Sharpshooter

Sydney huffed out a hard breath and pushed her barely sipped drink away. She’d gotten back to the States just hours before—finally gotten a break for some serious R & R time, and she’d gone home to Baton Rouge.

But it didn’t feel like home anymore.

So many missions. So many places.

They were all blending together into a hail of gunfire and death.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be sitting alone.” The voice, marked with the Cajun that she loved, came from her right.

Sydney’s gaze rose, and she found herself staring at a tall, blond man. He was handsome, with the kind of good looks that probably drew women all the time.

So why isn’t he drawing me?

She’d come to that bar to find someone like him. It seemed as if she’d been living in a void for the past two years of her life, and she wanted—so desperately wanted—to start feeling again.

The blond glanced at her drink. “Don’t you like it?”

Sydney shook her head. “It’s not what I wanted.”

He pulled up the bar stool next to her, leaned in close. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

A stranger, a guy who didn’t know her at all, and he looked at her with more warmth than Gunner did.

Don’t think about him. This was not supposed to be another Gunner night.

She forced a smile on her face. Gunner was miles away. He always had been. This man, he was right in front of her. She wanted to live, and here was her chance. “I’m really not sure,” she said softly. The words were the truth.

What did she want?

Gunner.

That wasn’t happening. Time to consider other options.

The guy leaned toward her. “How about we start with a dance, then? Maybe that will help you figure out just what you want.”

How long had it been since she’d danced with someone? Too long.

“I’m Colin,” he said, giving her a broad smile. “And I promise, I’m a good guy.”

As if she could believe a promise from a stranger. She’d met far too many dangerous, lying men for that.

“I’m Sydney.” She took the hand that he offered to her. “I guess one dance—”

She broke off, her words stuttering to a halt because she’d just met the dark gaze of the man who’d entered the bar. A man who should not have been there.

A man whose stare was hot enough to burn.

Colin stiffened beside her as he followed her gaze. “Problem?”

Yes. No. Maybe. If Gunner was there, then there could be a new mission. There had to be a new mission. There was no other reason for Gunner to be in Baton Rouge instead of up in D.C.

But why hadn’t Logan just called her?

Gunner was stalking toward her.

“I thought you were here alone,” Colin said softly.

“I am.” He still had her hand, and that felt wrong all of a sudden.

Maybe because Gunner’s gaze had dipped to their hands. Hardened.

“Then you want to tell me why that guy looks like he’s about to rip me apart?”

Gunner did look that way. But Gunner usually looked tough. It was his face. Not handsome like Colin’s. Not perfect. It was full of hard angles and dangerous edges. With his golden skin and that jet-black hair, he always looked like walking, talking danger to Sydney.

Danger wasn’t supposed to draw you in, but Gunner seemed to draw her more and more.

Even as he kept pushing her away.

“He’s a friend,” Sydney said, giving a shrug that she hoped looked careless. “An old friend.”

Then Gunner was in front of them. “Sydney.” His voice was a deep, rumbling growl when Colin’s voice had been soft and flirtatious. Did Gunner even know how to flirt?

She doubted it. “We need to talk.”

A mission. Right. Just as she’d suspected. Sydney cleared her throat and glanced at Colin. His hold was light on her wrist. “Can you give us just a minute?”

One blond eyebrow rose, but he nodded. “I’ll wait for you.” She noticed that when he glanced back at Gunner, Colin’s face hardened, losing some of its easygoing appeal.

Gunner didn’t wait for the guy to back away. He grabbed Sydney’s hand—his grip much tighter than Colin’s—and pulled her into the nearest dark corner.

“Gunner!” His name burst from her. “What are you doing?”

He caged her with his body. “What are you doing?”

“Getting a drink? Getting ready to dance?” Some things should be obvious to a superagent like him.

His teeth snapped together as he leaned in, even closer. The wooden wall was behind her, and Gunner’s muscled form wasn’t leaving much space in front of her. “You know what he wants.”

She was in some kind of weird alternate reality. Sydney shook her head. “What’s the mission? Why didn’t Logan call—”

“There is no mission.”

She didn’t have any kind of comeback. She couldn’t think of what to say. If there was no mission, then Gunner shouldn’t be in Louisiana. Her family’s old home was there, but Gunner had a place in D.C. Not here.

“I could see it in your eyes,” he growled.

“See what?” Her voice came out huskier than she’d intended.