Page 124 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
“Goodbye, Tyler.” King was halfway to hanging up the phone when he heard—
“If you’d stayed, you’d have the best resources money can buy. If you’d stayed, you’d know Alex had a whole host of aliases the Agency didn’t know about.”
Now King was insulted. “We all have aliases the Agency doesn’t know about.”
“I know. But if you were with the Agency, you might have the resources to figure out that one of hers just bought a plane ticket to Vegas.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Alex hates Vegas.”
“Hey. I’m just telling you that one of Alex Sterling’s known aliases is getting on a plane. What you do with that information is up to you.”
It might be nothing. It was probably nothing. The last two dozen leads had been two dozen nothings, but King wasn’t just grasping at straws. He was grasping at lifelines and there was no way he could stop.
“Why are you telling me this, Tyler?”
The question was a good one, but the silence was almost answer enough. For a moment, King thought that maybe Tyler had already hung up—walked away. It seemed to take a lifetime for him to say, “Remember when we were kids? You moved in down the street, and my parents freaked out. The Kingsleys were going to be our neighbors. It was like living next door to the pope.”
“So—”
“So she’s the only person I’ve ever seen go toe-to-toe with you. We’ve known each other since we were nine years old, and she’s the only person I’ve ever met who might have a chance to make you happy. I was there the day the bomb went off, man. I wasthere.” Tyler was serious again. No teasing. No mocking. No fire or fury or fear. If anything, he was almost pitying when he said, “You deserve the chance to be happy.”
King wasn’t so certain.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s gone.”
“And I told you where she’s going to be, so get off your ass and do something about it. Tell her how you feel. Make a grand gesture. It’s Vegas, man.”
“So?”
Tyler laughed. “People get married in Vegas.” There was a long pause, and the laughter died, and nothing was funny anymore when he asked, “Youdostill have the ring, don’t you?”
King drew a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. He had an aching head and a year’s worth of false leads and battered dreams, but the only thing that mattered was—
“Yeah. I still have the ring.”
“So put it in your pocket and get your ass on a plane.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
Present Day
Las Vegas, Nevada
Alex
This time, Alex didn’t ask how he got the jet. She just crawled on board and then fell asleep, only to wake three hours later, twisted up with King like a pretzel, her sister standing over them, taking pictures and saying, “They aresooooocute.”
“Not a word I usually associate with Michael Kingsley,” Sawyer mumbled.
Alex had every intention of smashing the phone into a million pieces, but then King made a noise and pulled her tighter, and that was the last thing she remembered until she felt the jet touch down in Vegas.
She also didn’t ask where the car came from. It was just waiting for them on the tarmac—a BMW 5 Series. She wanted to ask if he was going to make her ride in the trunk for old times’ sake, but King was already sliding on a pair of sunglasses and slipping behind the wheel, and Alex knew better than to tease him.
He was the guy from the shack again: dark beard, dark eyes—tired and battered and the most dangerous thing she’d ever seen. She couldn’t even bring herself to smile when Zoe fanned herself and mouthedhot.
They were quiet on the way to the hotel, the questions floating all around them and pinging off the glass. All of them thinking the exact same things:
King had (more than likely) brought the ring to Vegas.
