4. Just Another Job

By the time Sydney stirred out of her half sleep and drove the van along Queen Street to the entrance of the dance studio, she knew Winter was already inside.

For one, the lights were on, which meant it was already open at this ungodly time, five hours before its normal schedule. Second, she recognized the black car parked outside as the same one she'd seen behind the hotel last night—bodyguards, ever watchful for fans who might have caught on to Winter's whereabouts and could attempt to get into the studio.

Sydney jogged past the back door, as if out on a casual four A.M. run. The humidity in the air irritated her weak lungs, and they reacted accordingly, an uncomfortable ache stirring in her chest each time she breathed. She forced herself to slow down.

As she went, she took a good look at the two bodyguards inside the car. Their eyes were trained on the building, but not on her, watchful only of the studio's entrance. She did a lap, then came back around from the other end of the street, where they would be less likely to see her, stopping at the back of the building where the garbage bins were all lined up in a row.

The door was locked, but she went right up to it anyway and took out a small pin from her pocket. As she worked on the lock, she glanced up, searching for security cameras. There were two in the front, but none back here, not by the garbage bins. Amateur hour, she thought, ever grateful for lazy security.

She twisted the pin once more and was rewarded with the sound of a light click. Bingo, she thought as the door handle turned all the way. She slipped inside.

Inside, the studio was quiet and muffled, but Sydney could hear the beat of music. As she followed it down the hall, she heard the squeak of shoes against a polished dance floor.

It had been a year since she'd been this close to Winter, and the sound of those shoes made her heart jump. Even without seeing him, she could tell from the rhythm of the noise what he was doing—spinning, arching backward, the thud of his shoes against the floor in perfect sync with the music. If she closed her eyes, she would be able to see him moving in her mind, in her memories—gliding across a floor bathed in moonlight, his shirt translucent like a ghost.

She shook her head and clenched one of her fists at her side, and for a moment, she slowed in her steps, as if she might abandon the meeting. What did she expect, anyway? Even if he was happy to see her, even if he wanted to do the mission, there couldn't be anything more between them. Sydney had watched Niall and Sauda as they spent the last decade circling each other, never allowed to be together because of Panacea's strict rules, yet never able to move on because of their deep feelings for each other.

Not that that was the case with Winter. He was a superstar. People falling at his feet at every turn. Chances were that he'd forgotten all about her.

Maybe it had been a mistake for Sauda to send her to fetch Winter. C'mon, Sydney, she thought to herself, shaking her head. Two years ago, when she was tasked with making contact with the world's most dangerous drug lord in Antwerp, did she hesitate? No. And here she was, getting cold feet before asking a freaking pop star whether or not he wanted to join her on another mission. Ridiculous.

Sydney turned the corner and found herself standing before the doors of the practice room, staring at a boy stretching on the floor. Her rambling mind cut off abruptly, and all she could do was take in the sight of him.

There was something strange about seeing someone in the flesh whom she usually, like everyone else, saw filtered through a screen. Sharper, more angular, human in that extraordinary way that only famous people tended to be, in possession of an intangible quality that made it impossible to look away.

All right,she told herself forcefully. Back to business.

Sydney's mind snapped to attention again. She moved silently, opening and closing the practice room door and posing herself against the wall, her eyes fixed on Winter's back. She was so quiet that he hadn't noticed her enter the room—his head stayed tilted down toward the floor as he stretched his legs, his brows furrowed in the mirror, his lips murmuring to the music blaring through the speakers. For a while, she just watched him. She remembered everything about him so vividly, but what she remembered best were these little moments, like when he'd look skyward to enjoy the rain or dance alone in a room, when he was so absorbed in something that he forgot entirely about the world around him. If spies and artists had anything in common, it must be this: an all-consuming focus on their work, missions by a different name.

She wondered what he was thinking about. Music, most likely. A dance routine, perhaps. Selfishly, foolishly, she wondered if perhaps he was thinking about her.

Long minutes passed before he finally finished his stretch, rubbed his neck with his towel, and pushed himself to his feet. His gaze went to the mirror instantly. And at last, his eyes jumped to her.

Their gazes met and he froze.

Sydney felt the lock of his eyes on her own as if he'd physically touched her. Maybe she remembered everything about him, but she had forgotten this—how his attention could feel like the sear of the sun.

He blinked once, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, as if she were an apparition. Then he spun to face her directly, and a surprised smile spread on his face.

And in spite of everything, she felt her own lips answering with a smile, felt her entire body warm with the glow of his presence.

"I hope you remember me, Mr. Young," she said.

Ten minutes later, they had settled into a private booth at the back of a nearby café. Sydney snuggled deep into her seat across from Winter and regarded him with what she hoped was a neutral expression.

"No black car this time? Where are Niall and Sauda?" Winter said in a low voice as he looked curiously around the empty shop.

"Just me this time, I'm afraid," she replied. "Panacea bought out this coffee shop for the day, so depending on your answers, we'll see about sending out a black car."

"Ah." Winter's smile tightened. "I'm guessing the barista is an operative, too?"

She nodded. "And aware that we're meeting in private here. You won't see any patrons coming in this morning. Or any paparazzi."

Winter snorted at that. "Of course not," he muttered in understanding. "I hope you're compensating this place handsomely."

"More than they'd make in a week," she answered. "So don't worry."

His slender fingers tapped against the porcelain of his mug. She found herself studying them before his voice drew her gaze back up to his face. He was taking in her face with care, as if savoring her, which made her heart twist.

"You look…" he began, then trailed off as he idly brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes. "The same," he finished. "Exactly the same."

"I don't know how to feel about that," she answered.

He gave her a secret smile before taking a sip of his tea. "It was a compliment," he said.

Her heart twisted again. She couldn't tell if she liked the feeling or not.

"I see your compliments haven't improved," she replied archly.

"Neither has your ability to take one."

"Clearly nothing has changed between us."

"Nothing?" He made a tsk sound with his tongue. "Then we're in trouble, Ms. Cossette."

Usually, she could engage someone in a flattering conversation, taking the opportunity to study them while they got carried away talking about themselves. Usually, they never noticed her playing this game, too caught up in their own ego to see they were being played.

But Winter saw through her, and to her annoyance, she could feel her cheeks turning warm.

"Congratulations on your new album," she said, switching the topic to distract herself. "I didn't even know they could be Multi-Diamond. New world record?"

His nod in return looked blank, telling her immediately that something else was on his mind. The tell-all book, she remembered, picturing yesterday's headlines—as well as the footage of him walking out in the middle of the biggest interview of his career. It didn't take a spy to know that it'd be best to avoid the topic.

"That's what they say," he answered with a shrug. "Have you listened to it?"

"No," she lied.

"Good," he said. "I don't want to know what you think."

She laughed a little. "Good," she replied. "Because I wouldn't tell you."

The truth was that she'd listened to his album on repeat for the last three weeks—in preparation for their mission, of course. She replayed it until she could hear the bars in her sleep, had memorized every lyric and every space where he took a breath. In those private moments, she'd closed her eyes and let his voice fill her mind, allowed herself to miss him. Most of all, she had hoped in vain for a specific track, one titled "You Are My Meditation." It was a song he'd started writing during their last mission together.

Who is it about?she'd asked him then.

You,he'd answered.

But it wasn't on the album. Maybe he'd never finished it. She'd thought back and forth about it, caught somewhere between relief and what she would have to force herself to describe as disappointment. That was foolish, though. It would be best for her cover if the song never saw the light of day.

She'd managed to push him from her mind since they said their farewells after their last mission. And she'd been successful—mostly. Sydney had been in and out of flings before, both with other agents and random operatives she'd met overseas. If there was one thing she was good at, it was walking away from a relationship.

But then she'd watched him through the dance studio's window this morning—and felt the snare close around her again.

Damn it all.

"Tell me what's up, then," he said, folding his arms. "Unless you just wanted an autograph."

Sydney composed herself, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and placed it on the table between them. The screen lit up—and seconds later, a hologram appeared between them, a video clip showing a black car parked on a dark street.

As they looked on, a grainy figure stepped out of the car and glanced surreptitiously over their shoulder before looking away. The video paused, then repeated once, before Sydney closed the clip and pocketed her phone again.

"Who was that?" Winter asked.

"I know almost as little about him as you do," Sydney explained. "All I know is he's one of ours—a Panacea agent sent to an overseas division called the Sapphire Cross."

"The Sapphire Cross." Winter frowned. "Isn't that an international charity?"

She smiled at him. "As much as the Panacea Group is a luxury hotel."

"Curiouser and curiouser," he murmured.

"The agent was supposed to rendezvous with me two weeks ago in Washington, DC, to deliver some intel that he's been gathering for the past three months. He never showed."

"Maybe he just stood you up?"

Sydney studied her nails and refused to react to his tease. "Maybe," she said. "Or maybe he's in danger and needs our help. We don't know, because we've been unable to make contact ever since, and in our experience, that's never a good sign."

"So what's the mission?"

"An extraction. I'm going in to rescue him and bring him back home. Niall will be on the ground, as he'll be coordinating with the CIA on it. And I'm in need of a partner."

"A partner." Winter regarded her carefully. "Me?"

"Glad you're catching on."

"Why me?"

Sydney took a sip of her coffee. "He's stationed in Singapore."

She saw Winter's eyes light up in a flash of understanding.

"First stop on my Asia tour," Winter said.

"Exactly." Sydney pointed a finger at him in approval. "You're scheduled to headline the Warcross Championship opening ceremony in Singapore, yes?"

He shrugged. "What, is the agent a fan of the Warcross games or me?"

"The intel's vague, but I'm guessing he's not there for your slick dance moves. We all know how huge that annual ceremony is, not to mention the gala. CEO Emika Chen is going to be there in person this year, and the event has a guest list that's being vetted by Singapore's prime minister himself."

"But Panacea got your guy in without any problems."

"We did, although now he's missing in action. It will be a challenge to get another operative into that gala in time. To build up another ironclad cover will take months, time we don't have."

He folded his arms against the tabletop. "Except now you have me."

She tilted her head at him and smiled. "Care to rehire me as a bodyguard?"

"I don't know. You're not very good at it," he scoffed, leaning back in his chair. Somehow, even this simple gesture looked graceful on him. "I seem to recall barely making it out alive last time."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Maybe I'd try harder if you gave me benefits."

His smile turned mischievous. "I thought I was the benefit."

"Not a very useful one."

"That's not what you said in the pool that night."

A tidal wave of emotions hit her. In an instant, she was overcome by the memory of his soft lips against hers, the sloshing of the pool around them, the cling of soaked clothes against their bodies.

"I don't think I said anything at all, to be honest," she replied quietly, and now it was his turn to look flustered, a faint flush rising on his neck.

The tension between them buzzed underneath her skin like an electric current. What was wrong with her? A make-out session wasn't a big deal. She'd had her fair share of hookups and done plenty more with them.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. As if they'd rehearsed it, they simultaneously straightened in their seats and blinked the moment from their eyes. "When do we start? I'm in the middle of preparing for my tour. If you need me for training, you're going to have to schedule around Claire to do it."

He's agreeing.Sydney couldn't suppress the small thrill that shot through her. She crossed her arms and kept her words calm. "Sauda wants us at headquarters tomorrow. Can you do that?"

Winter thought for a moment. "I'm scheduled to head back home for a month, starting today."

She nodded. "Yes, we figured."

"Of course you knew that." He nodded. "I'll tell Claire I'm visiting friends. Not a lie, really."

"We like to make sure we know as much as possible," she replied. "Any chance we can pass by your hotel room later? There's a set of instructions I need to give you before you arrive at headquarters, and I'd rather we not do that here, as much as we have this shop to ourselves."

"Oh, um." He hesitated, and Sydney saw a new, mysterious expression flit across his face. "There's, ah, someone in my room right now. I'll find another private place for us to talk."

Someone else in his room.

All of the tension between them at this table, all of their playful swipes and reminiscing, evaporated into thin air.

Of course, there was someone else.

A rush of embarrassment hit her. Why had she just assumed he would be alone, that he wasn't seeing anyone? Why had their intel missed this? She bit her cheek and pushed down the spark of jealousy. Had she forgotten who he was? Did she think that a little flirting meant anything to him, that he wasn't sleeping around with every starlet in sight?

She mustered every bit of her training to keep her face straight, her mask intact even in the face of shocking news. Not that this was that shocking, of course. That was hearing that her passport had been blacklisted at the airport two hours before she was scheduled to fly out of Cairo. Learning that her contact in Jakarta had been detained and she would need to face Indonesian authorities on her own.

Shocking news was not that Winter Young had slept with someone last night, that this person was still in his hotel room.

"She's really—" Winter began.

"Not a problem," Sydney heard herself interrupt, her voice dismissive and nonchalant. Hurt flashed in Winter's eyes, but she didn't linger on it. "It'd actually be easier if you already have a date ready to bring with you to the gala."

At that, Winter seemed to still. "I have to bring a date with me to Singapore?"

Sydney looked down at her mug and sipped her drink before she dared to reply. "Yes," she said. "It'd be out of the ordinary for you to arrive unattached to a fancy event like this one, so it'd be best if you had a plus one. We'd talked about assigning you a date, but if you're already seeing someone, then that makes for a better cover. Less paperwork for us."

He shook his head. "It's complicated," he muttered.

"Doesn't have to be the person in your hotel room," Sydney said with a cold shrug, "if she was that disappointed with your performance last night."

Winter lifted an eyebrow. "She wasn't."

Sydney hated how his retort stung even more. She forced herself to smile. "Good for you. So bring her. We're just trying to distract the reporters."

"Can't I just go solo? With you as my bodyguard?"

"What, can't catch a date?"

He frowned at her irritated tone, his body stiff now. "Does it bother you that much?"

Sydney could just let it slide. Why was she being such a jerk? "Doesn't bother me at all. Just didn't realize you had such a hard time finding a date. I thought people were throwing themselves at you."

Winter narrowed his eyes, studying her face. But this time, there was no warmth in his gaze. Somehow, it just increased her annoyance. "Well?" she said. "Can you find a date or not? Should Panacea get me another partner? I don't have all morning."

"Fine." His expression had darkened, and the small smile that touched the edge of his lips looked more like a grimace. "I'll ask her. Happy?"

Sydney swallowed the last of her own feelings. Did she really go into this thinking their meet would have ended any other way? Hoping that maybe there was something to rekindle between them? How foolish. Winter was off-limits. He would always be off-limits, as far as she was concerned, and the sooner she got that through her head, the better off she'd be.

Loyalty to a secret, above all else.

"Good. Then forget the instructions," she said. Her voice sounded too lighthearted. "I'll reach out to you via encrypted message with what you need to know before we head to Saint Paul."

Winter was still studying her, she could tell, searching her face for a reaction. He'd sensed something from her, but whatever it was, it must have disappointed him. His hands curled stiffly around his coffee cup.

And when he spoke, he just said, "Great."

Sydney rose from her seat and cast him a cool glance. "Well?" she said. "Are you planning on nursing that cup forever, or are you ready to head out?"

Whatever moment they'd had was over. Winter looked warily at her before rising, too, a new distance in his gaze. They stared at each other before he nodded, his hands finding his pockets. "I'm always ready," he said. "What, no tip?"

Sydney slapped a twenty on the table before walking to the door, holding it open with a flourish. "Here's a tip, Winter. We don't like to be kept waiting, so hurry along back to your room and break the happy news to your date about your romantic getaway with her." She tore her gaze away from him. "And tell your manager you're bringing me back on as your bodyguard. I'm sure Claire's going to be delighted to deal with me again."