“Stopping the assassination isn’t our mission, Tems,” Sydney said.
He gave her an arch look. “Technically, that’s true,” he replied. “But I know you’ll do it anyway.”
His look annoyed her. Tems had a knack for getting her in trouble with Panacea—not that she needed the help. Sauda and Niall still hadn’t forgiven her and Winter yet for their transgressions on their last mission.
“Niall’s meeting me tomorrow morning,” Sydney said. “If I keep you a secret from him, I’m breaking my oath for this mission. Foryou.”
Tems grinned. “So do me a favor, sweetheart. For old time’s sake?”
A memory bloomed in her mind, some long dormant seed opening to reveal a winter day in Stockholm as she waited in a lonely little hotel that already had its lamps lit because it was dark at two in the afternoon. She could still remember looking down from the balcony at the stray pedestrians, wondering which one would be the asset she’d been assignedto meet, squinting occasionally at the dark sky roiling with the first hints of a snowstorm. She could still hear the clack of wet boots against the wooden floor of her room as he came in, could still see him shaking snow from his coat, one of her keycards in his hand.
Do me a favor, sweetheart,he’d said as he hung his hat on the back of the door.And turn up the heat a bit in this room. Aren’t you freezing?
She recalled how she gave him the intel Panacea had sent her to collect, crucial details on an arms ring stationed in the city, how they’d lingered a little longer than they needed to over plates of steak and preserved fish in the restaurant. How he’d handed over a package for her in his hotel room—only for both of them to be snowed in together by the onset of the snowstorm.
And then… well, they had to find some way of passing the time together. The third morning of their tryst, Sydney had woken up to an empty bed and a scrawled note from Tems, signed with his dagger through a heart.
Sorry, sweetheart. Just business.
Five minutes later, she’d discovered her missing passport.
Sydney felt her face flush at the memory, even though she couldn’t tell if it was because she recalled what Tems did or because Winter was right here, witnessing this entire exchange. At least he couldn’t see into her mind.
“You’re asking me to risk my job,” she said in a low voice.
“Is that all? We risk our jobs on the daily.”
“You know what I mean. I’ve dealt with enough shit from you.”
“And yet you’re not refusing, are you?”
Niall was going to kill them for this. She sighed inwardly, wondering if she would ever get a mission where everything went according to plan. She pictured Niall sitting across from her tonight, grumpy eyes under thick brows, and imagined lying to him about Tems’s plans. It made her wince.
“Look, I understand what I’m asking,” Tems added. “I know you, and I know what our job is like. I wouldn’t do it if the president of the United States wasn’t at risk. You understand what the stakes are here.”
“Of course I understand,” she snapped. “I just don’t know if what you’re asking will help.”
Tems lowered his voice. “I’m going to do it either way. But I’ll have a better shot if you’re with me.” For the first time since they arrived, he looked grim. “And we both know we make a good team, sweetheart.”
Sydney tightened her lips. He was right—to a certain extent. She’d admired his diligence during training, even the numerous rogue ideas he’d come up with to pass certain assignments. They had traded banter during their graduation ceremony, then gotten along easily in Stockholm, could speak to each other in the clipped kind of language that secret agents shared which no one else could understand.
Sauda would kill them. But the orders were to bring Tems back alive, regardless of what it might do to his mission.
They didn’t say what to do if Tems refused to return, because none of them had expected it to be an issue. Who would have assumed that he might not want to escape at all? What was she supposed to do—drug him and drag him unconscious onto a plane?
The thought was vaguely satisfying. But if she stayed and helped him, then she and Winter could fulfill their own duty. Tems would be back on a plane with them right after the gala, as originally proposed, and the president would be safe.
“And you?” Tems shifted his attention to Winter and pretended not to notice his mood. “I suppose I should ask your opinion, out of common courtesy. Are you in?”
Sydney looked at Winter. He would do it, she knew. But putting him at the center of the plot at the gala was different from merely using him to just get into the venue. Panacea had nearly gotten him killed in London. What if something happened to him here?
“This isn’t what you signed up for,” she said to Winter.
His eyes went to Tems, and the two held each other’s gaze, neither backing down.
“I signed up to be your partner,” Winter replied. “That’s not changing, as far as I can tell.”
Tems glanced at him with a look of vague dismissal. “Good,” he said, a condescending lilt to his voice. “Because it looks like your golden ticket might come in handy again.”
