Chapter Six
Sydney parks the car in the driveway as quickly as possible, grabbing the keys. She turns the doorknob to find that the front door is unlocked. "Sark?" she calls out. When all she gets for an answer is silence, panic seizes her. "Sark?!" she yells, scrambling up the stairs. As soon as she gets to the top, she hears water running and gives a huff of exasperation. Knocking on the bathroom door, she calls out, "Why the hell is the front door unlocked?"
"Why does it matter?" comes Sark's muffled reply.
"I thought you'd been kidnapped. I need to talk to you."
"I don't get kidnapped, Sydney. Go have a drink or something. I'll be there."
Sydney frowns at being dismissed so quickly. "I mean, right now."
Sark doesn't say anything, and after a few seconds hearing the water run, Sydney bangs on the door, repeatedly. "Sark!"
Hearing the water shut off, she smiles triumphantly though she knows there isn't any real reason to ruin Sark's shower.
The door is yanked open and just as Sydney opens her mouth to speak, she feels her stomach drop at the sight of Sark. He leans against the doorway, a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist. Water drips from his hair and down his lean yet muscular body. She sweeps her eyes down his body, her heart lodged in her throat. He folds his arms across his chest, oblivious to Sydney's gaping. "What the hell is so bloody important that I couldn't finish my shower first?"
Sydney clears her throat and attempts to shove all the dirty thoughts from her mind. "Uh... I think you should, um, get dressed first."
Sark smirks, as if he knows why Sydney is uncomfortable. "Whatever you say, your highness." He draws out the last two words and closes the bathroom door.
Sydney fumes and chastises herself for being so obvious. It wasn't as if she had never noticed Sark before. Of course, he was good-looking; nobody could deny that. But seeing him nearly naked before her... she pushes the image away. There's no way she is seriously attracted to Sark.
He steps out fully dressed in a t-shirt and slacks a moment later. He rubs his hair with a towel and raises an eyebrow. "So? What's going on?"
She takes a deep breath. "Someone was tailing me."
Sark is immediately alert, as he throws the towel on the floor of the bathroom and motions for them to sit downstairs. "Assassin?"
She shakes her head. "No. Well, maybe, but he wasn't there to kill me or hurt me."
The driver of the other car got out, seeing as he had no other choice. He smiled as Sydney walked toward him, her senses alert and prepared for an attack. He took the liberty of speaking first. "Sydney Bristow."
She glanced over the man, scrutinizing his looks. Fairly tall, medium brown hair, hazel eyes. He wore blue jeans and a black button down shirt. He seemed to have a hint of a Russian accent. "Have we met?" she asked, keeping her feet planted carefully in case she needed to make a quick getaway.
"No. But I can help you." He gave a toothy grin, which lit up his entire face like a child.
"I don't need help," Sydney told him, a cold look on her face.
"I know what you're searching for. I can tell you what happened to you those two years." His smile held, the edges of his eyes crinkling. He looked fairly young to Sydney, probably no older than she was.
"He wanted to give you information?" Sark asks, almost incredulously.
"I couldn't believe it either." Sydney tells him, shrugging.
"I don't believe you. Why would you want to give me information?"
"There is a price, of course." He smiled mischievously. "I can give you proof. You woke up in Hong Kong to find your CIA handler was married. You've been with Sark for a few days now."
Sydney blinked, slightly shocked. "Okay. What do you want for the information?"
The man's grin widened. "You."
Sark's eyebrows shoot up. "Wait, you're saying he wanted you to—"
"Yes."
"What did you say?"
"What did you say? Me what?" Even as she asked the question, the answer become apparent in the way his eyes were sliding over her body. "Oh, no, no, no."
"What I don't get is why," she muses aloud.
Sark chuckles. "I don't think you need to be reminded that men do find you attractive, even without the outrageous outfits SD-6 sometimes provides." His smirk is wide and taunting.
"I didn't mean that!" she exclaims, a slight smile apparent on her face.
"So did you get any information?"
"No? Why not?" His eyes seem to be questioning her closely, making her a bit nervous.
"As much as I want to know where I've been, and who I've been with, I am not compromising myself for that information. Is there anything else I can offer you?" Sydney folded her arms across her chest, showing that he couldn't change her mind.
"Well, in that case—" A soft shot rang through the air, and to Sydney's horror, the man in front of her crumbled, a dark crimson stain spreading across his chest. She ducked immediately behind Sark's car, cursing herself for not having a gun on her. She stayed silent for a few moments, and heard nothing. Slowly, she peeked from behind the car, and saw no one. When no shots rang out, she stood up completely and looked in every direction for the sniper. She saw no sign of any movement. Perplexed, she glanced quickly at the man still lying on the floor, no doubt killed. She looked away, unable to bear seeing his opened eyes, filled with shock and horror.
Hopping back into the Porsche, she drove off, keeping an eye out for anyone or anything out of the ordinary.
"It looks like the target was him, not you." Sark concludes, as confused by the encounter as Sydney is.
Sydney nods, leaning back into the sofa. "I know. But I don't get why the sniper only killed him. If someone were truly after him, they'd kill me in case I was an associate or I would take revenge. Unless—"
"They didn't want you to get the information," he finishes her thought.
"So I could've been the target after all. What do you think we should do?"
"Well, no doubt more than one person knows where you are, and that you're with me. But since you weren't killed, I'd say we're safe for tonight. Tomorrow, we'll leave for somewhere else."
----
A man stands in front of a desk, his hands folded. "Sir," he addresses someone sitting behind the desk, his back turned, partly obscured by the shadows. "Ivan tried to make contact with her."
The man behind the desk swirls his chair around to face the speaker. "What happened?"
"I found him negotiating with her outside Lugano."
The man rubs the stubble on his chin. "Did she get any information?"
"No, sir, I believe not."
"Good, good. I assume you disposed of him?"
"Yes. Right in front of her. But she was unharmed."
"You've confirmed it, then?"
"Yes." The man standing nods his head for emphasis.
"Very good. You may go, Benedict." He waves off Benedict toward the door, as he presses a button under his desk.
A few minutes later, a woman enters the room, confident and poised. "Yes?" Her tone is detached, her dark brown eyes cold.
"She's with Sark."
The woman's mouth curves into a smirk. "Oh, really?"
"Do not forget, it isn't the same."
"It's the same to me. Where are they?"
"Switzerland. No doubt, they'll be on the move soon, though. Ivan tried to make contact with her." He folds his arms on the desk.
Her eyes gleam. "That stupid twit. Is he dead?"
"Benedict shot him in front of her."
"And she didn't see?"
"No."
"Interesting. At least one of them can do things right, it seems." She turns to exit the room.
"Don't forget our bargain. Don't go looking for them." He calls after her retreating figure.
"I haven't, as long as you keep up your end. And don't worry, I won't." She says over her shoulder. Smiling, she adds, "Not yet, at least."
----
Sydney and Sark both decide dinner is still in order. He tells her to change into something semi formal while he goes to, no doubt, do the same. She stands in her 'room' in front of the mirror, observing how she looks. The sleeveless dress is dark red, and hugs her body nicely. It ends just below her knees, and flows out slightly. The material is light and soft, the neckline low and brushing against the inside of her breasts. She adds a pair of black heeled sandals. Her hair is curled out, barely touching her shoulders. Taking a breath, she walks back out to the living room, where Sark is sitting idly, a faraway look on his face. Upon hearing her enter, he snaps out of his daze and turns to her. A slow smile spreads across his face.
"You look beautiful," he tells her softly, as if she were the only person in the world worthy of that statement.
A blush creeps into her cheeks. "Thanks. You look great too." And he does, with a nice black dress shirt open at the collar and black pants.
He smiles genuinely and stands up, holding out his arm. "Shall we?"
----
The restaurant is dimly lit and hushed with soft music playing the background. As Sark and Sydney are taken to their booth, Sydney smiles wistfully at all the couples around them, so wrapped up in their own world. Sark notices her expression. "To be young and in love…" he quips.
She smiles at him as they take their seats across from one another. It's so odd to hear Sark talking about love, but she also recalls the conversation in the hotel room. Perhaps she isn't as surprised as she would've been two years ago. "I don't think I'm young anymore. Nor am I in love…" she trails off.
"Don't worry, Sydney. You'll find someone for you soon. And when you fall deeply in love again, nothing else will matter." He looks through the items on the menu, chewing on his bottom lip.
She tilts her head at him. "And what about you, Mr. Sark? Are you hoping to fall in love?" She wonders when she became so audacious. She marvels at how normal the two of them sound, casually conversing as if they didn't have to run tomorrow morning. What she's even more amazed at is how comfortable she feels, being here with him.
He chuckles. "That's a question for another time." His passive blue eyes meet hers, but they give away nothing.
After the meal is finished, Sydney pushes around leftover pasta in her plate, contemplating her next words. "I had a great time tonight."
Sark raises his eyebrows at her. "Are you trying to get rid of me? The night's not over yet." He swirls the wine in his glass.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"You just did." He offers her a smirk.
She shakes her head, "I'm serious."
"All right, go ahead."
"What's your first name? Where are you from? How did you get into this life?" She realizes that she has a million questions for him, all spilling out. How many more chances might she actually get to talk to this man?
"Those are loaded questions. I'm from Ireland, Irina brought me into this life, and I'd rather not give away my first name." His gaze doesn't waver, nor does his voice.
"Why not?" She wonders to herself why she chooses to focus on his name.
Apparently, he thinks the same thing. "What's so important to you about my first name?"
She counters with another question, "Why won't you tell it?"
"It's the gives me an upper hand. People are curious about it; they'll come to me. It also makes me more of an enigma. Can't have the world knowing all my secrets. Too easy to blackmail, then."
"I don't have anyone to tell, and I don't need to blackmail you."
"Maybe later," he offers quietly, effectively closing discussion on the matter. Seeing her disappointed expression, he tells her, "It's not that exciting, Sydney."
She nods, accepting his answer for now. "How did Irina bring you to into this life?" she asks, shifting the focus of the conversation, hoping he'll answer the question this time.
He stands, throwing money onto the table to pay for their dinner. "Let's take a walk."
She follows him toward the exit, feeling truly content and at ease with her life, at least for the night.
They walk alongside each other, toward the lake path. Sark slides his hand into hers before beginning to speak.
She doesn't pull away.