Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(28)

“My sister was an FBI agent when I met Michael.”

“And you shut her out because she wouldn’t accept you being with him.”

“No,” I say firmly. “That isn’t how this happened at all. Not at all. I wouldn’t do that, and-” I inhale with the realization that I’ve raised my voice, and let real emotion into my voice. “She thinks I was killed in a helicopter crash, and I chose to leave it that way.”

“You shut Kara out,” he repeats.

“Stop saying that. I love my sister. I was mad when she took the FBI job, but that was years ago. We got over it and never, ever did we lose each other in the process.”

“Until Michael Alvarez.”

“It’s not how it seems.”

“You let Kara hurt over you.”

“Stop pushing me.”

“I need to understand. You let her grieve your death. You let Kara hurt. You let her-”

“I know what I did,” I hiss, my chest tightening. “I know and-” I stop speaking, my brows furrow with a realization that has me studying him just as hard as he is me. “Wait.” I tilt my head to study him. “You called my sister by her name. You called her Kara.”

There is a flicker of something in his eyes that is there and gone in a blink, before he asks, “Isn’t that her name?”

“Of course it is,” I say, “but it was the way you said it, like it was second nature. Like you know her.” I turn a bit more toward him, my hand going to the coffee table. “What do you know about my sister?”

He rotates even further, his eyes, those green eyes, looking right at me, not a blink in sight. “I could recite the contents of her file just like yours, but that doesn’t tell me anything more about her, any more than it does about you. I need to hear things directly from you. I need to know you, Myla.”

Still no blink. Still no hint of him making a confession that perhaps doesn’t exist. But he wants more from me. He wants too much, I think again. And maybe me looking for Kara in him, and the way he said her name, is me wanting too much as well. “The bottom line,” I say, “is that Kara and I are not estranged. Not even close. She will come after me if she gets the chance and she won’t believe I chose Michael Alvarez to be the man in my bed, by choice.”

“Did you?”

“I’m here,” I say, shutting the pizza box, fighting a wave of anger at too many things to name that have nothing to do with him. “That should answer that question.”

“It doesn’t,” he says, and I start to stand, afraid he will see something in my eyes that will motivate him to play hero or monster, whichever he might be, but he catches my arm, heat radiating all the way to my shoulder. “But I’m here now, too,” he says, his voice soft, but no less absolute.

“I’m not sure if that should make me feel better or scare the shit out me.”

“It should scare the shit out of anyone who wants to hurt you. Not out of you.”

I have no idea why, but my stomach flutters like I’ve just had Prince Charming tell me that I’m his princess, which makes me angry at me, not him. I don’t do the whole fairytale fantasy thing. Ever. And I sure don’t do it now. “I know too little about you to accept that I’m safe with you, and no one else is.”

“Good,” he surprises me by saying, his eyes lighting with approval. “You shouldn’t accept things on my word. You should make me prove it’s true.”

“Then prove it,” I say. “Right here. Right now. Prove to me that I can trust you and that you are who you say you are. Prove to me that you want what you say you want…which actually, what do you want?” My mind races through the conversations we’ve had. His way of getting what he wants. His past in the FBI. The familiar way he called my sister by her name. “Because I think there is more to your story and I want to know what it is right now.”

“Quid pro quo, sweetheart,” he repeats. “I’ll tell you my secrets, if you tell me yours.”





Chapter Seven


Myla





I blink at his inference that I have secrets, but I do not stumble. “This is about you this time. Prove to me I can trust you.”

“Trust doesn’t work that way. It’s earned. It takes time.”

“I don’t have time. Why did you leave the FBI?”

“It took a toll.”

“What kind of toll?”

“I was burned out.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head in rejection of a too generic answer. “There’s more to it than that. You were FBI and now you’re here. Now you work for Michael Alvarez.”

“We’re repeating? Myla. I told you. I work for me. Alvarez doesn’t own me.”

“Why are you here?” I whisper, not sure what I am looking for or need him to say.

“You. I’m still here for you.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You want more?”

“Yes. I want more.”

“I’m here because when I first saw you, when I first looked into your eyes, you on the arm of Michael Alvarez made no sense to me. I’m here because I see the fear in your eyes and I don’t like it. Do you still want more?”