Father Figure Read online

  It was irresistible.

  Sydney waited expectantly now to see his familiar sly grin, or even a slight wink—any little sign that he was glad to see her too—but Noah's attention had already fastened back on Wilson as if she wasn't even in the room.

  Score one for Burke, she thought, annoyed. She hadn't expected a make-out session in Wilson's office, but would it have killed him to say hello?

  “I have a new assignment for you, Sydney,” Wilson said. “I've already briefed Agent Hicks, and he can fill you in on the details.”

  “All right,” she said, striving to keep her voice level. “Am I reporting to him on this, then?”

  “No, still to me. But since you'll be on assignment together, you'll obviously collaborate closely with Agent Hicks. He may have instructions for you in the field.”

  “Fine,” she said, relieved. She was happy for the chance to spend more time with Noah, but being in charge of a mission didn't exactly bring out his warm, fuzzy side. “What are we working on?”

  “Congratulations,” Wilson said ironically, passing her a large envelope across his desk. “You've been accepted as a student intern at SpaceSoft Technologies. Or rather, your alias, Kristin Jarvis, has. Your starting papers are in there, fake IDs, a map, parking permit, et cetera. Don't drive your own car, obviously.”

  “Don't drive it where, exactly?”

  “SST is a big software firm here in Los Angeles. They're private sector, but they do a lot of work for the government. High-tech military applications. Classified contracts.”

  Sydney thought she saw where he was headed. “And you think they're leaking intel?”

  “Nothing that straightforward.” Wilson pushed back in his chair. “I'm not sure what they're doing. But there's a rumor floating around that they're freelancing in missile guidance systems.”

  “Freelancing how?”

  “That's what we're going to find out,” Noah said, finally speaking to her.

  Wilson nodded. “Once you're in the building, you should have plenty of chances to look around. Keep an eye on the CEO, Owen Vincent. Everyone agrees he's the brains on the technical end, but we know surprisingly little about him. His photo is in your file. Memorize it.”

  “Will do,” Sydney said.

  Wilson continued to hold her gaze, as if to make certain she understood the gravity of her mission before delivering his final instruction:

  “I want to know exactly what SpaceSoft is working on—and who they're planning to sell it to.”

  2

  SYDNEY AND NOAH RODE the SD-6 elevator in silence, staring straight ahead. She suspected he was keeping quiet because conversations in the elevator might be monitored, but if he wasn't talking to her, then she sure wasn't speaking to him. When the doors finally opened on the parking garage, Sydney exited without a word and headed straight for her white Mustang.

  “Hey, Syd. Wait!”

  She heard him run up behind her as she pulled her keys from her purse.

  “Oh, now you want to talk to me,” she said, turning to face him.

  The impassive look he'd worn in Wilson's office had completely vanished, replaced by a boyish grin. “Of course I do. It's just that I couldn't before.”

  “You mean you wouldn't,” she grumbled. “You could at least have said hello.”

  “I did.”

  “No, you didn't.”

  “I think I did.”

  “Then you're wrong.”

  Noah's expression hardened momentarily, the way it always did when they argued. Then, to her relief, he took a couple of steps forward, moving very close.

  “Hey, Sydney?” he said softly.

  “What?”

  “Hello.”

  There was a hint of puppy dog in his usually guarded eyes. His voice held the same longing she felt for him.

  “Hello,” she said, crumbling.

  “You want to have dinner with me?”

  “Now?”

  He glanced at his watch. “I guess it's a little early, but by the time we get to a restaurant—”

  “No. What I meant was, is that okay? For the two of us to be seen together?”

  “No one's going to see us. And if they do, who cares?”

  “I'm thinking Wilson might.”

  Noah dismissed her concern with a flick of one wrist. “Did he or did he not tell me to fill you in on the details of the SST assignment?”

  “He did,” Sydney admitted cautiously.

  “And are you or are you not able to eat and listen at the same time?”

  Sydney's cheeks dimpled despite her attempts to maintain a straight face. “I can usually manage that.”

  “So there you have it!” Noah concluded, smiling back, “Wilson practically ordered us to eat out.” He lowered his voice to a stagy whisper. “It's a matter of national security!”

  “Still worried someone will see us?” Noah teased two hours later.

  The hostess had buried them at the back of the dark Chinese restaurant, so far out of sight that even their waiter had forgotten about them. They'd been sipping tea for the past half hour, picking at fortune cookie crumbs and leftover crispy noodles.

  “I guess we're probably safe,” Sydney admitted.

  Noah leaned forward conspiratorially. “I hear these booths are bulletproof. All the cool spies eat here.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes, but the fact that he was actually joking about espionage eased the last bit of tension from her body. There was no way Noah would be fooling around if there was even a remote chance they were under surveillance.

  “I guess you'd better fill me in on whatever's left to know about SST,” she said. “I have to be leaving soon.”

  Noah looked surprised. “What's left to know?”

  “You tell me. You're the one who wanted to fill me in on all those details over dinner.”

  He laughed, the sound unexpectedly loud in their tiny corner. “I just wanted to hang out with you.”

  “I know. But there have to be more details. Wilson hardly told me anything.”

  Noah shrugged. “That's because he doesn't know much. Could be there's nothing to know. You and I are going to find out.”

  “Well, if I'm supposed to be a student intern,” Sydney persisted, “how are you getting in?”

  “They got me a full-time job, punching the clock. Strictly drudge work, but one of us has to be there all day and you're only on afternoons. Your schedule's in the envelope Wilson gave you.”

  “Only afternoons?” she said, surprised. “This assignment gets better all the time.”

  “How so?”

  “Right now I'm about a semester behind on a quarter's worth of work. If Wilson sent me away again before finals, or even put me at SpaceSoft full time . . .” She shook her head. “This way I might actually get to attend classes.”

  Noah chuckled. “I hate to break this to you, Syd, but ditching is part of the college experience. Most students actually enjoy it.”

  “Maybe I would too, if I got to choose when I ditched,” she retorted. “Maybe if my schedule wasn't so completely, totally out of my hands that—”

  “I get the picture,” he interrupted. “Listen, there is one more thing. Wilson told you not to drive your own car, but he forgot to mention you should work in disguise.”

  “In disguise? Disguised as what?”

  “Disguised as your alias, Kristin Jarvis, whatever she looks like. Wear a wig. Use some extra makeup. You don't want to attract attention; you just don't want to look like yourself. Not for a gig in L.A.”

  Sydney nodded, seeing his point. It could be awkward if one of her SST coworkers recognized her somewhere else—entering Credit Dauphine, for example.

  “I keep my disguise kit in a locker at the school gym,” she told him. “I'll come up with something.”

  “Good. Rent a car and leave it parked nearby. Be sure to rent it as Kristin.”

  “I'm a trainee; I'm not stupid.”

  He sighed. “I didn't say you can't take
care of yourself. It's just . . .”

  “I know. I worry about you too.”

  “Me?” he scoffed. “I've been at this forever compared to you.”

  “That's the problem. The longer you're in, the more enemies you make.”

  Noah grimaced. “Way to pump up a guy's confidence.”

  “You know I'm right.”

  “Maybe,” he said at last. “But I think I'll survive this mission.” A sudden twinkle lit his eyes. “If you're worried about me, though, I could use an armed escort to my apartment. Just to make sure I get inside safely.”

  “I'm not armed.”

  “I'll lend you my gun.”

  He looked so comically hopeful that Sydney had to laugh.

  “Not tonight,” she said regretfully. “As much as I'd love to finally see your apartment, I have to get back to my dorm. I've got a mountain of homework, and my roommate will worry if I get home late.”

  “You're already late,” Noah pointed out.

  “If I get home later, then.”

  “You'll have to be a little later.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I haven't even kissed you yet.”

  Their eyes locked across the table and the restaurant melted away. Sydney's pulse twitched in her throat. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears.

  I love him, she thought. I must. How else could he make me so crazy?

  “Well,” she murmured. “A few minutes never killed anybody.”

  Noah smiled and reached for her hand. “Don't let Wilson hear you say that.”

  That's weird, Sydney thought, opening her door to find an empty dorm room. I can't believe Francie's not back by now.

  She glanced around, confirming everything was as they'd left it. And then she remembered.

  She did say something about going dancing.

  Not that Sydney had fully believed her. Francie loved to dance, but Sunday night hanging out at the dorms was a ritual for the whole building. That was when everyone put on their comfiest sweats, brewed their strongest coffee, and settled in for the long night of cramming required to catch up for Monday. Granted, there tended to be at least as much running to the microwave for popcorn and s'mores as actual studying, but that was what made it fun.

  If she was serious about dancing, she could have at least invited me to meet them, Sydney thought, feeling jealous again. She hadn't known about Shauna and Carly for twelve hours yet, and they were already stealing her best friend.

  Sydney sighed as she opened a drawer and started digging for her most broken-in sweatpants.

  Would it have killed Wilson to mention that spies don't have social lives?

  If anything, her recruiter had implied that joining SD-6 would give her a whole new circle of friends to rely on, but the only one making new friends was Francie. Sydney still wasn't even convinced Wilson wouldn't be mad when he found out about her dinner with Noah.

  If he finds out, she amended. I'm not going to tell him.

  She located the sweatpants and turned to toss them onto her bed, and that was when she noticed the blinking light on her answering machine.

  “Francie!” she exclaimed happily, rushing over and pressing the button. If Francie and her new friends were dancing at a club somewhere, Sydney still had time to take a quick shower and join them. Maybe she'd actually like Shauna and Carly. Maybe they could all hang out together. . . .

  “Sydney, this is your father.” The cold, precise voice on her answering machine drained the air out of her lungs. “I have some time off work and I'll be in town to spend it with you. Let's have dinner at the Union Hotel tomorrow. Six o'clock. I'll meet you in the lobby.”

  “No way!” she groaned, dropping backward onto her bed. She had barely even heard from her father since she'd started college—and she wasn't sure she wanted that to change.

  We'll only start fighting again. We always do.

  When she was a little girl, after her mother died, Sydney had tried everything she could think of to gain her father's attention and turn him into the close, loving parent she missed so desperately. She had long since given up hope.

  All Jack Bristow cared about was his employer, Jennings Aerospace, and the stupid airplane parts he sold on trips all over the world. Last she'd heard, Jennings had packed him off on a sales tour of South America; no one had even bothered to tell her when he'd be back. Not that she'd been surprised. Making business calls had always been more important to him than calling his own daughter. His home base was still L.A., but he didn't even keep an apartment anymore, choosing instead to live in hotels on the rare occasions he was actually in town.

  I can't believe he's showing up now! Two weeks before finals. And does he even ask about my schedule? What does he think? That I'll just drop everything?

  In fairness, his ignorance of SD-6 made it impossible for him to know exactly how much he was asking her to drop, but Sydney didn't feel like cutting him any slack. An angry flush rose to her cheeks at his lack of consideration.

  This is so typical. It's always about what's convenient for him. “I have another business trip, Sydney. Don't worry—you'll like boarding school.”

  How can he believe I'd even want to see him?

  That was the part that made her maddest—his arrogant assumption that she'd fall all over herself with joy. Did he really think she was still young enough to believe things could change between them? If history was any guide, he'd show up for a couple of days, take her to some nice restaurants, then neglect her for the rest of the year.

  I'd be crazy to want to see him!

  Sydney buried her face in her hands, drawing long, jagged breaths against the growing pressure in her chest. There was only one thing worse than her father's assumption that she'd want him around: the fact that he was right.

  She couldn't help it. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe he'd finally changed.

  Maybe you need to get your head examined, she thought, wiping at angry tears. But she already knew that, despite everything, she would welcome him again, would act happy to see him, and would drop as much as she could.

  What choice do I have?

  There had been such a hole in her life since her mother died.

  A hole only a father could fill.

  3

  “HERE WE GO,” SYDNEY murmured, driving her silver rental car into the huge parking lot of SpaceSoft Technologies. Her heart raced with excitement to be on another mission, but the face in her rearview mirror didn't betray a thing.

  Kristin Jarvis was a blonde, Sydney had decided, with overlined lips and a thing for mascara. Peering out from between such thick black lashes, Sydney's newly blue eyes seemed even more shocking. To become her alias she had opted for colored contact lenses and a tousled pixie-cut wig; add the extra makeup and she was practically a different person. Anyone used to her naturally brown eyes and long straight hair would walk past without looking twice.

  Pulling into an empty parking space, Sydney checked her new look one last time, then let herself out and locked the car door. Heat radiated from the pavement, making the walk from the car to SpaceSoft's lobby seem even farther than it was. The expansive landscaped parking lot sprawled at the base of SST's glass-clad building, an office tower over twenty stories high with a low pentagonal entry jutting out in front. Sydney headed directly for its front doors, the full skirt of her summery first-day dress swirling around her bare calves with every long, sure stride.

  She felt a little less cocky when she noticed the security camera mounted on the front of the building and realized she was already under scrutiny. In almost the same moment, an automatic glass door opened, admitting her into the lobby.

  Outside it was noisy, smoggy, and hot, but the lobby of SpaceSoft Technologies felt like an Asian retreat. The blue-green tint of the exterior glass filtered the glare from outside, softening it into a cool, soothing light that rippled across the black stone floor. Massive pots of graceful bamboo provided vertical accents and in the exact center of the floor, the sto
ne gave way to a pentagonal sand garden, precisely raked in an intricately swirling pattern. Sydney was so taken by the contrast that several seconds passed before she noticed the dark-haired woman behind the ebony reception counter—or the armed security guard lounging against its end.

  “Hi! I'm, uh . . . I'm Kristin Jarvis,” Sydney said, momentarily thrown off her game by the unexpected beauty of her surroundings. She had expected a company full of engineers to run toward Formica and pocket protectors; the Zen thing was a big surprise. “I'm starting today? The intern?”

  “Right.” The woman held out her hand, palm up.

  Sydney hesitated uncertainly, then flipped her own hand over to shake it. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” came the amused reply. “But I need your paperwork.”

  “My paperwork! Of course!”

  Digging into her purse, Sydney pulled out her letter of acceptance and handed it over.

  “Driver's license?” the woman inquired. “Social security card?”

  “Sure. Okay.”

  “My name is Rachel,” the woman said, smiling. “Once you get signed in, I'll show you the ropes.”

  Sydney risked a closer look at her new supervisor. Rachel was younger than she'd appeared at first glance, late twenties at the most. Her severe black bangs and the black-framed glasses sliding down her small nose added years she didn't possess. Her clothes were both stylish and expensive, the junior executive look right out of a magazine.