Page 13 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
“Did you ever think about what it would be like if Zoe died?”
Once upon a time, Alex had thought of almost nothing else, but that didn’t matter anymore, because—“She’s okay now. She’s fine. Her heart’s as good as new.”But it might not stay that way.
“Did you talk to her? About your decision to come here?”
“Of course not.” Alex didn’t talk to Zoe because Alex didn’t talk toanyone. Not about this—that would have violated more rules and laws than she could count. But she didn’t tell her sister about anything else, either, Alex realized. She and Zoe were identical in ways that went beyond DNA. The same nature. The same nurture. And yet they were totally different because one of them had been born healthy and whole and the other one had paid the price.
“How does that make you feel, knowing that Zoe will never know the truth about you?”
Alex didn’t say what she was thinking: that no one ever had.
***
When Alex left the office fifteen minutes later, she should’ve felt a million pounds lighter. Her checkup was done. Her head was shrunk, and she wouldn’t have to do it again for six whole days. She was finally free to focus on other stuff, real stuff—spy stuff.
“My door is always open, Alex,” Dr. Abrams called from the doorway and Alex forced a smile. “If you ever want to talk about Zoe...”
It was the kind of offer that felt like a threat, and Alex darted down the hall and around the corner, finally coming to rest with her back against one of the glass-fronted display cases that lined the long, wide hall.
Usually, Alex loved those exhibits. There were tubes of lipstick that were actually cameras and cameras that were actually guns. Loafers with knives in the soles and a ring where the ruby was actually cyanide. It was the only part of spy school that was actually like the movies, and Alex felt at home among those things that were so much more than they appeared. They were like her, she told herself, but at the moment, she just felt achy and out of place, like something was wrong.
She’d forgotten a test, a paper—her pants. She was stuck in that dream where you’re back in high school and standing in a crowded cafeteria, totally naked. Except Alex was wide-awake and all alone. Still, something was missing, and Alex had to find it. Right then. Before it was too late. She had to call home. Then she remembered she no longer had one.
So she leaned against the glass and closed her eyes.
She tried to focus on her breathing.
She told herself that no one would be in the gym at this hour; she could sneak in and hit as many things as she wanted for as long as she wanted and—
“The kidisimpressive.”
Two men were walking through the lobby. Alex couldn’t see them, but she could hear their footsteps, easily make out their words.
“He should be, given his pedigree.” The second man gave a low, dry laugh. Then he stopped. Alex could practically hear him turn. “Did you know he has a photographic memory?”
“Like the old man?” The first guy sounded torn between being surprised and impressed.
“Exactly.”
The second man gave a low, slow whistle, and Alex knew exactly who they were talking about. She could tell from the hushed and reverent tones.
It might have been easy to call Michael Kingsley a kiss ass, but he wasn’t. If anything, it was like the instructors wanted to impresshim.
“Michael, my boy!” the deputy director of the CIA had said after a guest lecture in their second week. “How’s the old man?”
“Mr. Kingsley.” Their demolition and explosives lecturer had slapped him on the back two weeks ago. “Give your father my regards.”
Just that afternoon, their shooting instructor had taken one look at King’s targets and proclaimed, “You could have given your grandfather a run for his money.”
Needless to say, Alex hated him.
She had always been the top of her class because she was the person who tried the hardest. And now he was top of the class, even though, as far as Alex could tell, he didn’t try at all.
In the lobby, the footsteps grew louder—closer—as the men headed toward the main front doors.
“You’ll probably hear from his father eventually,” one of the men said.
“He called me last week.”
