* * *
* * *Day Six
She found him sitting on the patio watching the sunrise. He didn't look up as she sat down beside him.
"When does my plane leave?" she asked.
"Soon. I would have woken you in a little while."
"On the kitchen table."
"Martin…" she began, but realized that she had nothing to say. He nodded as one corner of his mouth quirked upward. "I have to finish packing."
He finally turned toward her as she stood. "Stay with me."
She shook her head slowly. "One of these days you're going to ask me that and I might just surprise you."
"I won't be surprised," he assured her.
"How long are you going to keep asking?"
"Until I don't have to anymore."
She had to smile at his grin despite the seriousness she saw in his eyes.
* * *
* * *
two weeks later
Sydney Bristow frowned disbelievingly at her credit card statement. Surely there was a decimal in the wrong spot, she thought. Maybe someone had hit a wrong key. But a horrible suspicion began to grow in the back of her mind even as she tried to rationalize it. She found the first item tucked between charges from the gas station and the grocery store. The other was listed just below the boutique where she'd bought her swimsuit. She began to swear quietly… in Russian and French and Dutch and every other language she could think of.
She had absolutely no doubt that wherever Martin Sark was at that very instant, he was laughing.
She was certain that he knew the billing cycle of her card, how long it took the postal service to deliver it, what time she got home. He knew exactly when she would open the statement. When the phone rang, she didn't bother with formalities.
"You son of a bitch."
As she'd expected, his laughter was the only sound on the line. She hung up on him.
She was furious. And she knew that was what he had intended. It was a reminder. He was a terrorist and he had betrayed her on more than one occasion. He was dangerous and presumptuous and he snored. He couldn't be trusted half as far as she could throw him and his stupid smirk gave her homicidal urges.
Well, mostly homicidal urges.
* * * * *
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