Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(13)

He glances at the cash, and then at me, approval etched in his stare. “Consider it all yours. What do you need?”

“For now, just give me a heads up on any visitors coming my way, and that needs to happen even when you’re off shift. We’ll work through further details later.”

“Consider it done. How should I contact you?”

We exchange cellphone numbers before he departs and I flip the lock back into place. With Myla still MIA, I quickly remove my scanner from my pocket again, turning it back on, and then locating one last recording device inside my temporary room. Ready to search her room, I head back into the hallway, but just as I’m about to enter the living room, she once again steps into my path. “I know you really think-” she begins.

“Not yet,” I warn softly, indicating my shirt pocket, where the live chips are still present. Her eyes go wide with understanding, and I motion behind her. “Your room.”

She inhales and flattens her back against the wall, staring ahead and not looking at me. “Next time it won’t be Les at the door,” she warns softly, her gaze averted.

“I have a plan,” I assure her. “More than one big gun and my own set of rules.”

Her gaze jerks to mine. “You already said that.”

“You needed to hear it again. And no one hired me, or wanted me here, because they thought I was a “yes” man, and I suspect your motive for wanting me hired was the same. Am I right?”

“I can’t speak for them.”

“No. But you can speak for yourself when I’m done in your room and you will.” And with that promise, I move on, crossing the living area again and entering the high-end glitz and glamour of a master suite, decked out in pale blues and fancy artwork.

Pausing a few steps inside the doorway, I scan for potential camera locations, a full living area framed by a wall of windows, to the right of the bed, a dresser with a flat screen TV above it to my right, directly across from a king-sized bed. And that bed, is what holds my attention, tormenting me. For a few brutal moments, I consider the moment Alvarez shows up here, and walks her toward this room, with the intent of shutting the door behind him. I’ll want to stop him. I’ll want to kill him, but if I do, I jeopardize the rescue of every woman caught up in his sex trafficking ring.

The air shifts slightly, and I sense, rather than see, Myla enter the room, her presence jolting me back to the present. I step into action, following the beeping sound to the nightstand closest to the wall of windows framing the room, and remove a chip from the lamp by the bed. Myla says nothing, just stands in the entryway, watching me move through the room, removing chips, and surveying the curtains, furnishings, and movable objects for video equipment. My search leads me to the elephant statue sitting on the cabinet holding the flat screen television, and pointed directly at the bed, which doesn’t fit the décor. A quick inspection and I confirm there’s a camera inside which means that sick f*ck Alvarez was going to watch her sleep. Or maybe it was Juan, in which case I will shoot the bastard.

Fantasizing about how many ways I can kill Alvarez and Juan, and justify doing it myself to Blake, I scoop up the elephant, and walk across the room toward what I assume to be a bathroom. Flipping on the light, I enter a room so white it’s blinding, the giant tub on the other side of the bathroom clearly meant to help justify the ten-thousand dollar a night fee I estimate it must cost to stay here.

Setting the statue down on the counter, I pull the plug in the sink, turn on the water and set the elephant inside before removing the chips from my pocket and tossing them in with it.

“You lied,” Myla accuses me, appearing in the doorway.

I turn off the water and face her. “What exactly did I lie about?”

“Not having a death wish for you or me.” She glances at the sink and then back at me, her green eyes sharp with certainty. “Any moment, all hell is going to be let loose.”

“Good thing I know exactly how to tuck the devil back into his box,” I say. “You don’t like Juan, Myla. Let me make him go away.”

“You can’t,” she insists, no hesitation in her.

“I assure you, I can.” I narrow my eyes on her, trying to read her psyche. “But tell me. Is it just Juan you’re afraid of or is it Alvarez, too?

“He paid you to protect me, not hurt me.”

“That’s not an answer. Are you afraid of Alvarez?”

“You can’t defy him and get away with it.”

“Again. Not an answer so I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You are making mistakes you can’t take back.”

“Being a pushover with these people would be my mistake,” I say. “I told you. They didn’t hire me to be a “yes” man, and I don’t get the impression you’ve survived in this world by being a wilting flower, either. So why would I?”

“I know my limits,” she says, “and you clearly don’t.”

“And I’m setting my limits while changing yours for the better.”

My cellphone starts ringing and she swipes her long, dark brown hair behind her ear. “That’s going to be Juan.”

“What did he do to you?”