She hadn't wanted Lauren to join her.
Or, actually, Sydney had -- desired it with a fierceness that surprised her, but for all their furtive encounters that left her breathless and unsteady on her feet (smudges of Lauren's glossy lipstick in places no one could see), taking the woman along to where Mussolini's soldiers had hidden the Bastone di Luce wasn't exactly a wise course of action.
Not like she could walk up to either Dixon or Kendall and tell them just that, disregard the NSA seal of approval on the travel paperwork.
"Why do you think she's not trustworthy regarding the retrieval of this Rambaldi artefact?"
"See, the woman you consider Agent Vaughn's sweet wife is secretly sleeping with me, and any female who seduces me is assumed to have a nefarious agenda."
Right. That would've gone over well --
"Sydney, look."
Unenthusiastically, she did, trying to follow Lauren's line of sight.
"Foreigner over there by the entrance. Quite lovely, isn't she?"
The shadow of a wicked little smirk in the corners of Lauren's mouth didn't bode well; for God's sake, if she suggested a threesome, Sydney was out of here, Uncle Sam's orders to play nice or not --
Ah. She.
Tall and coltish figure, a face that, with its high slant of cheekbone and vulnerable mouth, was familiar, unsettlingly so: Sydney knew without a doubt she'd never met her before, neither here in Addis Ababa nor anyplace else.
The girl looked up, straight at her, sending lance of startling warmth through Sydney.
Impassive, transfixed, she watched a frown marring the girl's features. When Sydney blinked -- when she opened her eyes -- the stranger was gone. Only Lauren remained, Lauren who was letting her fingers trail slowly along the inside of her thigh, apple and serpent at once.