Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(68)

“Night, Heather,” I say, watching as she leaves, Kyle right behind her to shut the door.

I grab the card on top of the box, trying to open it, but my stupid hand shakes. Kyle is there in an instant, opening it for me, and much to my distress, he reads it out loud: This is for your sexy photo shoot, bella. Another surprise to follow. Michael.

He gives me a hard stare, and grabs the box, and opens it to reveal a red lace bra and panty set, with garters. “What the f*ck is this?”

“I told you-”

“You said there were some kind of photos, not that he wanted to turn you into a porn star.”

“I design lingerie, too.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Because it’s pictures, not him touching me, and if that’s what it takes to keep him happy and finally end his reign of horror, I’ll do it.”

His rejection is instant. “No, you won’t, he could use those pictures on porn sites. Hell, he will use them.”

My throat thickens. “He won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he bites out.

“He has pictures of me,” I spit out. “Horrible pictures, and you haven’t found them while you looked for me. He wants to own me. I’m his possession.”

He presses his hands on the desk. “You are not his possession and I’ll find the pictures-”

“Please don’t. I can’t bear the idea of you seeing them.”

“Myla,” he says softly. “That does not matter to me.”

“It matters to me. And I have to do this.”

There’s another knock on the door, and he firms his voice again. “You will not do this and you will listen to me.”

“You can’t-”

“Don’t think I can’t stop you, because I will. You take my lead on whatever happens next. The end.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, walking to the door and opening it.

“What do you need?” he all but growls.

“I need to talk to Myla.”

At the sound of LeeAnn’s voice, I welcome anything that might give me an excuse to work late and perhaps miss the photographer that may well show up at the hotel. It’s impossible to know with Michael. “What is it, LeeAnn?” I ask, forcing Kyle to take a step back and let her enter.

“I was instructed to take you for a little surprise,” she says, her tone less than pleased. “It’s inside the new store.”

“Instructed by who?” Kyle asks.

“Mr. Alvarez,” she says, brushing a wavy lock of red hair out of her face. “He’s been planning this all week. He said you should bring the gift he sent you as well.”

“Oh,” I say. “Of course.” Then saying what Michael would expect, I add, “This is fun,” only I sound more like it’s torture.

LeeAnn doesn’t seem to notice, giving a smirk. “Right. Fun. He said you’d say that.” She eyes the box on the desk. “Grab your gift and let’s get going.”

“I’ll carry it,” Kyle says, scooping it up.

“That won’t be necessary,” LeeAnn says. “She’s to come with me alone.”

“That’s not happening,” he says, removing his phone from his pocket to look at a text, his expression unreadable.

“We’re inside the facility,” she argues. “Didn’t you have security installed a few days ago?”

“The security for Myla is me,” he says, typing a return message to whoever contacted him and then returning his cellphone to his pocket.

“She’s just going with me,” LeeAnn snaps irritably. “It’s no different than her walking down the hall with Barbara.”

“Aside from Barbara actually liking her?” he asks dryly. “She’s not going with you alone.”

LeeAnn doesn’t deny his statement. “Fine,” she says, turning her attention to me. “Follow me.” She rotates on her heel, and I inhale a deep breath, my gaze colliding with Kyle’s. He motions me forward, his expression hard, his mood dark and focused. I want to ask about his plan and about the text message, but I am aware that Michael could be here, and catching him could make the timing critical.

And so I walk forward, entering the hallway, my heart thundering in my ears. And considering the storefront is on the other end of the building, it’s not a short trip, nor does LeeAnn slow or look for me even once. Even when we arrive at the entrance, and she faces us, she focuses on Kyle, not me. “You can wait out here.”

“Not happening,” he says.

She makes a frustrated sound. “This is private,” she says. “Not for your eyes.”

“Vague statements get you nowhere with me,” he replies. “What’s inside?”

“Her newly decorated storefront for her viewing.”

“And what else?” he asks.

“At Mr. Alvarez’s request, we’re doing a private photo shoot of Myla in her clothing line.”

“We being who?” he presses.

“We have a photographer and several models,” she says, and I know that means that I’m expected to “perform” with them for the camera.

“Those people are in the storefront now?” I ask.