Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(9)

“And this is your dream?”

“Yes,” she says softly. “And if you’re guarding me you’ll get to have models and share the excitement with me.”

“I don’t care about models or excitement. If I’m guarding you, it’s you I care about.”

“I guess Michael can make that worth your while.”

“Once I take a job, it’s no longer about the money. It’s about the person.”

“Until you’re told otherwise.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Yes it is, but luckily Michael wants me protected.”

“Others want you dead?”

“Everyone is always after Michael and looking for any weakness.”

“Like getting to his woman,” I say, looking for her to declare herself no such thing, but that isn’t the answer I get.

“Anyone close to him,” she amends, and I’m not sure if it’s meant to broaden my thinking or because she doesn’t like to be called his woman. And I damn sure can’t reveal myself to her until I’m certain she hasn’t actually formed a loyalty to Michael that supersedes her love for her sister.

“What about you?” she asks. “What’s your story?”

I arch a brow. “Are you interviewing me now?”

“The death wish thing,” she says. “I’d like to know you’re not a loose cannon about to blow up in my face.”

My lips quirk. “I’m not.”

“Prove it. What’s your story?”

It’s my opening to connect me to her sister. “I’m ex-FBI.”

Her eyes widen and her delicate little throat bobs. “FBI?”

“Is that a problem?” I ask, when I hope instead it’s a solution, and her out of this.

“No,” she says quickly, giving me the wrong answer, but the only one possible considering she doesn’t know me as anyone but a man Alvarez has hired. “Why would that be a problem?”

“You look shocked.”

“Michael doesn’t radiate toward law enforcement inside his inner circle, and I would think the reverse would be true for you as well. You’re working for a criminal.”

“And you’re sleeping with a criminal.”

Her spine stiffens, her expression turning thunderous. “And you’re an *.”

Her reaction is fierce and real, but once again, I can’t be sure where that reaction originates. Guilt? Fear? A feeling of being trapped? I hope like hell it’s one or all of those, not defensiveness because she really is into this life and Michael Alvarez. If that is a real part of this equation, or even if she’s developed Stockholm syndrome, which would complicate the hell out of this, it doesn’t matter. I still want to save her. No. I’m going to save her, whether she likes it or not, but if it’s against her will, it’s going to gut Kara and become a blow to the entire Walker clan, who have become my family. Who am I kidding? This isn’t just personal for the Walker clan. It’s personal for me and that makes it dangerous.

I stand and she scoots to the edge of the chair, almost as if she wants to grab me and keep me from escaping, but instead presses her hands to her legs. “Are you leaving?”

“I’m going to talk to Juan.”

“And?”

“And what, Myla?” I ask, sounding short. I feel it, too, considering I expected Juan’s head games, not hers, and I think she might be playing me.

“Are you going to take the job?” she asks, and there is just a hint of urgency in her voice that I’m not sure she intends.

I stare at her—a beat…two—trying to figure out her motives. “Do you want me to take the job?”

“Yes actually,” she says quickly. “I do.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. It matters.”

“Because now I know you.”

“Neither of us know each other any more than we did a few minutes ago when you said we didn’t.”

“I know you well enough to know I want you to take the job.”

“Why?” I repeat, hoping like hell it’s the FBI-Kara connection. The doorbell rings. “Why, Myla?” I press, looking for a hint of something, anything that tells me she’s looking for help.

“The devil you know,” she says softly.

“Some call Alvarez the devil.”

“Yes. They do.”

“Do you?”

“Everyone does,” she replies, doubling down on the comment, and when I want to demand that she explain, that she give me just a little more, the knocking thunders ten times faster and louder, followed by a doorbell.

My lips thin. “Obviously Juan is an impatient man, which is not a virtue.” Ready to get rid of him, and get back to the work ahead of me with Myla, I start to move away, but never get the chance.

“Wait,” she says, grabbing my hand, and suddenly she is standing in front of me—close, really damn close— and there is this dart of electricity between us that is like a shot in the arm. It’s unexpected when perhaps it shouldn’t be, after a year of looking for her. A year of hearing stories about her. A year of those green eyes that are just as vulnerable in this moment as they were on the video tape, which only makes me want to keep her alive more.