Page 15 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
“He was the Berlin station chief in sixty-two.” His voice was soft and reverent. “Everyone knows his name.” Then he seemed to remember who he thought he was speaking to—like she of all people wouldn’t get the reference. “That was the Golden Age of—”
“Tradecraft,” she cut him off. “I know.”
“They were going to make a movie about him.”
“Really?” Alex couldn’t hide her excitement. “Why didn’t they?”
“I’d tell you, but then...” No man had ever looked more smug than he did in that moment. “Sterling?”
“What?”
“There’ll be another bus tomorrow morning. Get on it.”
But she just turned and walked away.
Chapter Eight
King
King watched her go. More angry than embarrassed.
Legacies are fickle things. Sometimes they’re buoys and sometimes they’re weights, and King knew that as long as he lived in the shadows of all the Michael Kingsleys who had gone before him, he’d have to deal with unfair expectations—both the good and the bad.
Maybe that’s why he stood there, almost envious of the girl who got to be the only Alex Sterling.
He watched her turn right, toward the barn, instead of left, toward the barracks. It was full dark and the base was sleeping. They were scheduled for a run at five a.m.
“Where are you going?” he couldn’t help but call after her.
She stopped and spun. “Where do you think?”
“It’s late.”
“I’m busy.”
“Busy with what?”
“You know... places to be. Things to hit...”
He watched her push into the big building that served as the Agency gym. It was the oldest building on the base—a barn that was part of the original homestead. It should have been locked at that hour, but that didn’t seem to matter to Alex Sterling.
He should leave her alone, he told himself. Let her get caught and kicked out. Let her get hurt and kicked out. Let her be so tired she couldn’t function the next day... as long as she... yeah... got kicked out. He absolutely had no reason to follow her. And yet...
She was working the heavy bag, leg arching gracefully through the air before making contact and spinning smoothly in the otherdirection, when he got there. She had to have heard him, but she didn’t fidget—didn’t turn.
Not until he asked, “Who’s Zoe?”
She stopped and found his gaze in one of the mirrors that lined the wall. “Who’s Nikolai?”
She didn’t know.He didn’t know why, but the thought was almost soothing.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” King was relieved when his face didn’t betray a thing. Maybe because he actually was good at this—highly trained and exceptionally intuitive. A natural. Or maybe it was just a wound that was so scabbed over that he couldn’t even feel it anymore. “You shouldn’t be in here by yourself.”
She wiped the sweat away from her face. “And why’s that, exactly?”
“It’s not safe.”
She gave the bag a roundhouse kick, probably because it was closer than his head. Then she pointed to her surroundings and said, “Spy school.”
