Rising
Chapter Two
The Mission
They were already in Finland ready to attend the party. Sark sat on the arm rest and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone; his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He tapped in a few more buttons and ten pictures came up on the screen. He checked his watch again.
"Sydney, I've found ten matches, but we've got to go!" He pressed save and closed the computer.
"I'm coming! Who are they?"
"I already shut the computer down."
Sydney poked her head out of the bathroom. "What did you do that for?"
"I thought we would be leaving for the party this century."
Sydney slammed the door shut. He heard some movements and then the door opened again. Sydney emerged, a light pink halter dress flowing all around her and an auburn wig pulled into curls. Sark was unprepared for the picture she made. She smiled at him, her lips glossed over prettily. Sark started to tie his tie, but he was fumbling. Sydney had that effect on him. She floated over to him, removing his hands, and adeptly tied it for him. Her delicate, white hands landed on his chest. Sark leaned forward, caressing Sydney's soft skin. Their lips were inches apart.
"The party's already started." Sydney blurted out as they almost touched.
Sark jerked away.
"Right. Thanks." Sydney grabbed her purse and they headed silently to the mansion.
Sark slid into a closet underneath the stairs and pressed his ring that Marshall had designed.
"Sydney, can you hear me?"
"Yes." Sydney replied, standing in the corner of the room.
"I see him. I'm on my way to make contact."
"Good luck, Sydney."
"Thanks." Her words had drastically changed from their first mission together. Sydney removed her lipstick from her purse and made the appearance of applying it.
"Oh! Excuse me, Sir." Sydney said rapidly in Finnish, after bumping into Peter.
"Only heaven would allow such an angel to fall and bump into me."
Sydney could hear Sark laughing in her ear piece, but tried to ignore the rich sound.
"Both of us are fortunate."
"What is your name?"
"Inge Roberson."
"An angelic name."
Sydney beamed, trying to pretend she was attracted to this very disturbing man.
"And your name is?"
"Peter Veriferd. I own this mansion."
"It really is quite beautiful."
"But it pales in comparison to you."
Sark's voice ran through her head, "Can he put it on any thicker? By the way, I've been done for a couple minutes now."
Sydney pressed her cell phone button to ring.
"Oh, pardon me. Hello? Oh, dear. Yes. I know." Sydney walked away from Veriferd, giving him a little wave.
"I marvel at your brilliance, Sydney."
"As well you should. And don't think flattery is going to keep me from kicking your butt the minute I see you. I'm on my way."
"I look forward to it."
Sydney rushed to the stairwell.
The couple snuck up the backstairwell and started down the corridor. Sark put his arm out to stop her. He played the tape. "Shadows."
"Voice activated. Confirmed Peter Veriferd."
The door unlocked and they entered.
"We're looking for Oliver Twist."
"Dickens...Dickens...Oliver Twist!"
"What are you doing in here, Inge?"
Sydney froze. "I just wanted to explore your house."
"I'm afraid you didn't. Give me the book."
Sydney glanced at Sark and flicked her eyes at the guard behind Veriferd.
He nodded imperceptibly. Sydney let Veriferd grip the book before twirling his arm. Sark attacked the guard, knocking him out with a quick punch to the back of his neck. Sydney stepped on Veriferd's foort, kneed him in the groin, and tied him to the table.
"What can I say? I like to read."
Sark shook his head and took her arm. They hurried away from the mansion in a flurry of black and pink.
Sydney pulled her now brown hair in a low pony tail and curled up in the large arm chair in the hotel room. She and Sark were staying overnight, so both had changed into their pajamas. She took the computer in her lap and Sark pulled her over, sliding in next to her. Sydney tried to ignore the close proximity of their bodies and the feel of Sark's arms around her as he punched in a few buttons.
"James Montrose." The picture flashed across the computer.
"Alexander Ferrer, Jonathan Christen, Ryan Dale, Stephen Pollard, William Vaughn, Just..."
"Oh my Lord."
"What?"
Sark faced Sydney, watching her eyes well up with tears at the seeming impossibity.
"No."
"Sydney?"
"It is him."
Sark flicked back to the picture.
"The worry wrinkles, the eye shape, the mouth shape. Sure, he's had plastic surgery, some colored contacts, hair dye, but it's still him."
"Sydney, you're not making any sense. How do you know him?"
"My CIA contact, Vaughn. That's his father. My mom killed him. Or that's what we thought."
Sydney couldn't stop herself from crying. She hated herself all the more for it, being in front of Sark. This was breaking down a barrier between them and she hated it.
"She lied. He lied. I'm so tired of lies."
Sark tightened his arms around her.
"I can't believe it."
Sydney turned to meet his eyes. She brushed her hand on his clean-cut cheek. She couldn't keep herself from doing it. Sark leaned into her gentle touch, his eyes closed instantly. It was as if he had never in his entire life been held so sweetly. Her mouth surged forward, capturing his lips passionately. They were both shocked by the feelings that vibrated through them, a kiss never tasting so tender and passionate at the same time. Sark pulled away and rested his chin on the top of her hair.
"We'll find the truth, Sydney. And I'll fix this."
Sydney clutched his chest, closing her eyes, ignoring the fact that this was just a moment of weakness. It felt too good to be held again to try to guard herself. Sark shifted his weight evenly and held her like a life line.
"I'll fix this."
Sydney relaxed in his grip, slowly drifting into an innocent slumber. Sark put the laptop on the floor and shifted their legs so that they rested on the ottoman. Sark fell asleep after Sydney, his only thoughts shockingly on protecting himself and Sydney.
Sydney woke up warm and with a crick in her neck. She peered over and saw a sleeping Sark, holding her close. He seemed content, his face smooth and sweet. Sydney disentangled her body from his and slipped quietly into the bedroom.
"Syd?"
Sydney turned to him, her voice hard, to protect herself. "What?"
She saw something change in his eyes. When he had come into the room, his eyes were soft, a puddle of water, but now they were cold. Ice. She shivered involuntarily, afraid at what she felt take over the room.
"Nothing. We've got to go. Do you think you could move a little faster than you did last night?"
"I think I'll take a separate plane."
"Whatever the princess wants."
Sark grabbed his suitcase and slammed the hotel door. Sydney collapsed down onto the bed, massaging her temples. What had she gotten herself into? William Vaughn was alive. She was trusting Sark. She was kissing Sark. But she wouldn't let that happen again, no matter how nice it was. She stood up and walked to the closet, beginning to pack her clothes for the long trip home.
Chapter Two
The Mission
They were already in Finland ready to attend the party. Sark sat on the arm rest and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone; his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He tapped in a few more buttons and ten pictures came up on the screen. He checked his watch again.
"Sydney, I've found ten matches, but we've got to go!" He pressed save and closed the computer.
"I'm coming! Who are they?"
"I already shut the computer down."
Sydney poked her head out of the bathroom. "What did you do that for?"
"I thought we would be leaving for the party this century."
Sydney slammed the door shut. He heard some movements and then the door opened again. Sydney emerged, a light pink halter dress flowing all around her and an auburn wig pulled into curls. Sark was unprepared for the picture she made. She smiled at him, her lips glossed over prettily. Sark started to tie his tie, but he was fumbling. Sydney had that effect on him. She floated over to him, removing his hands, and adeptly tied it for him. Her delicate, white hands landed on his chest. Sark leaned forward, caressing Sydney's soft skin. Their lips were inches apart.
"The party's already started." Sydney blurted out as they almost touched.
Sark jerked away.
"Right. Thanks." Sydney grabbed her purse and they headed silently to the mansion.
Sark slid into a closet underneath the stairs and pressed his ring that Marshall had designed.
"Sydney, can you hear me?"
"Yes." Sydney replied, standing in the corner of the room.
"I see him. I'm on my way to make contact."
"Good luck, Sydney."
"Thanks." Her words had drastically changed from their first mission together. Sydney removed her lipstick from her purse and made the appearance of applying it.
"Oh! Excuse me, Sir." Sydney said rapidly in Finnish, after bumping into Peter.
"Only heaven would allow such an angel to fall and bump into me."
Sydney could hear Sark laughing in her ear piece, but tried to ignore the rich sound.
"Both of us are fortunate."
"What is your name?"
"Inge Roberson."
"An angelic name."
Sydney beamed, trying to pretend she was attracted to this very disturbing man.
"And your name is?"
"Peter Veriferd. I own this mansion."
"It really is quite beautiful."
"But it pales in comparison to you."
Sark's voice ran through her head, "Can he put it on any thicker? By the way, I've been done for a couple minutes now."
Sydney pressed her cell phone button to ring.
"Oh, pardon me. Hello? Oh, dear. Yes. I know." Sydney walked away from Veriferd, giving him a little wave.
"I marvel at your brilliance, Sydney."
"As well you should. And don't think flattery is going to keep me from kicking your butt the minute I see you. I'm on my way."
"I look forward to it."
Sydney rushed to the stairwell.
The couple snuck up the backstairwell and started down the corridor. Sark put his arm out to stop her. He played the tape. "Shadows."
"Voice activated. Confirmed Peter Veriferd."
The door unlocked and they entered.
"We're looking for Oliver Twist."
"Dickens...Dickens...Oliver Twist!"
"What are you doing in here, Inge?"
Sydney froze. "I just wanted to explore your house."
"I'm afraid you didn't. Give me the book."
Sydney glanced at Sark and flicked her eyes at the guard behind Veriferd.
He nodded imperceptibly. Sydney let Veriferd grip the book before twirling his arm. Sark attacked the guard, knocking him out with a quick punch to the back of his neck. Sydney stepped on Veriferd's foort, kneed him in the groin, and tied him to the table.
"What can I say? I like to read."
Sark shook his head and took her arm. They hurried away from the mansion in a flurry of black and pink.
Sydney pulled her now brown hair in a low pony tail and curled up in the large arm chair in the hotel room. She and Sark were staying overnight, so both had changed into their pajamas. She took the computer in her lap and Sark pulled her over, sliding in next to her. Sydney tried to ignore the close proximity of their bodies and the feel of Sark's arms around her as he punched in a few buttons.
"James Montrose." The picture flashed across the computer.
"Alexander Ferrer, Jonathan Christen, Ryan Dale, Stephen Pollard, William Vaughn, Just..."
"Oh my Lord."
"What?"
Sark faced Sydney, watching her eyes well up with tears at the seeming impossibity.
"No."
"Sydney?"
"It is him."
Sark flicked back to the picture.
"The worry wrinkles, the eye shape, the mouth shape. Sure, he's had plastic surgery, some colored contacts, hair dye, but it's still him."
"Sydney, you're not making any sense. How do you know him?"
"My CIA contact, Vaughn. That's his father. My mom killed him. Or that's what we thought."
Sydney couldn't stop herself from crying. She hated herself all the more for it, being in front of Sark. This was breaking down a barrier between them and she hated it.
"She lied. He lied. I'm so tired of lies."
Sark tightened his arms around her.
"I can't believe it."
Sydney turned to meet his eyes. She brushed her hand on his clean-cut cheek. She couldn't keep herself from doing it. Sark leaned into her gentle touch, his eyes closed instantly. It was as if he had never in his entire life been held so sweetly. Her mouth surged forward, capturing his lips passionately. They were both shocked by the feelings that vibrated through them, a kiss never tasting so tender and passionate at the same time. Sark pulled away and rested his chin on the top of her hair.
"We'll find the truth, Sydney. And I'll fix this."
Sydney clutched his chest, closing her eyes, ignoring the fact that this was just a moment of weakness. It felt too good to be held again to try to guard herself. Sark shifted his weight evenly and held her like a life line.
"I'll fix this."
Sydney relaxed in his grip, slowly drifting into an innocent slumber. Sark put the laptop on the floor and shifted their legs so that they rested on the ottoman. Sark fell asleep after Sydney, his only thoughts shockingly on protecting himself and Sydney.
Sydney woke up warm and with a crick in her neck. She peered over and saw a sleeping Sark, holding her close. He seemed content, his face smooth and sweet. Sydney disentangled her body from his and slipped quietly into the bedroom.
"Syd?"
Sydney turned to him, her voice hard, to protect herself. "What?"
She saw something change in his eyes. When he had come into the room, his eyes were soft, a puddle of water, but now they were cold. Ice. She shivered involuntarily, afraid at what she felt take over the room.
"Nothing. We've got to go. Do you think you could move a little faster than you did last night?"
"I think I'll take a separate plane."
"Whatever the princess wants."
Sark grabbed his suitcase and slammed the hotel door. Sydney collapsed down onto the bed, massaging her temples. What had she gotten herself into? William Vaughn was alive. She was trusting Sark. She was kissing Sark. But she wouldn't let that happen again, no matter how nice it was. She stood up and walked to the closet, beginning to pack her clothes for the long trip home.