The words hung between them. The bridge glowed golden against the dark sky. The water shimmered with reflected light.
“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you who I was,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want to wreck it. And then I did anyway. Because that’s what I do. I perform, and I lie, and people get hurt.”
Dakota looked at her, his chest tight. She was waiting for him to walk away.
Instead, heaven help him, he wanted to pull her into his arms. Wanted to hold her until the pain eased, until she believed she was worth more than her worst moment. His hands ached with the effort of keeping them on the railing.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly.
She blinked. Whatever she’d been expecting, it clearly wasn’t that.
“Thank you for listening,” she said finally.
They stood there in the darkness, the bridge glowing before them, and of course, the wind carried the ghost of her fragrance, that familiar sense of her standing beside him.
And it hit him. He did know her. He knew her laugh, and her strength, and maybe not the extent of her skills, but he knew that there was much more to Lynx, the operative.
“What’s your real name?”
She paused. A beat. Two.
“Tiffany.” A ghost of a smile crossed her face.
“Nice to meet you, Tiff.”
“I think I prefer Jayden.”
He glanced at her. “I dunno. I like it. Tiffany, the Black Swan. Feels like a good fit.”
She glanced at him. Nodded. “Yeah, maybe. I hadn’t thought about it.” Then she turned and touched his arm. “Promise you won’t die tomorrow.”
Aw. Shoot, now his throat clogged. “Yeah. You too.”
“Yeah.” She walked back into the house, leaving Dakota alone on the patio with the lit bridge and Ham’s words about faith and the terrifying truth that it didn’t matter what name she went by. He was terribly in love with a woman he might lose before he got the chance to really know her.
He stood there for a long time, watching the lights shimmer on the water, feeling the shift in his chest that he still couldn’t quite name.
Fact is, everything that happens to us, good or bad, is meant to draw us closer to God.
He drew in a breath, still hearing Ham’s voice.
You’re never wrong if you’re trusting in God for the outcome.
Maybe that was the point of all of this. Trust. Faith. And really, what choice did he have? Because all he—or anyone—could really do was stand in the dark and choose to believe.
Faith might be the hardest mission yet.
Sydney Harbour sparkled in the morning sun, a beautiful Saturday morning.
A morning that could end in blood if Jayden didn’t find the sniper in the next forty-seven minutes.
The president would arrive in less than an hour.
And Jayden had nada, nothing, nichevo.
From the roof of the Jones, Inc., safe house, Jayden had a commanding view of the city’s crown jewel. The Opera House rose from Bennelong Point like a ship under full sail, its white shells catching the early light. Ferries carved foamy trails across water that threw back the morning sun in bright, broken shards. The Harbour Bridge arched against a cloudless sky, morning traffic streaming across its deck like blood through an artery.
Somewhere down there, a killer was waiting.
