That stopped her cold, then she shot him a smirk. “I’m never alone. I have my SIG.”
His expression fell.
She clasped his hand, brought him back into her suite. “You’re with me.”
She collected her SIG, set it on the bedside table as he crawled into bed. He set the alarm on his phone, then rolled onto his back. She sat in the middle of the bed, clutching her pillow, while staring at the two pillows propped up on her side.
“Sydney, you okay?”
She faced him. “I sleep with lots of pillows, and they’re all perfectly arranged. I can’t sleep?—”
“Lemme help.” He took the pillow from her. “Where’s this on your bed?”
“That’s the main one.”
He moved the two on the side like a blockade, set hers down beside his. Then, he patted his chest.
“You want me to sleep on you?”
“Right here.”
She lay on him, threw her leg over his thigh, snuggled close, and said, “You smell good. You smell like a man.”
“We’ve got two hours.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Dream of me.”
AT SEVEN-THIRTY IN THE MORNING,they left the residential section of the Black Site, made their way to the work wing. Sydney had taken the nap of her life. After years of struggling with insomnia, she’d found somethingmuchbetter than the perfect positioning of multiple pillows.
She’d slept securely in the arms of Mr. Muscles.
She made a pot of coffee while he cooked them eggs. She dropped multi-grain bread into the four-slice toaster, pulled out almond butter.
Once they’d eaten and cleaned up, they collected their mugs of hot coffee and made their way to the other side of the building. To her relief, they were the first ones there.
“I’ll be in my office down the hall.”
“No. We can set up in the conference room. We’ll bounce ideas off each other, take a break and have a make-out sesh.”
She laughed as they entered the conference room. Rather than sit beside him, she set her laptop bag on the opposite side and complete other end of the table.
“I set daily goals,” he said as he opened his laptop.
“What’s today’s?”
“Find someone—anyone—in the Haqazzii terror cell. If Sean Baker is right, and the group is planning on taking out the President at his inauguration?—”
“Whoa, back up. What did you say?”
“Yeah, so this is top-secret. You can’t?—”
“I’ve spent my career as an assassin. I would die before I’d give up anything toanyoneoutside this group.”
As she peered across the long table, their undeniable connection washed over her.
“Same,” he murmured. “I trust you.”
“I trust you,” she replied. “So, you’ve got until January to find how many terrorists?”
“Nine, which includes their leader, Muhammad Haqazzii.”
