Page 16 of Stalking His Target

TAYLOR

A black site.Secret detention centers operated across the world by the CIA where people who have yet to be charged with a crime can be held and interrogated. The agency operates two such sites here in Texas, and I’ve been summoned to one today.

“He’s a low-level smuggler,” Neal explains as he opens the steel door and I follow him into the tiny cell-like room. “Apprehended bringing a shipment of drugs over the border. Along with two trucks of women.”

“Human trafficking?”

Neal nods. “Real charmer, this one.”

I’ve dealt with guys like this plenty of times throughout my career. Worse men too. I’ve always managed to handle it just fine. Just part of the job. But now as I stare at the man zip-tied to the chair, I feel my insides twist into knots. Something’s changed now, and I know what it is.

Layla.

This son of a bitch works for her uncle, Pablo, and when I think of those women who were being smuggled in those trucks against their will, I feel a more personal connection to their situation and feel sick to my stomach.

Before Layla, this was just one of many such moments. They’d never resonate emotionally with me because of how disconnected from the world I was. But now I’m in love. Now I can’t help but think of how terrified those poor women must be. Of all the husbands, fathers, brothers, boyfriends, uncles, who are worried sick for them, and how helpless they must feel, knowing that they can’t stand up to the cartels.

Well, that’s where we come in.

“You break him yet?” I ask.

Neal sighs and shakes his head. “Hasn’t said a word. Guess he thinks his boss will be harder on him than we will if he talks.”

“He’s probably right,” I say, keeping my voice down.

Neal leans in and raises his voice. “You better tell us something, pal! The chances of you seeing daylight ever again are getting slimmer and slimmer!”

The man doesn’t even flinch. He simply sits there, staring at nothing, sweating under the heat from the spotlight beaming down on him.

His cruelty and evil enrage me. How could a man do such despicable things to women? And for money? Men were put on this earth to protect and take care of women. I’ve only been away from Layla for two hours now, and I’m already having withdrawals, feeling helpless at the fact that I’m not close to her. Anything could happen, and I wouldn’t be there to help her.

It’s been just over five weeks since she first blessed my eyes with her beauty, and this is the longest I’ve been away from her since. And it’s nothing but torture. I can’t stop thinking about what she would do if she found out where I was now.

She’d explode on me.

She’d leave.

My heart starts thudding so hard I begin to feel lightheaded. I brace myself against the wall and suck deep breaths through my nose and out again through my mouth, doing my best to calmdown. If only Layla were here with me now. But that would be impossible. Then she would discover the truth of who I am. And that would be a catastrophe.

But how long can I really keep this subterfuge going? How long can I continue to lie about working construction, having friends who I turn down when they invite me out for beers because I want to spend time with her? What happens when we finally move on her uncle, and the hard truth about what I do comes out? Christ, Layla will never want to marry a man who’s been stalking her, lying to her, spying on her.

A fear strikes me deep in the chest as I look at the captured cartel man secured to the chair: Am I really better than him?

His crimes may be overt while mine are covert, but we both are ruthless bastards, willing to do whatever we must to get what we want.

I’m complicit in holding him here without due process because I believe in our mission objective. But does that make it okay?

Should Layla place her trust in a man like me?

I’m so addicted to her that the idea of her leaving me nearly causes me to spiral out of control. Even now, while I’m at work for the CIA, all I’m thinking about is her. I’m aching to be near her again. And I have to believe she’s aching for me too. It’s like we have an invisible cord between us, attached to each of our hearts, stretching across any distance we travel yet constantly pulling us back to each other. My identity may be a cover, but my love for her is real. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe.

“Listen,” Neal whispers, taking me to the corner of the room. “I don’t think we’ll break this guy. You get an official invite to Pablo’s birthday?”

“No, but I’ll make that happen,” I respond. “But remember, I’ll be with Layla–”

“No kidding,” he laughs. “Is that supposed to be a problem or something?”

“No, I…”

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