Jessica Andersen - Twin Targets

This, he’d been saying to Sydney with his actions. This is what I’ll do to you if you cross me. This is what I’ll do to the people around you. Like Jenny Marie.

Like Celeste.

Tears filmed Sydney’s vision and a sob caught in her throat.

“Here.” Sharpe handed a business card to the lawyer. “My cell number is on it. You can call her at that number.” He turned for the door, gesturing for Sydney. “Come on. We have a plane to catch.”

He acted like he didn’t know—or didn’t care—that she was upset, like she didn’t have the right because she’d brought it on herself. A kernel of bitter anger took root in her chest, kindling and spreading through her body.

“Hey.” She grabbed his arm, trying to ignore the jolt of awareness that sang through her at the feel of hard muscle beneath his suit jacket. But the sensation was so strong, so unexpected, that she fumbled for a second when he turned back and looked at her.

“What?”

Are you completely insensitive? she wanted to shout. What had happened to the guy on the boat? She wanted that Sharpe back, the one who’d held her, comforted her. But she didn’t ask those things, because what was the point? It wasn’t his job to comfort her—it was his job to catch Tiberius, and he’d already made it clear that he didn’t give a damn about her agenda or her feelings.

And maybe that was for the best, she realized, sucking in a breath. She had a feeling the sizzle she’d just felt wasn’t one-sided, and that could complicate things. She couldn’t become involved with him—getting involved would only serve to derail her from the important things.

She’d learned that lesson all too well before. It was her affair with Dr. Let’s-share-ideas-so-I-can-steal-yours Richard Eckhart that’d led to the loss of her university position and gotten her set on this path in the first place.

So instead of asking for comfort, she said, “Why aren’t you arguing about whether or not I should be at the scene?”

Sharpe looked down at her hand on his arm, then back up, so he was staring into her eyes when he said, “Because I never fight a battle I don’t think I can win, Ms. Westlake. You might want to keep that in mind.”

A thousand retorts jammed her brain, a thousand reasons why she should back off, back away and sit down with her lawyer while the FBI mobilized its forces to find Celeste. Instead of giving voice to any of that, though, she said simply, “Call me Sydney.”

“Okay.” But he didn’t offer the same in return. Instead, he gestured to the door and the world beyond, which she hadn’t seen in nearly a year. “Let’s go.”

She went.

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