Chapter 10 Sydney
Sydney
When the door to her bedroom opened, Sydney sat upright. That took longer than she’d expected. He hadn’t shown himself to be a talker, so she thought the call would last a few seconds. However, his conversation went on to the point she’d dozed while she waited.
Watching him enter the living room with his head down and stroking his bare chin, she bit her bottom lip. What was the verdict? Who had he called? What was it about?
Probably her.
Had he decided her fate? Did he come up with a plan with someone else?
That was kind of rude. She was right here, ready and willing to plot with him, so why hadn’t he consulted her? Hadn’t she proved herself trustworthy when she stabbed Mitchell?
Stuffing down her indignation, she tucked her legs under her as he sat on the ottoman opposite her.
He didn’t have a gun drawn. That had to be a good sign. His hands weren’t around her throat. At the very least, he’d decided to let her live for now. That was good, but in what capacity?
She didn’t get the impression she was his captive, his hostage, or his future victim. She was his co-conspirator, co-defendant, his partner. All she had to do was make him see it.
“You’re Sydney?” he asked in a gruff tone.
Nodding eagerly, she fiddled with strands of her hair. “And you?”
“Have you always lived here?”
Did he ignore her? What was that about? “No.”
“Where are you from?”
“Is this an interrogation?” She was fine with him being rough around the edges, but she wasn’t about to just fork over information about herself if he wasn’t willing to do the same.
He shifted slightly. “No.”
“Feels like it.” She shifted on the sofa. “How about twenty questions?”
Games always made the nights more fun. Perhaps she would get somewhere if he agreed to play.
He cocked an eyebrow. “What?”
“I ask a question, then it’s your turn to do the same. We take turns and that way we become familiar with each other.”
His jaw shifted left and then right as though he were considering her proposition.
“If you don’t answer, I’m not going to,” she announced. “The other rule is that we have to be honest.”
It wasn’t fair that he was the only one getting to know anything. She wanted to learn about him too.
“You do realize I’m a killer, right?”
She snorted. “Well, now, so am I.”
“Who do you work for?”
She opened her mouth to answer but recalled she had submitted her resignation. “I’m currently between jobs.”
A short, throaty chuckle escaped him. It was a lovely sound. Something told her he didn’t laugh often.
“Interesting.” He stroked his bare chin again.
The smile brightened his painted face. What did he look like under there? If he fell asleep, she could wipe it off and find out.
No.
She couldn’t do that. It would be rude. If they were going to stay on good terms, she couldn’t be a dick to him.
“So, do you agree?” she asked.
“To what?”
“Twenty questions,” she sang as she reminded him.
Rolling his black eyes, he sighed. “Fine.”
“Okay, so you asked my name,” she recounted. “Sydney. Now it’s my turn.”
He rolled his hand in a gesture for her to keep going.
“What’s yours?” They’d met mere hours ago. They’d shared a murder, and he’d been inside her. It was the least bit of information he could offer her.
“Fink.”
“Fink?” She repeated. “Bullshit. That’s not real. You have to tell the truth or else this won’t work.”
“It’s mine.”
“No, it’s not.”
Again, he chortled. “How do you know?”
“Because never in the history of ever did anyone look at a baby and think, ‘I’m going to call this kid Fink.’” She folded her arms across her chest. “If you’re going to play, you have to do it fairly.”
“I am.”
“Then tell me.”
“It’s Fink.”
“No, it’s not.” Now he got on her nerves. There was no reason in the world to lie to her. Why was he doing this?
Hadn’t they bonded over spilled blood—and then the sex? Wasn’t there some code about killers being genuine with one another? Seriously, of all the things to withhold, his name? There were far more important details than that.
“If I were lying, I’d say my name is Fred. Or George. Something common. Not Fink.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He had a point. Then again, people who were good at being deceitful were believable. “So, your legal name is Fink?”
“It’s what people call me,” he declared.
Ah. That made sense. “So, it’s a nickname.”
“We say that.”
“Fink.” She tested it out over her tongue.
“Who do you work for?”
Didn’t she answer that one already? Well, if he wanted to waste his turn on stuff they already covered, who was she to stop him? “I submitted my resignation tonight, so I’m currently unemployed.”
He nodded, but his features twisted as though he were deep in thought. “For how long?”
“Nope. Not your turn.” She grinned. “Where are you from?”
“Everywhere and nowhere,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Come on. If you don’t play fair, I’m not going to either.”
With a sigh, he seemed to relent. “I moved around a lot, so I don’t feel like I’m from anywhere.”
“We’re you an Army brat or something?” she asked.
He held up a finger. “Uh-uh.” He grinned. “One at a time. Remember?”
Smirking, she pulled her legs out from under her. Apparently, he’d come to enjoy their little game.
“Where are you from?” he parroted her question.
Glancing upward, she considered her answer. “Um. Born in Mahnomen, I grew up in Minnetonka. Moved out here after college.”
He nodded.
“Why did you kill Mitchell?” she asked.
“I thought you did,” he countered playfully.
“Touché,” she sniggered. “Why were you trying to murder Mitchell?”
“It’s my job.”
“So, you’re out of work now too?”
He threw his head back and laughed far too heartily for the question. When he righted himself, his expression had darkened. An eerie look crept into the blackness of his irises. They had to be contacts. What color were they underneath?
“Never.” His tone was ominous, and it stroked her core.
Her body heated, and her nipples peaked. Shifting her arms, she hoped they didn’t show through the thin material of her tank top.
She shouldn’t be turned on by such a sinister statement by someone she knew for a fact could be quite violent. The image of the golf trophy in his hand as he slammed it against Mitchell’s head again and again flashed through her mind. The spray of blood crossed the room as he moved.
Everything about the memory had her pussy on fire.
He was dangerous. She wanted more of him.