Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(77)

“Easy, sweetheart,” I say, and noting how pale she is, I add, “We’re okay. This is all going to happen hard and fast but when it’s over, it’s over.”

“You can’t know that. We can’t know our people heard our destination.”

“They did,” I insist, “which means they’re in place, and ready to attack the minute we land.”

“Everyone is in Texas.”

“Luke, and many of our men, are in New York, not to mention plenty of Feds.”

“It’s an island,” she says. “How do they get to us?”

“Water and air,” I say, though it’s a problem I too have been concerned about during our travels, but I’m not about to tell her that. “Find your zone,” I say, “and let’s get ready to end this.” I shut the door, standing guard and giving her time.

It’s not long before she appears again and gives me a nod, the look in her eyes, stronger now. “I’m ready,” she says, and I believe her. She is. We are.

I let her see the admiration in my eyes, and the love, stepping out of her way to allow her to return to her seat, with me closely behind her, both of us reclaiming our seats. It’s not even ten minutes later when we make our landing approach, near midnight if our destination is indeed an island in New York, when we approach a singular runway and tower, that seems to make that a pretty acute assumption. The fact that we hit the pavement, and top pretty damn hard and fast, also indicating an island and water, or that’s my guess.

I unhook my belt, and Myla does the same, clearly as eager as I am to get out of this metal box, that makes us sitting ducks. “Stay behind me,” I order softly, standing and waiting for her to join me, before I start down the aisle, my hand settling under my jacket to rest on my gun.

Juan stands, moving around in the front of the plane, as does Ricardo, and a couple of other men who’ve come along for the ride. Two of them line up to exit, but they’re pushed back when a stocky, short Mexican with a permanent scowl on his face and a machine gun at his hip, enters, pointing for them to sit. Whoever he is, they obey, and when I stop walking, the man motions me forward, as if he knows who I am, or simply wants me under his thumb.

There is a shift in the air then, a prickling at the back of my neck, moments before it happens. The ghost of a man I’ve seen pictures of but have never met enters the plane. He stands in the center of the aisle, his black suit expensive, his salt-and-pepper hair wavy and longish, and when his eyes meet mine, evil radiates from their depths that is like nothing I’ve ever felt, which is saying a lot considering the filth I’ve arrested and killed. His gaze shifts to the gun at my hand, a silent command that I take my hand off my weapon, and it kills me to obey, but that machine gun-wielding man beside him will shoot me, and then Myla will be on her own.

I continue forward, my body sheltering Myla’s, dread in me for the moment I will have to let her go to him, and I will. I may even have to let her walk off this plane with him, and I hope like hell my team is waiting when they do. I stop several feet in front of him, Juan, Ricardo and the other men in the seats dividing me from Alvarez.

“Finally we meet, Kyle,” he says. “I owe you money and appreciation for caring for my woman. We will discuss our arrangements later, but as you can understand, I’m eager for you to allow Myla to pass. She’s safe now, though we will certainly discuss your services for her return trip to Dallas.”

Every muscle in my body fights this moment, but somehow, I rotate to let Myla pass.

“Michael,” she gushes, playing her role, and hurrying past me into his arms. His hand flattens on her back, and I can almost feel her skin crawling with his touch, but he does not hold her for long. He grips her arms and looks down at her. “We need to discuss something before we retire for the night.”

“What is it?” she asks, sounding nervous, while I step just a little closer, my hand itching for my gun.

“Is it true that Juan touched you?”

“What?”

“Is it true that Juan touched you?”

“He…I….”

“Then it’s true,” he assumes.

“He said he’d tell you I invited it, but I swear-”

“I believe you.”

Juan moves into the lane just in front of me at the same moment that Alvarez sets Myla aside. She flattens on the wall behind her, and the machine gun guy is watching me, keeping me from offering her any comfort. “She’s lying,” Juan claims. “She tried to f*ck me to get her freedom.”

“And you wouldn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“That never happened,” Myla says. “Never, ever, would I do that.”

Juan goes for the gun at his hip, and afraid for Myla, I step to him and cover it with my hand. It’s at that moment that Alvarez grabs Juan’s shoulder, and then the unexpected happens. He shoots him in the cock. Juan screams, a horrific, pained sound, then falls against me, the small lane I’m in making it almost impossible to see around him, while I can think of only one thing. Getting to Myla.

I rotate his body, bringing Alvarez into profile, Myla out of my eyeshot. Juan’s screams go silent, and I shove him to the ground, while Alvarez holsters his weapon and grabs Myla’s arm.