Page 114 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
London
King
The light flickered on, but King didn’t even squint against the glare. If anything, he welcomed the discomfort. Like a sharp pinch, it was just enough pain to prove he wasn’t dreaming.
“I don’t remember giving you a key.”
She hadn’t even glanced in his direction, but Merritt didn’t have to. She was part magic and part myth, so of course she knew who was lurking in the shadows of her London flat. She’d probably known he was coming before he did, but she didn’t say a word as she took off her coat and walked to the kitchen and filled the kettle for tea.
“You need better locks.” It came out more petulant than he’d intended, but he hadn’t gotten anything else right lately. Why should that be any different? “I picked up your mail.” He pointed to the pile on the counter.
“I see that. So considerate.”
She started flipping through the letters and bills but paused when she got to the envelope from Paris, ripped it open, and pulled out two tickets. “Oh good.”
“I didn’t know you were a ballet lover.”
“I go every year.”
Merritt secured the tickets to her fridge with a magnet. It was too ordinary a gesture for a woman who had lived such an extraordinary life, and King didn’t know how to reconcile those two thingsin his mind, so he just said, “I thought we were supposed to avoid predictable patterns of behavior.”
But Merritt merely smirked. “That’s for people who don’t have box seats.”
The kettle screamed, and a moment later, she was sliding a cup of tea across the counter. “I’d offer you something stronger, but I think you’ve had enough. Unless the goal was to cross over frominebriatedtototally pickled?”
“I can’t find her.” King looked out the window. A light rain was falling outside, cold and streaking down the glass. It reminded him of hotel bars and chicken fingers and women who have the good sense to stay far away from him. “It’s been nine months, and I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve asked everyone. She’sgone.”
“She’s in the wind,” Merritt said because Merritt still thought there was a difference.
There wasn’t. “She’s gone.”
“Michael—”
He was off the stool and prowling toward her, stronger now. The hole in his chest was like a cup of black coffee, sobering him up and making his blood sing. “Where is she?”
“Michael—”
“If anyone knows where she is, it’s you.”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me where she is!” He’d never shouted at Merritt before. He swore he never would again, but King wasn’t in control then. The fear and regret were winning. “Where is she?” His voice was softer, but it was the look in Merritt’s eyes that almost broke him.
Kind and pitying and more mother than mentor—more woman than spy. “Alex is supremely gifted in many ways, but her greatest talent might be her ability to hold a grudge.”
“I just wanted her to wait. I just wanted her safe. I just wanted...Where is she?”
He wasn’t crying—that would have been a relief. Right then he was a boiler that was malfunctioning, pressure building on the inside with no way out. It was going to make him explode.
“Where is she?” He looked back at the windows and watched the raindrops race each other down the panes and through the fog.
“Oh my dear boy, you really loved her, didn’t you?”
And those were the words that broke him.
“I even...” He sank into a chair and looked out at the rain and the night and the streets that wouldn’t lead to Alex Sterling. “I even got her a ring.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
