Read Online The Bourne Sanction by Robert Ludlum, Eric Van Lustbader - Free Book Online Page B

were sitting side by side in Moira’s living room, a small, cozy space in a Georgetown town house of red-brown brick on Cambridge Place, NW, near Dumbarton Oaks. A fire was crackling and licking in the brick hearth; espresso and brandy sat on the coffee table in front of them. The chenille-covered sofa was deep enough for Moira to curl up on. It had big roll arms and a neck-high back.
    “One thing I can tell you,” Bourne said, “these people are professionals.”
    “Makes sense,” she said. “Any rival of my firm would hire the best people available. That doesn’t necessarily mean I’m in any danger.”
    Nevertheless, Bourne felt another sharp pang at the loss of Marie, then carefully, almost reverently, put the feeling aside.
    “More espresso?” Moira asked.
    “Please.”
    Bourne handed her his cup. As she bent forward, the light V-neck sweater revealed the tops of her firm breasts. At that moment, she raised her gaze to his. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes.
    “What are you thinking about?”
    “Probably the same thing you are.” He rose, looked around for his coat. “I think I’d better go.”
    “Jason…”
    He paused. Lamplight gave her face a golden glow. “Don’t,” she said. “Stay. Please.”
    He shook his head. “You and I both know that’s not a good idea.”
    “Just for tonight. I don’t want to be alone, not after what you discovered.” She gave a little shiver. “I was being brave before, but I’m not you. Being followed gives me the willies.”
    She offered the cup of espresso. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d prefer you sleep out here. This sofa’s quite comfortable.”
    Bourne looked around at the warm chestnut walls, the dark wooden blinds, the jeweltoned accents here and there in the form of vases and bowls of flowers. An agate box with gold legs sat on a mahogany sideboard. A small brass ship’s clock ticked away beside it. The photos of the French countryside in summer and autumn made him feel both mournful and nostalgic. For precisely what, he couldn’t say. Though his mind fished for memories, none surfaced. His past was a lake of black ice. “Yes, it is.” He took the cup, sat down beside her.
    She pulled a pillow against her breast. “Shall we talk about what we’ve been avoiding saying all evening?”
    “I’m not big on talking.”
    Her wide lips curved in a smile. “Which one of you isn’t big on talking, David Webb or Jason Bourne?”
    Bourne laughed, sipped his espresso. “What if I said both of us?”
    “I’d have to call you a liar.”
    “We can’t have that, can we?”
    “It wouldn’t be my choice.” She rested one cheek on her hand, waiting. When he said nothing further, she continued. “Please, Jason. Just talk to me.”
    The old fear of getting close to someone reared its head again, but at the same time he felt a kind of melting inside him, as if his frozen heart were beginning to thaw. For some years, he’d made it an ironclad rule to keep his distance from other people. Alex Conklin had been murdered, Marie had died, Martin Lindros hadn’t made it out of Miran Shah. All gone, his only friends and first love. With a start, he realized that he hadn’t felt attracted to anyone except Marie. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel, but now he couldn’t help himself. Was that a function of the David Webb personality or of Moira herself? She was strong, self-assured. In her he recognized a kindred spirit, someone who viewed the world as he did-as an outsider.
    He looked into her face, said what was in his mind. “Everyone I get close to dies.”
    She sighed, put a hand briefly over his. “I’m not going to die.” Her dark brown eyes glimmered in the lamplight. “Anyway, it’s not your job to protect me.”
    This was another reason he was drawn to her. She was fierce, a warrior, in her own way.
    “Tell me the truth, then. Are you really happy at the university?”
    Bourne thought a moment, the conflict inside him becoming