“I don’t like complications,” his handler reminded him.
No one did.
“I’ll take care of it,” Fink said before he closed the phone.
Staring at the wall with several black-and-white photos of Paris on it, he tapped the cell against his chin.This was supposed to be his specialty.
All he had to do was figure out what the hell that meant when it came to Sydney.The quirky woman who helped him kill a despicable human, fucked him, and invited him into her home without question was an enigma he was desperate to solve.
She was an odd duck.There was something wrong with her, but he liked it.From the little he’d gathered about her, they were the same kind of weird.He’d met no one like that before, and he doubted he ever would again.
All the other contract killers he knew were cold, calculating, and antisocial.He fit that bill as well.Compartmentalizing emotions did that to someone.There was no way to be bubbly and outgoing in his field.The key to surviving was to blend in and go unnoticed.
Sydney commanded attention.She filled the room with a type of joy he’d never experienced before.
And he liked it.
He wanted more of it.
Tucking the phone back in his pocket, he licked his lips.What the hell was he supposed to do about her?
10
Sydney
Whenthedoortoher bedroom opened, Sydney sat upright.That took longer than she’d expected.He hadn’t shown himself to be a talker, so she thought the call would last a few seconds.However, his conversation went on to the point she’d dozed while she waited.
Watching him enter the living room with his head down and stroking his bare chin, she bit her bottom lip.What was the verdict?Who had he called?What was it about?
Probably her.
Had he decided her fate?Did he come up with a plan with someone else?
That was kind of rude.She was right here, ready and willing to plot with him, so why hadn’t he consulted her?Hadn’t she proved herself trustworthy when she stabbed Mitchell?
Stuffing down her indignation, she tucked her legs under her as he sat on the ottoman opposite her.
He didn’t have a gun drawn.That had to be a good sign.His hands weren’t around her throat.At the very least, he’d decided to let her live for now.That was good, but in what capacity?
She didn’t get the impression she was his captive, his hostage, or his future victim.She was his co-conspirator, co-defendant, his partner.All she had to do was make him see it.
“You’re Sydney?”he asked in a gruff tone.
Nodding eagerly, she fiddled with strands of her hair.“And you?”
“Have you always lived here?”
Did he ignore her?What was that about?“No.”
“Where are you from?”
“Is this an interrogation?”She was fine with him being rough around the edges, but she wasn’t about to just fork over information about herself if he wasn’t willing to do the same.
He shifted slightly.“No.”
“Feels like it.”She shifted on the sofa.“How about twenty questions?”
Games always made the nights more fun.Perhaps she would get somewhere if he agreed to play.
