Page 12 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
Glasses swore and shot again, but this time the bullet connected with one of the handcuffs, and Alex stumbled a little when her right hand was no longer anchored to King’s left.
Well, that was convenient, Alex thought as her gaze found King’s. They were still standing there, tied together, when Glasses gave a roar and King gave a shrug that said,Whynot?Then they turned and ran for Glasses, clotheslining him and knocking him to the ground. The gun went flying, but the man was agile and angry, and in the next moment he had a knife.
Alex didn’t think—she dove. And then the gun was in her hand and she was pulling the trigger, over and over until—
The man stopped.
The knife fell.
And then the only person left who wanted to kill her was the one on the other side of those handcuffs.
For a moment, she and King just stood there, breathing hard. She wanted to say something—she really shouldsay something—but her heart was pounding too fast, and her mouth was too dry, and the last fifteen minutes were too surreal to be anything but a dream. The only thing that rang true was the look on his face when he turned to her.
“Good job, Alex. Perfect. Now we have two bodies and zero answers.”
“You can’t possibly blame me for this.”
He looked offended. Like she’d underestimated him. “I can always blame you.”
“Fine.” She aimed the gun at their remaining handcuff.
“Wait!”
She pulled the trigger and then...nothing.
They were all out of bullets. And maybe options. And probably time. So Alex hurled the empty weapon at the wall. She couldn’t read his mind, but King looked like a cloud before it rained—dark and ready to storm. “What?”
He shook his head slowly. “Some things never change.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means”—he threw open the door—“you never did know when to stop fighting.”
Chapter Seven
Ten Years Ago
The Farm
Alex
“Tell me about Zoe.”
Alex took a deep breath and reminded herself that, at the Farm, therapy wasn’t optional. At the Farm, therapy was good. At the Farm, people were taught how to plant bugs and make bombs, so it was important to ensure that trainees weren’t absolutely insane. Of course, if the last six weeks had taught Alex anything, it was that no one would willingly do this if they weren’t a little bit crazy. She didn’t know what it meant that it was the happiest she’d ever been in her life.
“Are you and Zoe close?” Dr. Abrams asked over the top of her cat-eye glasses, vintage and a little too funky for someone employed by the CIA. Her skin was very pale, and her hair was very dark, and she looked like she might be about to offer Alex an apple. There wasn’t a doubt in Alex’s mind that it was poisoned.
“Zoe doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
The woman gave a subtle shrug. “Tell me about her anyway.”
So Alex started with the obvious. “She’s my sister.”
Dr. Abrams was a pro, so she stayed silent, waiting for Alex to get uncomfortable and start jabbering to fill the void because most people hate silence and they hate awkward. But Alex wasn’t most people. Alex would’ve sat there until she starved to death before she said another word.
“Did you like being an identical twin?” the woman askedeventually, and Alex gave herself a mental high five for not being the one who cracked first.
“I don’t know.” Alex looked down at her hands. She still had paint under her nails from camouflage class and bruises on her wrists from the zip ties. “That’s like asking me if I like being right-handed. It’s all I’ve ever known.”
