Page 111 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
And, most of all, she knew who had set it.
“Hey. I found some of those digestive biscuits that are actually cookies.” King was standing in the doorway. “If you’re still hungry and want that bath, I could... What?” He studied her, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”
“When did Sawyer and Zoe get married?” she asked, and he looked at her like maybe she’d hit her head.
“Six months ago.” He took a bite of a cookie, then licked a crumb off his lip.
He was coming closer and she was inching back. She’d been going over it in her head, calculating angles and figuring odds, for so long that it didn’t make any sense—but it did. It was like she’d known it for days but she’d kept her eyes squeezed tight, totally unable—or just unwilling—to see...
She held up the phone. “Then why did you call me last Wednesday and tell me they were eloping to Vegas?”
He looked at the phone. His eyes went wide.
And then she tried to kill him.
Chapter Sixty-Two
King
“Alex—” King barely had time to duck the punch. She’d been out of the game for a year, but that didn’t mean she was out of shape. “Alex, wait!”
Too late. She was already lunging, forcing King to drop and roll, trying to get out of her way because he had to talk to her—he had to make her understand or see reason or... something. He had to find out what had caused all this and then he had to stop it.
“What are you doing?” He sprang to his feet and held up both hands, but Alex just prowled closer.
“So that’s where you got the money. Tell me, were you always working for Kozlov? Or did you take over after I killed him?”
“What are you talking about?” He was so shocked that he forgot to sidestep when she charged; it was all he could do to redirect her momentum, and in the next moment, they were slamming into a row of shelves, sending six months’ worth of work tumbling like dominoes.
King twisted, trying to take the brunt of the fall, but monitors and books were crashing to the floor. Glass was shattering. And Alex looked like she hadn’t even noticed.
She just loomed over him. “Tell me everything or I’m going to kill you.”
King was stunned and dizzy, and his tongue tasted like blood. “Looks like you’re gonna kill me anyway.”
“Yeah.” She actually smiled. “I probably am.”
They both saw it at the same time—the gun that he kept underthe table—and in a flash, they were both rolling across the floor, diving for it—and of course she beat him there.
“Alex—”
BOOM!A vase shattered.
She aimed again and King dove. He had to get away. He had to make her see. He had to—
Hide.
He was hiding in his own home from a woman who was eight inches shorter and sixty pounds lighter, but in a way, it was fitting. He’d been hiding from her for six years. For longer.
“What are you talking about?” he called over his shoulder, hunching behind the desk.
“I got your messages.”
Oh. Toward the end, King had only called when he’d been drinking. He never thought she’d actually hear those blasted messages, and now he was terrified of what he’d said.
“Alex, I can explain!” he shouted, which was a mistake because—BOOM!—a gunshot tore through the wood.
King was caught—between the wall and the woman and the words he couldn’t say.
