*Author’s Note: Another one of my “what might have been” fics! This is set shortly after “Truth Takes Time”, when the Alliance has fallen and Irina has just been extracted from CIA custody by Sloane and Sark. Please let me know what you think, dear readers! You know I love reviews.*

Stolen Moment

We meet at the lights

I stare for a while

The world around disappears

Just you and me

On this island of hope

A breath between us could be miles

Oh and every time I’m close to you

There’s too much I can’t say

And you just walk away

And I forgot to tell you

I love you

“I Love You,” Sarah McLachlan

Chapter One: Honor Among Thieves

Sark enjoyed breaking and entering.

He welcomed the simplicity of battling a security system. The only way it got messy was if he screwed up, which rarely happened. It wasn’t like dealing with people, where emotions got involved and motives had to be analyzed.

Of course, it was a bit more complicated when he was racing his nemesis Sydney Bristow for the prize, but that gave him more incentive to be at the top of his game.

On this balmy Denver night, Sark hung thirty-six floors up with his black combat boots planted against the skyscraper’s metal-and-glass façade. The rappelling rope around his waist was secured to a pipe on the roof twenty floors above. Dressed entirely in black, right down to a toboggan that was sticking to his sweat-damp curls, he blended perfectly into the darkness.

Down below, he knew Sydney would be entering the lobby. He wondered what her cover was tonight, what sexy little disguise she had cooked up to infiltrate the nerve center of Augustus Reed’s criminal organization.

Let’s hope I don’t find out, he thought, settling himself onto the window ledge outside Reed’s office.

Sark intended to be in and out with the Rambaldi artifact before Agent Bristow ever reached the thirty-sixth floor. Not that he wouldn’t have welcomed one of their stimulating skirmishes, but the last time they battled it out in enemy territory he had spent four harrowing nights in the custody of the Russian military. He didn’t fancy being Reed’s ‘guest’ for any length of time.

After attaching a small suction cup to the window’s left corner, Sark reached into a pocket of his black vest for a tiny yet incredibly sharp knife. He used it to trace a five-inch circle around the suction cup; the blade easily sliced through the glass, so that when he removed the cup the section came with it.

Next he produced an electronic scanner from the vest and slid it through the hole he had created. When he placed it on the window’s interior metal casing, the device immediately read and scrambled the security code, effectively disarming the room’s alarm system.

Man versus machine – simple, straightforward, painless.

Sark unlocked the window and pushed it soundlessly open. Disconnecting the rappelling rope from his belt, he crawled inside the dark office and checked his watch.

Sydney would probably be in the elevator now, provided she had talked her way past the front desk security and wasn’t fighting her way up here. He would give her the benefit of the doubt and assume her ruse had worked; it didn’t do to underestimate Agent Bristow.

That meant he needed to get cracking, literally – Reed’s safe was state of the art, the best money could buy, and breaking into it would be far more complicated than breaking into the building.

Reed hid his safe behind a priceless Monet opposite his desk. Sark gingerly lifted the painting off the wall and briefly considered swiping it as well; petty thievery was beneath him at this stage in his career, he supposed, but he did appreciate beautiful things.

Remember Sydney, his inner voice warned, as he stuck a small flashlight in his mouth and studied the safe’s electronic keypad. Now is not the time to get cocky – get what you came for and get out.

Still holding the flashlight between his teeth, Sark pried the cover off of the keypad with his knife. An amateur might have thought merely cutting or crossing some wires would do the trick, but Sark knew better; every security system in the entire building was monitored by a mainframe computer, so any disruption to the system – like short-circuiting a wire – would trigger an alarm.

The scanner had only worked on the window because it scrambled the code without jamming the system, so the computer didn’t realize any disruption had occurred. The same logic held true for the safe, only it was a much more complex system and required more than scrambling – it required the actual pass code.

High-tech Burglary 101 – every pass code is stored within the device it accesses. Obtaining it is simply a matter of downloading it from that device.

Glancing over his shoulder to be certain the corridor outside the office remained free of tell-tale Sydney shadows, Sark plugged a pocket-sized computer into the keypad. The miniature screen blinked to life and began scrolling through dozens of green digital numbers; he held his breath while he waited for the six-digit code to appear.

Sydney was most likely hurrying down the hallway toward him now, though she would be slowed up by avoiding the guards’ ten-minute checks of every floor. Still, Sark decided he had five minutes at most to open the safe, grab the artifact and rappel down to his Mercedes in the alley.

Come on, come on, he willed the computer. Find the damn code – Aha!

The screen stopped scrolling and displayed 197947.

Sark had tapped in 1-9-7-9 before light footsteps paused outside the office door.

Well, shit.

He sighed as he punched in the last two numbers. Looked like he would be fighting Sydney after all.

He swung the safe open and seized the artifact as she stepped into the room.

“Don’t move,” she hissed.

Without turning around, Sark knew she had a gun trained on him and wouldn’t hesitate to use it. She ordered in a harsh whisper, “Put your hands up. You even flinch and I will blow your head off.”

Charming, as always, Sark thought with a smirk, though he kept his back to her and obediently lifted his arms, holding the artifact – a small ornately-carved wooden jewelry box – in one hand.

Sydney pressed the gun into the small of his back, causing him to stiffen, and plucked the artifact out of his hand. “Turn around, slowly,” she commanded, stepping back.

This ought to be fun…

“Fancy meeting you here, Agent Bristow,” Sark quipped, pivoting with his arms still raised.

He couldn’t suppress a grin at the flash of rage in her dark eyes.

Her disguise, as usual, reflected the saucy side she seemed to only feel comfortable with on missions. He supposed she had gone undercover as either a new client or associate of Reed’s, given the extremely short black skirt, form-fitting white button-down and sleek, chin-length red wing she wore; she looked professional yet provocative, business-like enough to demand a measure of respect but sexy enough to disconcert the guards in the lobby.

Now why couldn’t she have dressed like that at SD-6? It would have made those long months working for Arvin Sloane far less tedious…

Sark read the confliction in her eyes and couldn’t resist baiting her. “Well, you’re in a bit of a pickle, aren’t you? Right now I’m the best lead you have on Arvin Sloane and your mother’s whereabouts, but how will you ever make it out of here with me without getting us both caught by Reed’s guards?”

Sydney lifted her chin defiantly, displaying that stubborn streak he so adored in her. He watched her eyes sweep the room and take in the open window, the scanner on the sill, and the rope dangling outside.

“I think we’ll both go out the way you came in,” she answered evenly.

Well, shit.

“You can’t be serious.” Sark sneered to show how preposterous he found her idea; in truth, he admired her tenacity. “There’s only one rope, and it attaches to my belt. You’d have to hold onto me, and while that sounds very appealing,” he smirked at her look of disgust, “it would mean putting your life entirely in my hands. Are you really prepared to do that, Agent Bristow?”

In response, Sydney tapped one silver hoop earring and said into her comm, “Boy Scout, this is Mountaineer. Change of plans. I’ve captured Sark, but I’ve got to take an alternate exit route.”

Sark couldn’t hear the reply, but he imagined her frantic boyfriend’s words all the same: “Negative, Mountaineer. Get the artifact and get out. That’s the mission objective.”

He must have come pretty close on that one, because Sydney’s terse reply was, “The mission has changed. I’m not letting the one person who knows where my mother and Sloane are walk out of here. I’ll be at the extraction point in thirty minutes, as planned.”

That infamous stubbornness wouldn’t let her back down even when common sense was screaming that she should, Sark noted.

Sydney tucked the jewelry box into her brown messenger bag and secured the strap diagonally across her body. “Keep your hands up,” she warned Sark, leveling the gun on his midsection as she patted him down.

Her touch, cold and detached as it was, excited him. But did he imagine that she squeezed his arms just a bit tighter than was necessary?

“Take the vest off,” she ordered. He arched an eyebrow at her, and she rolled her eyes. “You could have any number of weapons in there. Take it off.”

Think I’m that dangerous, do you? Sark smiled mockingly at her as he unzipped the vest and dropped it to the floor.

“Anything else you’d like me to remove?”

She shot him a get-over-yourself glare and marched him over to the window. After he hooked the rope to his belt again, she joined him on the ledge.

They regarded one another warily for a moment. Sark had to admit that he felt suddenly – and quite uncharacteristically – shy about touching her.

Sydney appeared equally uncertain. She covered by shoving the gun up under his chin. “You even think about trying to escape, and I’ll – ”

“Blow my head off,” Sark finished calmly for her, forgetting his momentary hesitation and wrapping his arm around her waist.

Only he moved so swiftly that Sydney nearly lost her balance. She fell heavily against his chest, managing to keep a tight grip on the gun with one hand and steadying herself by catching the front of his shirt with the other.

His lips a fraction of an inch above hers, Sark murmured, “You already made that threat, Sydney.”

Did he imagine that hunger in her eyes?

Her heart was pounding furiously against his. When her gaze flicked down to his mouth, Sark actually thought she was going to kiss him. Time stopped for him in that instant as he waited for her to decide.

She let go of his shirt and looked away. “Let’s go,” she snapped.

He sighed. Okay, so, not this time – again.

“You have to hold on tight,” he reminded her, aiming for his usual sarcasm and falling short.

Sydney glowered. He knew she wanted to say, If you touch me I’ll blow your head off, but she refrained as she wrapped her legs around his waist and wound one arm around his neck; with her other hand, she kept the gun trained on his head.

Sark decided not to mention that if she shot him while he was climbing down she would plummet to her death as well.

Rappelling down thirty-six floors with his lap full of Sydney Bristow proved to be quite a challenge. He locked one arm around her waist and guided the rope with his free hand, but tight as she was clutching him, each time he jostled her Sark was afraid she would slip out of his grasp.

Why the hell do I care so much? She’s taking me into CIA custody, for Christ’s sake!

It didn’t help that her body was molded against his and her lips brushed his earlobe every time he moved.

The descent was exhausting work. His skin was flushed and sweaty after ten floors, but the feverishness had more to do with the woman in his arms than the uncomfortably warm night.

Halfway down, he paused to catch his breath. “Out of shape?” Sydney teased, her mouth against his ear, her nose pressing into his sweat-damp curls.

“You’re heavy,” Sark shot back. He was pleased when she didn’t have a sharp retort for that one.

Instead of answering, she pulled his toboggan off and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Thanks,” he said, considering whether or not to retract his insult.

Sydney shrugged. “Don’t thank me. Just don’t drop me.”

She really looked worried that he might try to do that, and Sark wondered what she would say if she knew how careful he was being for her sake.

Their eyes met briefly, sending shivers down his spine. Time to get my feet on the ground and figure out how to escape, he decided, and hastened his descent.

His quickened pace caused Sydney to tighten her grip on him. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore the havoc her nearness was wreaking on his senses; he secretly hoped he was having the same effect on her.

At last they reached the bottom. To avoid being seen, Sark had scaled the side of the building facing into the alley; they were shrouded in darkness as he planted his feet on the pavement and slid Sydney off of his hips, trapping her body between his and the building.

Sark’s clothes were drenched with sweat. He was breathing hard and his mouth was painfully dry. He wished it was only the exertion of the climb, but he knew better – and the knowing smile on Sydney’s lips said she did, too.

“Let me get that for you,” she offered, reaching out to unhook the rope from his belt. Her fingers curled ever so slightly in the waistband of his trousers when she unfastened it.

Down boy, his inner voice intoned. Figure out a way to escape or you’re headed for that glass cell Irina told you all about.

He was still pressed against Sydney, and she wasn’t ordering him to back up, though she had the gun digging into his ribs. The way her eyes slid down his body made him shiver but also gave him an angle to play; she wanted him, same as he wanted her, and he could work that to his advantage – if he could hold his desire in check.

“So how are we getting to this extraction point?” he inquired, purposefully dipping his head so that his nose brushed her cheek.

She looks good as a redhead, he noted, admiring the wig.

Sydney smiled cattily at him. “I thought we’d take your car.”

Well, shit.

Sark followed her gaze over to his Mercedes, suppressing a sigh. Bringing his eyes back to hers, he tabled sternly, “Agent Bristow, no offense, but I’ve seen you behind the wheel, and you are not driving my car.”

She pushed the gun more firmly into his stomach. “Beg to differ, Sark. Now give me the keys.”

He opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by a bullet whipping past his ear.

Reflexively, Sark flung Sydney to the ground, jerked the gun out of her hand and returned fire on the guard at the mouth of the alley. The man dove for cover, shouting back toward the building’s front entrance for backup.

Sark sensed more than saw Sydney’s attack. Before she could land a punch, he brought his elbow up into her stomach; when she stumbled backwards, gasping, he spun around and knocked her to the ground.

She struggled as he straddled her but stopped when he shoved the gun in her face.

“Listen to me,” Sark snarled, one ear tuned for the sound of approaching footsteps. “Either we work together to get out of here, or I knock you out and leave you for Reed’s men to find. Your choice.”

“Bite me, Sark,” she retorted fiercely, dark eyes blazing. “I’d rather be held hostage by Reed than by Arvin Sloane.”

“Who said anything about holding you hostage?”

She snorted. “Like I believe for one second you’d let me go.”

Sark calculated that they had maybe sixty seconds before a legion of armed guards descended on the alley. He was torn between leaving her – he fully believed she would either escape or be rescued by her father and boyfriend – and forcing her to come with him.

This is going to be a car chase, and I could use some backup, he reasoned.

Yeah, and you’re getting pretty fond of having her around, his inner voice argued.

Well, maybe that was true, but nevertheless he stood a much better chance of surviving this with two of them fighting.

So he hauled Sydney to her feet and pushed her ahead of him toward the Mercedes, saying, “I don’t expect you to trust me,” she snorted again at that, “but I assure you I have no intentions of delivering you to Sloane. The CIA has quite enough reason to track me down as it is without me kidnapping one of their agents.”

When he tossed her the keys, Sydney frowned in confusion. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to drive your precious car.”

“One of us will have to shoot at the bad men, Sydney,” Sark explained patiently, sliding into the passenger’s seat. “And I don’t fancy you holding the gun, obviously.”

The first guards appeared at the alley’s entrance as she started the engine. Grinning devilishly at him, Sydney said, “Have it your way. But you better hold on.”

The guards leapt out of the way as the Mercedes tore between them into the nearly deserted nighttime street. Sark gripped the door and cringed while Sydney, following his directions, squealed around corners and raced around curves.

“Where are we going?” she called. The wind caught her wig and blew it off, sending her silky chestnut hair streaming out behind her.

Damn that was sexy…

But not so sexy that he lost focus. “Your comm,” Sark reminded her, pointing at her earrings.

Sydney glared, yet with him holding the gun she had no choice but to toss the earrings out the window. Without the CIA listening in, he replied, “We’re getting out of the city. I have a cabin up here we can hide in.”

She arched an eyebrow at the ‘we’, but before she could comment Reed’s security detail caught up with them.

Chapter Two: Trust Me

When the huge black SUV slammed into them from behind, Sydney decided she’d had more than enough fun for one night.

Just had to encounter Sark on this mission, she thought darkly, flooring the accelerator and watching the speedometer top 120. It can’t ever just be a simple in-and-out, grab the Rambaldi artifact and hightail it back home for a quiet night with Vaughn…

Of course, she admitted, Sark did make life exciting.

Bracing herself as the SUV rear-ended them again, she decided that too much excitement might not be a good thing.

Sark looked furious, she supposed because these people had the audacity to dent his fabulous car. He whirled around and fired three shots at their pursuers. In the rearview mirror, Sydney watched two bullets shatter the windshield. Blood sprayed the glass, but since the vehicle kept coming she deduced that a passenger rather than the driver had been killed.

The third bullet glanced harmlessly off the hood, but Sydney knew Sark didn’t miss. He’s aiming for their radiator, she realized, casting a sidelong glance at him.

She almost preferred the simple black sweater and trousers to those snazzy little suits he always wore – especially when they were clinging to his sweat-damp skin.

“Watch the road,” he snapped, without looking at her.

Sydney was glad he didn’t see her blush as she mentally berated herself for staring.

Their pursuers quickly recovered from Sark’s assault. The SUV couldn’t match the Mercedes’ speed, but it came close enough to rear-end them again.

This time, Sydney bumped her head on the steering wheel. The impact wasn’t enough to knock her out, though it did split the skin open above her eye.

“You all right?” Sark asked, taking aim at their pursuers again.

“Just take them out already,” Sydney muttered, wincing as she wiped blood off of her forehead. Another injury to explain to Francie, wasn’t that just what she needed?

They were out of the city now and winding up into the mountains. With the SUV’s headlights glaring in her rearview mirror, Sydney squinted to see in the darkness; she was concentrating too hard on rounding a curve at 90 miles per hour to even look at the damage Sark inflicted when he squeezed off another three shots.

“Dammit!”

I take it they’re still behind us, Sydney thought dryly.

“Your gun is jammed,” Sark informed her hotly, sounding close to losing that icy veneer of his.

She glanced his way to find him glowering at her, as if it were her fault the weapon had malfunctioned. “You don’t have another gun in your car?”

He didn’t answer. In spite of her fear, Sydney felt a little smug. “Way to be prepared,” she quipped, smirking when he glared at her.

She watched in the rearview mirror as the SUV gained on them again. The Mercedes was a well-built car but it could only take so much abuse; a few more bashings and the damage would begin to show.

And then we’ll be on foot in the mountains with heavily armed men chasing us, she thought with a shudder. And thanks to Sark, I don’t even have a way to call for help.

In the distance, Sydney saw headlights approaching. Her stomach twisted up as she weighed her options: try to outrun their pursuers, or find another way to take them out of the game now that they were weaponless.

Sark must have read her mind. “Sydney, no,” he protested, a note of panic thickening his voice.

“Buckle up,” was her smooth reply.

He shut his eyes but buckled his seatbelt. Fastening hers as well, Sydney slowed down to 80, allowing the SUV to catch up.

She swerved to the right when the driver tried to smash into them from behind again. As expected, the other car pulled up alongside them. Seeing the back window roll down and a rifle peek out, Sydney jerked the Mercedes back onto the road and broadsided the SUV; the two vehicles raced along side-by-side around another curve, metal scraping against metal as sparks flew up between them.

When the road straightened out again, headlights were bearing down on them.

“Sydney!” Sark yelled, reaching over and grabbing the wheel.

Together they steered the Mercedes off the road as the approaching semi, horn blaring and brakes squealing, crashed head-on into the SUV. The impact was deafening; the eighteen-wheeler crumpled the smaller vehicle like an aluminum can.

Seconds later, the twisted metal exploded in a ten-foot-high fireball.

I just killed some poor innocent truck driver, Sydney realized.

But at the moment she didn’t have time to be sickened. The Mercedes had spun out of control when it hit loose gravel on the shoulder; they were now rocketing down a steep ravine at breakneck speed.

Sydney stood on the brakes and steered as best she could. The car plunged into a grove of trees. Branches whipped past them; she expected to slam into a thick tree trunk at any second, but finally they rolled to a stop some 100 feet from the highway.

Instant silence descended, in which Sydney winged up a thousand prayers of thanks that she had survived.

Trembling violently, she slowly turned and looked at Sark, who had his head laid back on the passenger’s seat and his eyes closed.

“Are you hurt?” she managed to ask, embarrassed by how shaky she sounded.

He shook his head. “You?”

“I don’t think so.” A twinge above her eye made her remember the blow she’d taken off the steering wheel. “I hit my head, but it’s not bad.”

That brought him around to face her. His brow furrowed with concern, he unbuckled his seatbelt and bent forward to inspect the cut.

Why do I feel like Jell-O every time he gets close to me? Sydney wondered, allowing him to brush the hair off of her face. His touch was so gentle, his eyes so incredibly blue, his mouth so soft…

“I think you’ll live,” he observed, but the dig lacked its usual bite. She took some solace in the realization that he sounded as shaky as she did.

A charged moment passed between them. Sark was stretched over the console with his fingertips resting on her cheek; Sydney’s head was inclined toward him so that their lips were dangerously close. Their eyes locked and she shivered, recalling the rippling of his muscles as he lowered them down that building.

I enjoyed that far too much, she scolded herself. Like I’m enjoying right now far too much. This is Sark, for Christ’s sake!

So why didn’t she move away?

“It seems we’ve reached a stalemate, Agent Bristow,” Sark said, his eyes cloudy and his voice husky.

She tried to concentrate on his words to keep from being lost in the depths of his crystal blue gaze.

“Neither of us has a weapon, or a means of communication, or any transportation.”

Just each other, she finished for him.

Sydney decided this could very well be the most dangerous situation she’d ever found herself in – alone, with Sark, for an indefinite amount of time in the lonely Colorado mountains.

Am I afraid he’ll torture me or seduce me?

“So where’s this cabin of yours?” she managed to ask in a passably normal tone. She refused to look at his mouth, or to notice how soft the damp curls around his ear looked, or to wonder if he would be rough or tender in bed…

“Fortunately not far.” She breathed a sigh of relief when he finally leaned back into his seat. “But before we start out, I’d like to make a few things clear.”

Defenses rising again, Sydney demanded, “Like what?”

“Like that, for the moment, we have to trust each other. That artifact in your bag is worth millions to Reed. He won’t let it go easily. It won’t take long for more of his men to find this accident scene, and then they’ll be tracking us.”

Sydney shuddered. Could this night get any worse?

“I have weapons at my cabin. No radio or telephone,” he confessed, somewhat sheepishly, “but weapons. We can rest there until morning and then hike down to the nearest town. But I need your word that you won’t be trying to shoot me in the back or knock me in the head at the first opportunity.”

Much as Sydney wanted to find her mother and Sloane, to make them both pay for what they’d done, she accepted that right now the objective was to survive. And to survive, she had to work with Sark.

Doesn’t mean I can’t go back on my word once we get to this town, she consoled herself.

“I promise not to kill or capture you,” she said calmly. “And now I’d like the same assurance from you.”

He smirked. Sydney found it both irritating and appealing. “I never intended to do either, Sydney.”

He paused before adding, “Not tonight, anyway.”

Another thought suddenly occurred to her. “What about the artifact?” She narrowed her eyes at his innocent expression. “Don’t fuck with me, Sark. Like you said, we have to be able to trust one another.”

He considered that while she tried not to think how deliciously crooked his lower lip was. “Would you accept a compromise?”

A compromise? You mean a stalling tactic while you figure out how to screw me.

“We bury it. Over there.” Sark nodded toward a gnarled oak about thirty feet away. “Later we can come back for it, separately. Whoever gets to it first, wins.”

Sydney could only imagine what Kendall would say if she told him she had buried a Rambaldi artifact in the middle of the woods, but for now she could see no other solution.

“Fine,” she agreed tightly, taking the box out of her purse. “But if Reed really is on our heels, then we’d better dig fast.”

Chapter Three: Moment of Weakness

The cabin was exactly as Sark had left it.

While he went to shower, Sydney sat at the kitchen table with a sawed-off shotgun aimed at the front door and her sharp eyes trained out the window on the darkened trees.

Standing under the tepid spray, Sark plotted his next move. They had burned the Mercedes; it would take Reed’s goons a couple of hours to find the accident scene and a few more hours to determine that they hadn’t died in the fiery crash. By that time it would be daylight, and he and Sydney could hike the thirteen miles to the nearest town, Shady Ridge.

What he wouldn’t give for a cell phone – sadly, his was back in Reed’s office, inside the vest Sydney had made him remove.

He realized she fully intended to betray him the moment they reached civilization again. So he would simply have to stay on his toes and make sure she didn’t get the chance.

That’s tomorrow, though, his inner voice spoke up. What about tonight?

Tonight? Well, tonight he just had to stop himself from succumbing to that overwhelming urge to kiss her, and he would be fine.

Sark wrapped a towel around his waist before leaving the bathroom. The cabin contained four small rooms: a galley-style kitchen, a closet-sized bathroom, a living room with a hearth and a sofa, and a bedroom with a dresser and a double bed.

The electricity ran off of a generator in the kitchen, but for safety reasons they hadn’t turned on any lights. Even in the darkness, however, he felt Sydney’s eyes follow him into the bedroom.

If she didn’t stop looking at him that way – so hungrily, so longingly – he wasn’t going to be able to resist those urges for long.

Sark kept a few emergency supplies at the cabin, including a change of clothes. He had stepped into clean boxers and a pair of faded jeans and was about to pull a white tee-shirt on when Sydney appeared in the doorway.

“What is it?” he asked, immediately suspecting trouble.

“I’m sorry.” She spun on her heel, facing away from him. “I didn’t know you were changing.”

Like hell you didn’t, Sark thought, smirking.

Well, if she wanted to see, why not let her see?

Accepting that she might very well punch him in the face, Sark dropped the shirt onto the bed and crossed to her. She still had her back to him, but he saw her shoulders tense at his approach.

“I didn’t mean to…” she began, turning. She froze as he stopped in front of her, naked to the waist.

“Really?” Sark leaned a hip against the doorframe and studied her. “Because I think you did.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Get over yourself,” she snapped, though he noted that she stayed put rather than storming away. “I was going to ask if you had some bandages, for my head.”

He remembered her injury and frowned slightly, some of his cockiness defused. Possibly she wasn’t interested in seeing him naked.

“Bathroom, medicine cabinet,” he replied curtly, hoping she couldn’t tell that he was embarrassed for coming on so strong. “I’ll be out in a second.”

When he started away, Sydney touched his hand, and it was Sark’s turn to freeze.

“Thanks for not dropping me back there.” She blushed as she said it, ducking her head and scuffing her toe along the floor. “While we were climbing, I mean.”

Her eyes came back up to his, gold-flecked and shining. “Like you said, my life was pretty much in your hands, so…Thanks.”

Well, shit.

He was going to kiss her and he knew that she knew he was going to. For once, she didn’t try to stop him, didn’t fight him. Maybe it was the near-death experience in the Mercedes, but for some reason, Sydney Bristow was extremely amenable to his affections tonight.

Who was he to deny her a moment of weakness?

Sark cupped her chin in his hands and held her gaze as he lowered his lips to hers, screaming at himself the entire time that he couldn’t possibly do this – he couldn’t possibly kiss Sydney, because nothing would ever be the same once he did.

One day she’ll be on the other end of your gun and you’ll hesitate, and that’ll be the end of you – because she won’t, his inner voice railed.

But this had been a long time coming – since the moment they met, really – and Sark knew it, accepted it. He was tired of pretending he didn’t want her worse than he’d ever wanted anyone or anything in his life.

Sydney shut her eyes a fraction of a second before his lips touched hers. Sark kept his eyes open, watching her melt into him; she slid her palms up his bare chest and tangled her fingers in his hair, matching the tenderness of his kiss with her own slow, sweet passion.

God, she was amazing…Warm, soft, trembling…

Sark had fantasized about her, yes, but his fantasies didn’t hold a candle to the reality of kissing Sydney Bristow.

He fell back against the doorframe as she took control of the kiss, slipping her tongue past his lips and molding herself to him. She kissed him like she would never get enough of him; her urgency moved him, demanded an immediate response from his body. He tore the buttons open on her shirt and pushed his tongue into her mouth, shivering when her teeth nipped his lower lip.

He grasped her waist and lifted her easily onto his hips. Stumbling over to the bed, he half-sank, half-fell onto the mattress with her.

She drug her fingers through his hair and forced his head back so she could kiss his throat. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered in his ear, while he worked the skirt down her slender legs. “Beautiful and dangerous and perfect and…”

Sark interrupted her list by crushing her mouth under his again. Don’t talk, he wanted to say, moving his hips into hers until she moaned. Don’t talk or you might change your mind, and I can’t stop now, I can’t…

Sydney flipped him over and kissed down his chest, unzipping his jeans as her lips slid over his skin, licking here and nibbling there. When his pants and boxers hit the floor, Sark was surprised by the fire in Sydney’s eyes. With her scorching gaze drinking him in, he suddenly believed that she found him as mesmerizing as he found her.

Stop now or you’re going to fall in love with her, his inner voice screamed from the periphery of his passion-fogged mind.

He shoved away the immediate thought that it was too late.

Hauling her back up his body, he kissed her until she was breathless. “Shouldn’t we slow down?” Sydney rasped out as he unhooked her bra.

“We’ll go slow later,” he promised, eliciting another moan from her when he rolled her over and lowered his mouth to her nipple.

Her passion, her sensuality, surprised him. Oh, he had always known there was more to Sydney than the ice queen act she put on, but the way she responded to him – moaning, writhing, gasping – it was as if she’d never been touched before, at least not by someone who knew how to please her.

Sark felt as if he were on a mission to make her lose control. He traced her pouty lips with his tongue, sucked teasingly on the tips of her breasts, playfully grazed the moist folds of her sex with his fingertips, loving how she gave herself over to him completely, shamelessly.

Finally his own need for fulfillment overcame him and he had to be inside of her.

Sydney moaned his name when he shifted between her legs, pressing his hardness against her. “Please,” she begged, staring up at him with hazy, dilated eyes as he braced himself over her on his palms.

For one second, all of Sark’s hard-fought victories ceased to matter and all of his unbreakable defenses crashed at his feet. Looking down into Sydney’s face as he pushed into her, watching her eyelids flutter closed and her back arch toward him and her lips part around a cry that became his name, he cared about nothing but her.

I love you, he screamed silently, driving into her while she clung to his shoulders, her fingernails scratching down his back. I’ll never say it but I’ll always feel it and I hate you for making me admit it, even to myself…

She was warm and slick inside, absolutely perfect around him. Sark felt her building to her climax and realized the sweat on his cheeks was mixed with tears; he buried his face in the pillow beside her so she wouldn’t see.

An instant later the rush of pleasure overtook him, wiping out all conscious thought, leaving him weak, trembling, and impossibly complete for a man who had just lost his heart.

Chapter Four: Perfection

When Sydney woke up, Sark was gone.

In a moment of stomach-dropping panic, she flung the covers back, vaulted out of bed and raced into the living room with one thought pounding in her brain:

He left me – he tricked me, seduced me, and left me.

Her bare feet slipped on the hardwood as she skidded to a stop in front of the sofa.

Sark sat calmly at the kitchen table, dressed in a white tee-shirt and jeans, staring out the window. In the gray half-light of dawn, he looked beautiful but sad, like a tragic hero.

And he’s still with me, Sydney thought, unable to suppress an ear-to-ear grin. He didn’t run back to collect the Rambaldi artifact. He stayed with me.

She stepped into the kitchen and rested her cheek against the doorframe, smiling softly at his profile.

She realized she should have been experiencing terrible guilt right about now. After all, she had cheated on Vaughn with the most diabolical and despicable person she knew; she should have been numb with shock and self-loathing.

Instead, she was warm and content – practically glowing.

“I was about to go wake you,” Sark greeted her, without taking his eyes off the window. “We should get moving before Reed’s men find this place.”

He sounded strange – cold, distant, removed. It made her timid.

“Okay,” she said uncertainly, taking another step toward the table. He still didn’t look at her.

Sydney hesitated, unsure whether to approach or retreat. Maybe he’s afraid I regret last night, so he wants me to make the first move, she decided.

Well, she could do that. It was endearing to think of the perfectly-poised Mr. Sark doubting himself.

Sydney tucked her hair behind her ears, aware but unconcerned that she wore only his black sweater, and plopped down on his lap.

That brought his eyes away from the window at last, though his expression remained inscrutable. She smiled demurely at him, letting him know that she was, however inexplicably, okay with what had happened between them.

But when she leaned in for a kiss, Sark pulled away.

“You should get dressed.” Pushing the chair back, he lifted her off his lap and crossed to the sink.

Or maybe he just got what he wanted and now he doesn’t give a shit about me.

Sydney furiously blinked back tears. She was humiliated, enraged, confused – but mostly hurt. She wanted to lash out at him, to demand an explanation, to hurl insults at him, to break that impenetrable mask he wore so well.

Instead, all she seemed able to do was sit, silent and motionless, while he filled a glass of water at the sink behind her.

After a long silence, Sark said, “All I have is some granola, but you’ll want to eat before we head out. It’ll be evening before we reach the town.”

Compartmentalize, Sydney ordered herself, folding her hands in her lap and staring at her nails. Close off the pain and focus on completing your mission – delivering the Rambaldi artifact, and now Sark, to the CIA.

And for fuck’s sake, don’t let him see you cry.

She replied stiffly, “I’m not hungry. But I would like a shower.”

Her stony glare finished the sentence for her – To wash off the feel of you, asshole.

She rose and marched into the bathroom with as much dignity as she could muster half-naked. It wasn’t until the door was closed and locked behind her that she allowed the sobs clawing at her throat to escape.

Ripping off his sweater, Sydney climbed into the shower. Scalding water pelted her face and arms, but she didn’t adjust the temperature; she sank to the floor, drew her knees up to her chest and cried so hard she gave herself the hiccups.

How could I have been so stupid? Why did I give into him? Now he knows – he knows I want him, that I care about him, that he can hurt me…

Focus, her mind snapped, corralling her rebellious heart. Right now you have to work with him, because you have a common enemy: Reed. Let him help you get to this town, and then find a way to trap him.

What better revenge for last night’s cruel deception than a lifetime in federal prison?

Ten minutes later, she emerged clean and stoic. Sark was in the bedroom packing ammunition into a black bag; the shotgun, two Colt .45s and a wickedly sharp hunting knife lay on the bed.

He barely glanced at his towel-clad companion when Sydney entered. “Your clothes were hardly suitable for an arduous hike,” he commented, nodding toward the skirt and high heels she had worn into Reed’s office building. “So I found a few old things of mine you could wear.”

Clenching her jaw around an automatic refusal, Sydney told herself to be reasonable. She really couldn’t go tromping through the woods in a miniskirt and two-inch heels, now could she?

“Thanks,” she said coldly, eyeing the dark jeans and battered tennis shoes beside the bed.

“It’ll all be too big for you, I’m afraid, but you’ll have to make due. Sorry.”

Sydney shot him a death look that said plainly what he could do with his apologies.

Sark slung the bag over his shoulder, suddenly looking as if he wanted to say something more. Sydney, however, was not in the mood for explanations. “Do you mind?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. “I need to change.”

Those blue eyes iced over again instantly. He picked up the shotgun and one of the pistols and left the room without a word.

His clothes were too big for her. Sydney wore her own white button-down; the jeans she cinched around her waist with a belt she found in a drawer, but the tennis shoes were difficult to walk in. If she lifted her foot too quickly, the shoe would slip off over her ankle. She sighed as she imagined the blisters she would have from hiking in such ill-fitting shoes.

No worse than I’d have from walking in heels, though.

She tucked the knife into one side of her belt and the Colt .45 into the other. Twisting her hair up into a ponytail, she surveyed her reflection in the mirror above the dresser – not bad for no make-up and less than three hours’ sleep.

Not that she cared how she looked for him.

In the doorway of the bedroom, Sydney paused and looked back. Early morning sunlight cast a cheerful, rosy glow on the hardwood floor and white cotton sheets. The bed where I made love to Sark, she thought, suddenly blinking back tears again.

Please God, just never let Vaughn find out about this…

Again, Sark hardly looked at her when she joined him in the living room. She wondered briefly if it might be guilt over how he was acting, then dismissed that thought.

Sark didn’t suffer from guilt. Guilt would require a conscience, which he obviously didn’t have.

He handed her a water bottle. “We should be there before dark,” he announced, leading the way out of the cabin. “While you were showering I checked the perimeter. No one’s been out here. I’d say we have a decent head start on them anyway.”

Just don’t expect me to save your ass if they catch up to us, Sydney wanted to snap, but didn’t. She decided that silence was the best response to this situation; if she ignored him, maybe he would go away.

Like if she ignored the aching emptiness inside of her, maybe it would disappear and she wouldn’t care about him anymore.

The day quickly grew warm. At first a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves and relieved the oppressive heat, but by noon the sun was beating down on them mercilessly. Sydney rolled the sleeves of her button-down up to her elbows and wound her hair into a loose bun, yet her clothes were sticking to her and her skin was slick with sweat when they finally stopped shortly after one o’clock.

Collapsing onto a rock, she gulped some water and kicked the oversized tennis shoes off. Her bare toes and ankles sported raw red blisters from the shoes’ chafing.

She also felt light-headed, a bit dizzy and slightly nauseous.

Don’t be a wuss, she ordered herself, shaking her head to clear it. Especially not in front of Sark.

“Are you all right?”

His voice beside her made Sydney jump. The entire hike he had stayed several paces ahead of her, not so much as glancing back to see how she was faring. Now he was seated beside her on the rock, regarding her with genuine concern.

“I’m fine,” she answered curtly, scooting away.

How could his nearness still make her heart race? Why couldn’t she shut herself off the same as he could?

“You’re pale,” Sark observed. When she didn’t respond, he noted her blistered feet and sighed. “Come on, let’s go wash those off. There’s a stream over here.”

At the moment, she was too weary to argue, so she trailed behind him to the creek and obediently stepped into the icy cold water. Momentarily revived, she almost smiled as the mud squished between her toes.

She was surprised when Sark pulled his socks and boots off and waded out into the shallow water with her. “Cold,” he remarked, kicking a little water toward her.

Why did she find that tiny flirtation so adorable?

Remembering that she detested him – even more so after their roll in the sheets last night – Sydney suppressed the urge to splash him back. She did sound somewhat friendly, though, when she asked how far they had come.

“About ten miles, I should think.” Sark consulted the compass she had seen him pull out a few times during the day. Pointing toward a distant hill, he said, “Shady Ridge should be just over that hill and to the north about three miles.”

Sydney managed not to groan. “That looks like a big hill.”

“It is.”

She watched from the corner of her eye as he shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the muddy water swirling around their feet. Tentatively, he offered, “You can wear my socks. They’ll help protect the blisters.”

In spite of herself, she melted a little at the sincere boyish charm. “Like I would wear your smelly socks.”

Sark grinned. “You’re wearing my smelly old tennis shoes. What’s the difference?”

Unable to think of a witty comeback, Sydney settled for a playful physical assault. She drew her foot back and kicked a wave of icy water at him. Sark yelped and jumped away; she advanced, splashing water so high that within minutes they were both soaked.

“Sydney, we’re going to get hypothermia,” he protested, his voice thick with laughter, as he stumbled out of the stream.

She started to remind him of the time he sent her plunging through the Siberian ice, yet a wave of dizziness suddenly overcame her and she pitched forward.

Sark moved with incredible speed to catch her. On the verge of a total swoon, Sydney fell into his arms and sank with him to the muddy bank, shuddering as bile rose in her throat.

What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t faint!

“You never ate anything, did you?” Sark accused, sounding resigned to her stubbornnes.

No, Sydney wanted to say, because I was too pissed off at you.

Am too pissed off at you, I mean.

He settled her onto his lap. She hated how good it felt to be back in his arms; if her limbs would wake up and cooperate instead of hanging there uselessly, she would stand up and storm away and shout at him to never touch her again…

“Eat this.” Sark’s gentle command was followed by his fingers brushing her lips. Sydney forced her heavy eyelids open and saw that he was holding a piece of granola. Reluctantly, she allowed him to feed it to her, though her pride railed against being cared for by the man who had treated her so indifferently after the most passionate lovemaking of her life.

What about Vaughn? What about the passion you have for him?

Well, the guilt would have to wait until she wasn’t nearly comatose from a low blood sugar.

Sark fed her the entire bar and coaxed her into drinking half a bottle of water. When she finished, he lay back on the ground with her in his arms.

“Shh,” he stilled her weak protest. “Just for a minute, until you feel stronger.”

Closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder, Sydney thought, I never feel strong around you. And it’s weird how it doesn’t bother me.

At first Sydney was sleepy, almost groggy. Gradually, however, her famished cells regained their strength; life surged back into her limbs, and the dizziness evaporated.

Time to get up and get moving – so why am I not going anywhere?

Sark’s damp clothes were quickly drying in the sun, but the tee-shirt still clung to his rock-hard chest and stomach. Stretched out beside him, Sydney couldn’t help remembering how gorgeous his naked body had looked in the moonlight, how soft his skin had been beneath her fingertips…

She sensed that familiar heat building between them. He was staring up at the sky, one arm folded behind his head and the other draped around her shoulder, but she saw the darkening around his iris. It was like watching clouds gather before a storm.

Not again, her mind screamed, when she snuggled closer into him and nuzzled his jaw with her nose. Fool me once, shame on you – fool me twice, shame on me.

“Sydney.”

Sark breathed her name like a prayer. She shivered, teetering on the edge of complete abandon once more.

He shifted onto his side so he could look her in the eye. His gaze was troubled, feverish, confused – everything she was feeling.

“You can’t possibly want this,” he murmured, watching her mouth move closer to his. “Not now, not after…how I behaved…”

But that isn’t you, Sydney thought, brushing her lips across his. He tensed but refused to give in, to capture her mouth as she knew he wanted to. This is you – this, right now, with me. This is who you are.

How could I not want this?

“You’ll regret it,” he whispered when her hands slid under his shirt.

Sydney held his gaze. “Only if you make me,” she whispered back.

She watched him decide. He shut his eyes, wavering; she waited, her fingers curling on the taut muscles above his navel and her lips hovering next to his.

When he opened his eyes, the detached coldness had been replaced by a scorching heat.

He claimed her mouth in a slow, lingering kiss while unbuckling the belt around her waist. His tongue darted out to part her lips, expertly coaxing entry into her mouth. Sydney stroked his chest beneath the shirt and caressed his tongue with hers, moving her hips gently against his when he pushed the baggy jeans down to her ankles.

Dropping her lips to his neck, she reminded him softly, “Slow this time, right?”

Sark trembled slightly when she lifted his shirt and lowered her mouth to his stomach, sucking just hard enough to leave a tiny bruise. “Slow this time,” he agreed.

Sydney wanted to savor this. She realized Reed’s men were hunting them and that her father and Vaughn and her other friends at the CIA were frantically searching for her.

For once, she let it go. At least for a moment, she didn’t want to be Sydney Bristow, CIA Agent – she wanted to be Sydney Bristow, the woman.

A woman in love with a man she could never have…

She shoved that thought away by concentrating on Sark.

She read the hunger in his eyes as she slid his shirt off. Starting just below his jaw, she kissed her way down his chest, pausing to circle his nipple with her tongue, dragging a small, sexy moan out of him.

She took her time exploring him, memorizing every inch of him. He sighed and moaned as she discovered all of the sensitive spots on his body, but when she eased his pants down and started to straddle his hips, he stopped her.

“My turn,” Sark said, grinning as he rolled her over.

His kisses started at her ankle and moved up her leg, practically searing her flesh. When his mouth reached the delicate skin on her inner thigh, Sydney eagerly parted her knees for him, unabashedly inviting him to taste all of her; last night she had thought she could never want him more, but today he was proving her wrong, driving her out of his mind with his sensual caresses.

He kissed her through her underwear, and she moaned. His fingers tormented her through the lacy fabric until she growled low in her throat, silently begging him to touch her.

Tossing the panties aside, Sark grinned wickedly up at her, as if to say, You asked for it slow…

Sydney surrendered to the sweet torture of his tongue stroking the heart of her need while he undid the buttons on her shirt. His slender fingers snaked up to unclasp her bra; she was vaguely aware of her moans growing louder as he cupped her breast and grazed his thumb across her swollen nipple.

It was never like this with anyone else – not Danny, or Noah, or Vaughn. I’ve never given myself over to someone like this, totally uninhibited, absolutely unashamed of what I need…

Sark’s kisses moved onto her stomach, leaving her moist and aching for him; she groaned in protest, and he laughed softly. “Slow enough for you?” he teased, flicking his tongue across her nipple.

She writhed when he took the sensitive peak in his mouth. Tangling her fingers in his soft curls, she forced his head back up to hers and kissed him deeply. His hardness pressed against her stomach; Sydney reached down and took him in her hands, smiling when he gasped.

“Are we done playing?” she whispered against his lips.

In response, Sark shifted his hips into hers and pushed deep inside. They both cried out. He fit perfectly within her, as if her body had been made to join with his.

He’s so beautiful, Sydney thought again, watching the ecstasy wash over his features, softening his face until he looked impossibly young and innocent for someone with his past.

But she didn’t want to think about his past, like she didn’t want to think about the future; she just wanted to be here with him, now, in this one idyllic moment.

So she ran her palms up his powerful arms, down his sides, back up his stomach and chest, admiring the muscles that stood out in sharp relief as he moved inside of her. He was still going slow, restraining the urgency burning in his sapphire eyes. Sydney cradled his head and pulled his body closer to hers, pressing their sweat-slick skin together. Sark slid his hands onto her back and gathered her to him, holding her with incredible tenderness.

A sudden urge to protect him swept through Sydney – to always keep him this close, to kiss away the memories of how they’d hurt each other, to love him until she healed the pain in his eyes that he couldn’t quite mask.

He was moving faster now as the pleasure overtook them both. Sydney forgot everything except the incredible sensations shooting through the nerve center between her legs; she clung to him, quivering, feeling the delicious release build within her, sensing the same tension in his body.

Stay like this forever…Stay with me forever…

When the ecstasy exploded around them, Sydney’s dark eyes flew wide open, staring directly into his smoky blue ones. They stifled their mutual cries by fusing their lips together in a rough, wet, desperate kiss.

Completely spent, they collapsed in a tangled heap with Sark’s arms around her waist and Sydney’s head on his chest. Over the furious beating of his heart, Sydney could hear their ragged breathing.

Gradually, their breathing and their heartbeats returned to normal, leaving them both happily exhausted. Sydney yawned and stretched, burrowing into his side. Sark smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead.

I love you, she thought. Before she could stop herself, she raised her eyes to his and opened her mouth to say it aloud.

He laid a finger across her lips. “Don’t,” he pleaded, his voice raw with emotion.

Sydney’s heart faltered, threatening to break. “Why not?”

“Because you can’t take it back.”

“We can’t take this back,” she argued, trailing her fingers along his collarbone.

“Would you want to?”

He sounded more vulnerable than she would have believed possible. Searching his eyes for some sign of what he was really feeling, what he was really thinking, Sydney confessed softly, “No. Would you?”

“No.” He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and rested his cheek against her forehead.

They lay in silence for a long while, lost in their separate thoughts, taking comfort in one another. Sydney longed to sleep here in his arms, but she knew it wasn’t safe.

More than that – it wasn’t possible.

When Sark spoke again, he sounded weary despite his attempt at light-heartedness. “I don’t suppose this means you’ll be defecting to my side now.”

Sydney brushed a tender kiss across his jaw. “Hardly. And I don’t suppose you’ll be turning yourself into the CIA.”

“Not likely.”

He shifted onto his side so they were facing one another. Even with her heart tearing in two, Sydney couldn’t help but return his kiss when his lips touched hers; she shut her eyes and melted into him, foregoing the harsh reality for one more second.

“Maybe we could – ”

Sark’s hesitant offer was suddenly interrupted by a thumping high overhead. Their eyes flew to the sky, and Sydney’s heart crashed into her ribs.

A helicopter – Reed!

Or, worse yet perhaps, her father!

They both leapt into action. Sark tossed a heap of clothes her way and scooped up their shoes from a nearby rock. Grabbing her hand, he drug her along to a small cave about twenty yards away. They threw on their clothes while hunkered down in the shadows.

When the chopper was directly above them, Sydney didn’t know whether to jump for joy or burst into tears.

Her rescuers had arrived.

Chapter Five: The Memory Remains

Having the CIA drop in on them provided Sark a much-needed reality check.

He watched Sydney’s inner turmoil play out on her face. On the one hand, she was understandably thrilled that their visitors were her friends rather than Reed’s men; on the other, she recognized, as did he, that the moment of truth had arrived.

Would she turn him in or let him go?

Or…would she stay with him?

Of course, the first question was if they had already been spotted. Sark silently berated himself for staying out in the open like that – it was yet another example of how swiftly this infatuation with Sydney could cost him his life.

That worry, however, was defused when the helicopter began to move away.

“They’re leaving,” Sydney cried, desperation flooding her voice.

“They didn’t see us.” Sark kept his tone smooth despite his own internal confliction.

If Sydney stayed with him, if they continued on toward Shady Ridge together, he might manage to convince her to run away with him. His heart wanted that more than anything; today had proven to him that he couldn’t shut her out now, no matter how much he tried. His icy routine had lasted all of seven hours, during which he had been so racked with guilt he could hardly function.

But how realistic was the hope that she would give up everyone she loved, everything she believed in, over him? One thing he knew would never change about Sydney, regardless of the emotional hell she suffered, was her morality. He doubted even her feelings for him would overcome her principles enough to allow them to be together.

Of course, if he told her to walk away now, if he sent her out to flag that chopper down, she would probably hand him over to the CIA. He couldn’t outrun a tactical team here in the mountains, especially not when they had a helicopter and could track him aerially wherever he went.

If she told them where he was, he would either be captured or killed, of that Sark was certain.

Yet she would be safer out of these woods. The CIA’s search and rescue mission had most likely kept Reed’s men at bay thus far, but at this rate they might not reach Shady Ridge before nightfall. Who knew what danger they might face then?

Besides, his inner voice reasoned, why prolong the agony? She’ll leave you anyway. If she does it right now, when she’s still glowing from that incredible lovemaking, she might be emotional enough to let you escape.

And it would give you a head start back to the Rambaldi artifact…

Sark sighed. His heart screamed for him to find a way to be with her forever; his mind shouted for him to walk away from this now, to continue on this phenomenally successful path he’d laid out for himself.

Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly choose between Sydney and his freedom, between love and victory, another tiny voice – one he believed he had completely crushed years ago – spoke up inside of him.

Do what’s right for Sydney. Protect her – from Reed and from yourself. Let her go back to her life, where she belongs.

Sark hung his head. Guess I still have a conscience after all…

“You should go,” he declared.

The tears glistening in her eyes tore at his heart. Sark brushed them off her cheeks with his fingertips. “Go on, before they’re too far away to see you.”

Sydney furrowed her brow. “What about you?”

He held her gaze, outwardly poised but inwardly collapsing. “Well, you can either tell them where I am, or…not. But I’m certainly not marching out there to be captured.”

“You can’t stay out here alone,” she protested, her stubborn streak flaring again. “Reed’s men –”

“Don’t scare me in the least,” Sark finished for her, grinning when she rolled her eyes at his arrogance. Truthfully, he insisted, “I know how to take care of myself, Sydney. I’ll be fine.”

The helicopter was returning for another pass. If she didn’t signal them soon, the chance would be lost, and they both knew it.

Her lips trembled around unshed tears. “What happens if I go? What happens the next time I see you?”

Sark steeled himself as much as he could, yet he still sounded miserable when he said, “Don’t make this into something it’s not, Sydney. You’re no fool. You know how things work in the real world. And you and I…”

His words trailed off as she leaned in to kiss him – sweetly, rather sadly, though forcefully enough to silence him.

Drawing back, she looked deep into his eyes. “In another life,” she whispered, tracing his lips with her finger, “we could have been incredible together.”

Oh no you don’t, his inner voice shrieked. You don’t tell her you love her, dammit! You take that secret to your grave.

But he couldn’t stop himself from promising as he helped her to her feet, “You know, someday this will all be over. Someday it won’t matter who’s on whose side.”

Sydney cuffed tears off of her cheeks. “You don’t really believe that.”

No, he admitted to himself, I really don’t.

Instead of answering, though, he grabbed her around the waist, crushed her mouth under his and kissed her until she was breathless. She pulled him as close as she could, as if she wanted to lose a part of herself in him.

In another life, yes – but all we have is this one.

Sark abruptly broke the fierce kiss. “Go,” he ordered gruffly, pushing her toward the mouth of the cave. “Hurry, before they’re gone.”

Sydney went without protest. But she stopped once to look back at him; Sark’s heart stopped while he waited for her to say the words he read in her eyes.

Tell me you love me and I’ll never let you go, even if hell itself stands in our way…

Maybe she knew that, because she turned and rushed into the sunlight.

* * * *

Sydney stumbled forward, blinded by tears.

Go back, go back, go back, her heart begged.

Her blistered feet carried her swiftly forward. She lifted her arms into the air, waving frantically at the circling helicopter.

Go back go back go back…

She shouted hoarsely into the air. “Down here! Dad! Down here!”

Go back go back go back…

She pulled the Colt .45 out of her belt and fired three times into the air.

Go back go back go back…

The chopper veered toward her. Her father and Vaughn leaned out the door; she could picture their exuberant expressions long before she saw them. Sydney ran forward to meet them, the gun dropping into the dust and the sobs choking her.

Vaughn jumped out of the helicopter before it even landed and swept her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. Sydney wiped her damp cheeks on his shirt and willed herself to feel guilty.

But she didn’t. She only felt hollow, and exhausted, and drained.

And weirdly happy – because I had him, even if it was only for a moment.

“We thought you were dead,” Vaughn cried, holding her at arm’s length and looking her up and down as if to convince himself she was real. “When you didn’t show at the extraction point we went looking and found Sark’s car…”

“I’m all right,” she assured him, jittery from the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on – and the very tricky stunt she was about to pull.

Well, damn the risk. She wasn’t leaving Sark out here stranded with Reed’s army on his tail.

Reaching for Vaughn again, she whispered, “I knew you’d find me.”

He met her lips hungrily; Sydney kissed him with wild abandon, praying he couldn’t taste Sark on her, wondering if she would ever again feel a real passion for Vaughn after today.

Or would it always be about Sark, as this was?

Her hand slipped into his vest pocket. Vaughn was too engrossed in their kiss to notice her fingers closing around his cell phone and sliding it out. When she stepped back from him, forcing her brightest smile, she jammed the phone into her pocket.

Just then Jack joined them. He wrapped Sydney in a bone-crushing hug and demanded, “What happened?”

I fell in love. Completely, hopelessly, totally in love.

“It’s a long story. And listen, these woods are crawling with Reed’s men. We need to get out of here,” Sydney answered.

What was one more lie in a life of endless deceit?

“Where’s Sark?” Jack glanced around for some evidence of her captive.

“I was hurt in the wreck,” Sydney explained, touching the cut on her forehead. “We were hiding in the woods not far from the accident and I guess I passed out. When I woke up, he was gone and Reed’s men were hunting me. So…I ran.”

Vaughn grimaced; Jack glowered. “Leave it to Sark to think of no one but himself,” Vaughn groused.

Sydney smiled tightly. If he only knew.

Vaughn helped her into the chopper. Jack followed, consoling her, “You’re all right, that’s what that matters. There’ll be another chance to find Sark, and Sloane, and Irina. Right now we need to get you home and get that head looked at.”

Sydney smiled her thanks as the helicopter lifted off. She shut her eyes so she wouldn’t see the ground falling away beneath them, taking her further and further away from Sark.

“What about the artifact?” Vaughn asked suddenly.

Sark’s words echoed in her mind: “Whoever gets back to it first, wins.”

You’re wrong, she wanted to tell him. We both lost.

Scooting nonchalantly closer to the door, she lied, “It either burned up in the wreck or Sark took it.”

Vaughn turned to ask Jack if they should send a search team back for it just in case. Seizing her opportunity, Sydney reached into her pocket, pulled out the cell phone, and tossed it casually over the side.

Neither her father or Vaughn saw it fall to the ground below. She knew Sark would see it, though, because he would be watching her go with the same ache inside that she felt. And she knew he would appreciate the gesture.

He would use it to call Irina and Sloane for help so he could retrieve the Rambaldi artifact, of course, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love her. Just like it wouldn’t mean she didn’t love him the next time they met on the battlefield and she held nothing back while taking him down.

As the helicopter turned toward Denver, Sydney rested her head against Jack’s shoulder. She accepted that eventually time would dull the pain of losing Sark enough to let her think back fondly on these last twenty-four hours. It would always be bittersweet, she supposed, to love someone so much and be forced to give them up – but someday the sweet would outweigh the bitter.

No matter what happened now, they would always have today – the memory of love defeating logic to allow them one fleeting moment of bliss.

And who knew? Maybe Sark was right. Maybe one day this would all be over, and they would find each other again.

The End