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

I step forward, closing the space between myself and Juan, who is thirty-nine, five years my senior, and my research tells me that all those years were spent doing very bad things, with zero remorse. “Glad you made it,” he says, as I reach him, eyeing his watch. “You’re five minutes late.”

“You told me about the meeting thirty minutes ago. I’m fifteen minutes earlier than I should have been, considering I had a woman in my bed at the time.”

“At least you came up with a good excuse,” he snaps, the lights in here doing his sun baked skin no favors, giving it a kind of raisin-like quality.

“I don’t do excuses,” I say, about to sit down when another brunette, dressed in jeans and boots, walks by…and holy shit. It’s Kara, and she’s headed straight for the archway the other woman disappeared around. “And actually,” I add, “I need to make a quick phone call to a paying client.”

“We’re going to be paying clients.”

“I’ll put off the ones that already are when I have the cash.” I don’t give him time to argue, making fast tracks in pursuit of Kara, rounding the corner and finding an alcove with two doors, one marked Men, while Kara exits the second one marked Women, her hand pressed to her face.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, stepping toe-to-toe with her.

She jolts and looks up at me, having been unaware I’m even present until now, and considering what a badass investigator she is, that’s saying a lot about where her head is. “Kyle,” she gasps, hugging herself, defeat in her face. “I’m sorry. I just thought…I thought it was her, but it wasn’t.”

Not only do her words confirm she and Blake know about our hunt for Alvarez, but their revelation punches me in the gut. I wanted that woman to be Myla, too, for Kara and for all of us. “Even if it had been her-” I begin.

“I know,” she says quickly, holding up a hand. “I know. I was stupid to rush in here. Blake’s furious with me and I need to go before that woman, whoever she is, comes out of the bathroom.”

“Yes. Go. Now.”

“Thank you for trying to find Myla,” she whispers, but she doesn’t step away. “But first a warning. The woman I followed has deep cleavage, and I know that doesn’t mean much, but my gut, which is good, says that she’s either meant to test you or reward you.” She doesn’t wait for a reply, darting around me and disappearing, after delivering what I am certain is a spot-on assessment of the setup in the works.

Nevertheless, I’m pissed as hell that she was here, and I snag my phone from my pocket, and dial Royce. “Kara was just here. What the f*ck happened to contained?” I’ve barely issued the question when the woman Kara had followed exits the bathroom, her cleavage indeed deep, her features harder and darker than Myla’s, but none of these things matter. What matters is the way she pauses, looking at me like she expects me to walk her back in the bathroom and f*ck her here and now.

She points and says, “I…I’ll see you back at the table.” She rushes past me, but not before I spy a certain familiar mix of fear and desperation in her eyes that has me flashing back to the past. To the moment when a helicopter that was supposed to have Myla inside exploded, and Kara had let out a blood-curdling scream at the loss of her sister. Then to a moment later that night when I’d watched the security footage of Myla just before she walked to the rooftop where the incident had taken place. She’d passed a camera and looked right into the lens, and there was no mistaking the fear and desperation in her eyes that spoke to me. I wanted to save her. I needed to save her, and then the damn helicopter had blown up, leaving her dead in everyone’s mind but mine for some reason.

“Kyle,” Royce snaps. “Are you there? Is your cover blown? Are you in danger?”

Shaking off the memory, I return to the present. “No and no,” I reply. “I have to get back to my meeting. I’ll call you when I can and no sooner, but no more f*cking surprises.” I end the connection and clear the record of the communication, already walking as I do.

Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I re-enter the bar, and make my way to Juan and the woman who now sits across from him, in the spot that would be mine, obviously meant to force me to choose to sit by one of the two of them. Not about to be forced into anything, I grab a chair from a nearby table and place it at the end of the booth, effectively putting me between them both.

Juan arches a brow. “You have a problem sitting with us?”

“I prefer a workable distance.” I eye the woman and then him. “Is she my new assignment?”

“She’s my sister,” he says, the announcement shifting my gaze back to him.

A sister who hates her life and wants to be saved. He’s a bigger bastard than I imagined. “You want me to protect your sister?”

“I protect my sister,” he corrects.

“Then why’s she here?”

“To see how easily you’re distracted,” he says, confirming she was a test.

“I’m not. Now what?”

“You’re very white in the midst of a Mexican operation,” he comments, the change of topic obviously meant to rattle me. It doesn’t work.

“For an extra million I’ll get a tan,” I promise dryly.