I repeat. Let me talk to Myla.”
I hand the phone to Myla. She presses it to her ear, her gaze going to Juan, who’s staring at her, which prompts her to give him her back. “Where have you been?” she asks, eager. “I was worried.” She is silent for several beats. “Yes. I’m glad. See you soon.” She rotates forward again and hands me the phone. “He hung up.”
Juan reaches for it, yanking it from my hand. “Angry much?” I ask, with an arched brow.
“Just get in the damn plane.”
I shackle Myla’s arm and we start walking, two men, one of which is Ricardo, flanking us. Myla walks up the stairs first, with me on her heels, and I can tell she is unsteady, anticipating Alvarez might have tricked us and be inside, while I’m preparing to reach for my gun and kill him. Myla enters the plane, with me there immediately after. She turns to look at me, giving me a shake of her head, telling me Alvarez is not here.
I glance over her shoulder, eyeing several rows of leather seats. “All the way to the back,” I instruct.
“Myla, you’re up here with me,” Juan says, appearing in the walkway.
“That’s not happening,” I say, motioning for her to get moving.