Here, the explosions were nearly as loud, but there were far fewer people around. Noah found a break between two buildings and leaped, pulling himself up onto a fire escape. Sydney made the jump right behind him, sailing along on one last burst of adrenaline. A moment later, they had climbed to the roof and were peering down into the alley behind Monique Larousse.
“What chaos!” Noah whispered happily. “Let's see if we can get closer.” He began creeping along the flat rooftops, staying low and sticking to the shadows.
Sydney followed cautiously, one eye on Noah and one on the action below her. Police and firemen raced back and forth, trying to pinpoint the source of the explosions. No one was being allowed to enter Monique Larousse, but the lower back windows had been broken, whether by explosions or emergency crews, Sydney couldn't tell. Glass glittered on the pavement, pulverized by the boots running over it.
When Noah was almost directly opposite the fashion house, he flattened himself on his belly, motioning for Sydney to do the same.
“Can you see those two K-Directorate agents?” she asked, looking over the edge of the building at the brushy slope. Even with all the flashing lights, the area behind the Dumpster was too dark for her to make out.
Suddenly, a huge explosion shook the ground, sending everyone down below scurrying for cover. A third-story window gave way at Monique Larousse, showering glass into the alley. Bystanders screamed and sirens wailed.
“How long can this keep up?” Sydney asked Noah worriedly.
He shrugged. “So long as it stays underground, who cares?”
He didn't bother to whisper, and she probably couldn't have heard him if he had. Smaller explosions were popping like firecrackers, their echoes pinging off the walls.
The officers had just begun walking upright again when a different kind of commotion began in the alley. Shouting in the distance grew in both volume and urgency as five people came running full speed up the pavement. Monique Larousse and the remaining K-Directorate agent were out in front, and hot on their trail were three policemen yelling in frantic French.
“Madame! Monsieur!”
“Vous ne pouvez pas entrer là!”
“Arrêtez-vous! Revenez!”
Noah turned to Sydney, a disbelieving smile on his lips. “Call me crazy, but I think this is going to work.”
Reacting to the shouts of their fellow officers, armed policemen closer to the fashion house formed a line and intercepted the agents before they reached the basement stairs.
“I am Monique Larousse!” Agent Larousse cried, trying to push her way through the officers. “I must get into my building before I lose everything!”
“Too late,” Noah said cheerfully.
A rapid conversation in French began, with everyone shouting at the same time. Larousse became increasingly agitated, pointing to her building and indicating the partner at her side. A commanding officer stood back from the commotion, speaking into a walkie-talkie. As Sydney watched, he switched off the instrument, strode forward, and began questioning Agent Larousse.
“What's happening?” Sydney asked Noah desperately.
“He just accused her and her buddy there of arson for insurance fraud,” Noah reported, loving it.
Larousse began a frantic rebuttal, waving her arms for emphasis, but before she had finished, the senior officer gave a signal and both she and her partner were handcuffed and forced into a squad car.
In almost the same instant, another shout went up. A junior officer had found Anatolii and the fourth enemy agent handcuffed behind the Dumpster. There was a flurry of activity as floodlights were brought and the situation examined. Noah chuckled as the men were patted down and their concealed guns and other illegal equipment started to emerge. The officers became agitated, drawing their own weapons for cover, and finally the last two K-Directorate agents joined the others in the back of a locked squad car.
It was over.
“We did it!” Sydney hooted triumphantly. “We rock!”
Elated, she held up a hand for Noah to high- five.
But when he turned to look at her, the amazed expression on his face made her hand waver in the air. For the first time in hours, she remembered the difference in their ages—and in their experience.
Oh, no, she thought, heart sinking. He thinks I'm really young and geeky.
She felt like a total fool. But before she could lower her hand, Noah slapped it with his own.
“Way to go, Agent Bristow,” he said warmly.
He smiled at her and Sydney smiled back, both thrilled and exhilarated.
Agent Bristow, she thought happily. I like the way that sounds!
15
THE KNOCK AT SYDNEY'S hotel room door jerked her upright on the bed. She'd been lying on top of the sheets, fully clothed. Now her eyes sought out the bedside clock, provoking a loud groan. She had finally managed to doze off and she'd only been asleep for two hours.
At least I'm already dressed, she thought groggily, swinging her stocking feet down to the carpet and shuffling toward the door. She had wanted to buy clothes the night before, but the stores had been closed at that late hour. She and Noah had been stuck in the black pants and turtlenecks they'd worn on their mission, looking like a couple of mimes without their makeup.
Without any makeup at all,Sydney thought wistfully, smoothing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Thankfully she'd had the opportunity to shampoo.
She and Noah had checked into the low-budget hotel ridiculously early that Tuesday morning, after sneaking down from their rooftop perch and catching the first available cab headed south. As much as Sydney would have liked to go back to the Plaza Athénée to soak in marble luxury and reclaim her SD-6 wardrobe of designer clothes, Noah hadn't thought it was safe.
“K-Directorate is a lot bigger than four people,” he'd reminded her. “That suite could be under surveillance from anywhere in the world.”
So instead, they'd used some cash to take separate rooms at the new place. Sydney's room was small but clean, and she'd been so exhausted, she should have been able to sleep standing up. But as it had turned out, she'd also been too keyed up and too wet to relax, instead passing half the night drying her clothes with the hotel hair dryer.
She pulled her door open now to find Noah grinning on the other side, looking as rested as if he'd just come off a two-week vacation. He held a bottle of orange juice in one hand and a newspaper in the other.
“For you,” he said, offering her the juice. “How did you sleep?”
Sydney took a long drink before answering his question. “Did I sleep?” she countered, waving him inside and closing the door behind him.
He laughed as he crossed the room and dropped the newspaper on her bed. “Too much fun, huh?”
“Too much fun, and not enough pajamas. How did you sleep in those wet clothes?”
He winked at her. “I didn't.”
The obvious implication made her blush. Not that there was anything wrong with sleeping in the nude—she was just pretty sure she shouldn't be thinking about Noah doing it. Or about the way he had kissed her the night before. Or especially about the way she had kissed him back . . .
“I was up for hours using the hair dryer on mine,” she volunteered, eager to change the subject. “I finally got them dry, but my shoes are still damp.”
Noah made a face. “Seems like a lot of trouble. I just hung mine up and they're okay now. Except for the shoes.”
“Yeah. The shoes,” she echoed, still too embarrassed to meet his eyes. She finished her juice instead and ditched the bottle on top of the tiny dresser.
“I brought you something to read on the plane,” Noah said, picking up the paper and handing it to her. “Check this out.”
Sydney scanned the lead headline of the English-language newspaper: FOUR ARRESTED IN SUSPECTED ARMS DEALINGS.
The subsequent article, accompanied by a photograph of the fashion house surrounded by emergency vehicles, anchored the front page.
> “If they know about the guns, they must have been able to get down the tunnel,” Sydney said, sitting on the edge of the bed to read. “I thought it must have collapsed.”
Noah leaned against the wall. “That bunker has to be flattened, and probably flooded too. But the way ammo sounds blowing up . . . the police know what it was. Besides, they have all the time in the world now to dig for evidence. Between what they'll find underground and a look at the books, it's a pretty safe bet that Monique Larousse will never reopen.”
“So . . . everyone who worked there . . . Henri, Arnaud, Yvette. They were all K-Directorate?”
“I don't think so. I checked in with SD-6 this morning, and so far only the four we tangled with have turned out to be known agents. Larousse was running the show while Anatolii's squad smuggled the guns and kept order. All those other employees are just clueless French citizens.”
Sydney shook her head in disgust.
“Check out the next page. It gets better.”
On the second page of the newspaper, a photograph showed all four agents being marched into police headquarters in handcuffs. Agent Larousse's face was shown, although Anatolii had managed to duck. The other two agents were caught in profile.
“That's going to screw up their covers!” Noah gloated. “I'm predicting major plastic surgery before those four work again.”
“Work again?” she echoed, shocked.
“K-Directorate will get them out. Did you think they were locked up for good?”
“Well . . . actually . . .”
Noah smiled. “You're so cute when you're naïve. We'll see those four again—and next time they'll be looking to get even. Try not to freak out when I say this, but we probably should have shot them when we had the chance.”
Sydney stared at the floor. They both knew she'd been the one who had pushed to get the agents arrested instead.
“I didn't want to kill anyone,” she admitted. “It's one thing to shoot in self-defense, but to pick someone off in cold blood . . .”
To her surprise, Noah crossed to the bed and gave her shoulder an awkward pat.
“No one ever wants to. . . . Anyway, they're tied up long enough for us both to get out of here. I've got a taxi waiting outside, if you're ready.”
“Right now?” she said, taken aback. “It's waiting outside right now?”
“It's amazing what a phone call will do.”
“No, but . . . We're going back to L.A. already?”
“You are. SD-6 called the airline and reserved your new ticket. I have a few loose ends to tie up here, but I'll ride with you to the airport.”
“Oh,” she said, disappointed. “I thought we'd be flying back together.”
She had hoped so, anyway. In side-by-side seats on the long ride home from France, she might have been able to muster the courage to ask when she'd see him again . . . and what it would mean when she did.
Noah simply smiled and looked around the hotel room. “So, all packed?”
“Very funny,” Sydney replied, pulling on her damp shoes.
“The good thing about traveling in this direction is you only lose three hours,” Noah said as their taxi pulled up at the airport. “You'll still be there in time for your afternoon classes.”
He grinned and Sydney knew he was teasing, trying to make her complain about how completely exhausted she was. It would have been easy to do in her current state, but with Noah acting so chipper, she didn't want to look weak.
“Perfect,” she said, stepping out to the curb. “I'd rather go today than make up more work later.”
Maybe if I sleep on the plane . . . , she thought. Or even if I sleep during class. At least I can say that I went.
Anything was better than having Noah think she couldn't cut it as an agent.
Inside the terminal, he guided her to an open shop. Most of the airport stores were closed so early in the morning, but a coffee stand was open, and so was the adjacent souvenir-and-magazine merchant.
“You might want to buy a purse, or some sort of bag,” he suggested. “It looks better than taking your passport out of your back pocket.”
“Good idea.” She'd already made up a story about falling into a hotel swimming pool, in case anyone asked how her passport got wet.
Noah waited outside while Sydney browsed the limited choices in the small gift shop. A couple of plain fanny packs were the closest substitute for a purse. She picked a blue one, knowing anything was better than hiking up her shirt in public to access her hidden money belt. As she walked toward the cash register, she filled the bag with a few essentials: lip gloss, breath mints, a folding hairbrush. A powder blue scrunchie caught her eye and went in too. And there, sitting beside the register, was the best thing in the whole store—an embroidered tote bag depicting the Eiffel Tower and filled to overflowing with fine French chocolate and jams.
“I'll take that, too,” she said, pointing impulsively as the sales clerk rang up her purchases.
“Oui, mademoiselle!” he replied, clearly seeing eurodollar signs.
Sydney didn't care. After what I've been through on this mission, Wilson owes me some jam, she thought, paying with SD-6 funds.
Emerging from the store, she thrust the tote bag into Noah's hands. “Hold this a second,” she said.
“For me?” he asked, mock flattered.
“You wish. I just want to put in this scrunchie.” Sydney clipped the fanny pack around her waist with the pouch in front. Stretching the blue fabric loop over her wrist, she began brushing out her hair.
“So you're hungry then,” he persisted. “Did they give you a spoon to eat this jam, or do we need to find you one?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Big, touristy tote bag . . . lots of labels in French. Are you planning to tell your roommate you picked this up in San Diego?”
Sydney's face fell. She finished her ponytail and let it drop, then took the tote back from Noah.
“I wasn't thinking,” she admitted, bracing for the rookie jokes. “I just wanted a souvenir.”
“Well . . . carry it through security, then ask for a big loaf of bread on the plane. It does make you look more normal than walking around empty-handed.”
“Right,” she said gratefully.
Noah stood in line with her to collect her airplane ticket. She asked for a window seat this time, but there wasn't even a seat left on the aisle.
“Full plane,” the ticket agent said apologetically. “I had to put you in a center seat in the center section.”
Sydney accepted the ticket without further comment. “Center section?” she asked Noah as they walked away.
“You're not in first class anymore,” he told her, shaking his head sadly. “Especially not dressed like that.”
“You don't look any better!” she protested.
“No, but I will by this afternoon. Anyway, what do you care? You're going home alive, and that's the main thing.”
“I know.”
Noah looked ahead to where the passengers were lining up at the security checkpoint. “This is as far as I go.”
Stepping out of the path of traffic, he stopped beside a wall.
Sydney stopped beside him. “You're not going to the gate?” she asked, trying not to whine.
“Not without a ticket.” He shrugged. “Besides, you'll be sitting there awhile. And I have things to do.”
“Oh, right. Of course.”
“Okay, then,” he said, shrugging again.
“Good-bye. I guess.”
Neither of them moved. Sydney's toes curled up inside her shoes with her desperate need to say more.
“It was good working with you,” he added. “You'll make a great agent, Bristow. I can tell.”
Under different circumstances, a compliment like that would have kept her walking on air for days. Now all she felt was disappointment.
What about us? she wanted to scream. What about you and me?
But she just couldn't spit it out. A
fter all, Noah was older than she was, and higher in SD-6. If she was wrong, if she had misinterpreted his feelings, if kissing her really had been just a simple cover maneuver . . .
I would die from the humiliation, she concluded. It's better to let it drop.
So why was she still standing there?
Noah Hicks could make my life far too complicated. For one thing, there's probably a rule against dating fellow agents. Besides, Dad would have a fit if he found out I was seeing an older man. Or wait . . . maybe that's a plus. Anyway, anyone can see that Noah comes with too much baggage. He's bossy, and proud, and impatient, and . . .
And I might already be half in love with him.
Could she really tell him that? Now? More people were arriving every second, adding to the passing crowd. Sydney's eyes searched his for any clue, any little sign. For a second she thought she saw a flicker. . . .
Then Noah shrugged again.
“So, I'll see you around, I guess,” he said. “I mean, I'm sure I'll run into you sometime.”
It wasn't much, but for a guy with so many things to do, he sure didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. She took a step toward him, then stopped, reconsidering.
What if I'm wrong?
“I'll see you,” she agreed, settling for a hopeful smile.
She watched him walk away, and when he turned back to wave good-bye, her breath caught in her chest. There was something between them; she just didn't know what it was yet.
I think I'll make it my next mission to find out.
A finger poked Sydney in the back of the shoulder, startling her out of her daydreams.
“They're not bothering you, are they?” the woman seated directly behind her leaned forward to ask.
“What? Who?”
“My kids,” the woman replied, looking at her strangely. She had the center seat between four of her young children, and two more sat to one side of Sydney, wrestling over their shared armrest and putting their tray tables up and down. Dad had the aisle to Sydney's left, a fidgety toddler between them.
A Secret Life Page 12
