Page 20 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
She looked away and kept climbing while the sky grew brighter on the horizon. There was something over that ridge, and Alex only hoped it was a pair of bolt cutters. “We need to find cover. Lie low. Get some water and a clean phone to call it in.”
“Sterling—”
“Let’s just focus on getting out of Pakistan or Syria or wherever the...”
But Alex trailed off as they crested the ridge. She had to. Becauseshe didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know how to feel as she looked down on the sea of light that stretched out beneath them. Neon blinking and burning and turning night to day as they stared down on the city of Las Vegas.
“Well, it could be worse,” King said. “It could be Cartagena.”
Chapter Ten
Nine Years Ago
Cartegena, Colombia
Alex
“Hello. Checking in. Reservation for Shriver.” Alex made herself smile—but not too big. She gave details—but not too many. She made eye contact—but not for too long. Most of all, she studied her surroundings—but not too overtly. In short, Alex tried to remember every single thing she’d learned at the Farm—and in the six months after. But mostly, she tried not to throw up, because it’s one thing for a girl to dream about her first solo mission, it’s another to stand in the lobby of a luxury hotel in Cartagena and say, “Molly Shriver? I’m—”
“Yes, Mrs. Shriver.” The man was young and trim and almost painfully efficient as he typed away at a keyboard. “Welcome to Cartagena!”
Alex didn’t try to speak to the young man in Spanish because Molly Shriver, aspiringjewelry designer–slash-influencer-slash–spender of other people’s money, didn’t speak Spanish. Alex had spent weeks working on that cover, and it wouldn’t do to ruin it within the first five minutes.
So she looked around. “The hotel is so pretty.” An ornate crystal installation was suspended from the towering ceiling, catching the light and filling the lobby with tiny rainbows that twisted and swirled and seemed to float across the shiny white floors and sleek modern interior. “Ooh. Would it be possible to, like, sit on that dangly thing and get some videos?”
“No!” Judging by the panic in the guy’s eyes, Molly Shriver wasn’t the first person to have that idea. She was guessing one or two had even tried it.
“Darn. Had to ask!” Alex gave a giggle and then she slumped against the counter and tried not to look nervous. It would have been better not tobenervous, but the op details had been need-to-know and, evidently, Alex hadn’tneededby the time she left Virginia. She was supposed to check into this hotel and wait for further instructions. She had her cover and her legend and her mind—those were the only things a good operative really needed. Everything else would be waiting for her here. A weapon. A villain. A—
“—husband.”
Wait. What?
“I’m sorry?” Alex leaned closer to the guy who looked up from the screen and flashed a smile. Loud, techno music boomed out of hidden speakers, filling the air and echoing off all that chrome and glass. She’d misunderstood him. There was simply no way he meant—
“Your husband has already checked in.”
It was ninety degrees outside with eighty percent humidity, but it was suddenly freezing—what with the air conditioner on her skin and Alex’s blood turning to ice.
This was supposed to be a solo mission. This was supposed to behersolo mission. But maybe there had been a change of plans? Maybe she was meeting Tyler? She liked Tyler. Didn’t she? He was fine. She could work with Tyler. Or someone else. Some stranger. Maybe an older operative who was experienced and knew his way around the Colombian coast? Yes. That was it. She was going to go upstairs and meet some seasoned operative and not—
“Hello, sweetheart.” There was a hand on her back and a solid presence at her side—a pair of warm lips brushing against her cheek as a familiar voice said, “How was your flight?”
It had been six months since she’d seen him. Hardly enough time for a massive change, so Alex didn’t know why she stood there, staring at Michael Kingsley. His hair was a little longer and she wonderedif it was as soft as it looked—if maybe Mrs. Shriver was the kind of person who would run her fingers through those silky strands. And then pull them until he cried like a baby.
“Did you miss me?” His voice sounded like hot tea with too much sugar.
“Yes. But I can reload and try again.”
He gave a dark chuckle, then leaned down and brushed a kiss across the top of her shoulder. One of those ridiculously competent hands started rubbing circles on the small of her back—against the bare skin left exposed by her dress and, in that moment, Alex wanted to kill the inventor of the halter top.
She had goose bumps, and she hoped he couldn’t feel them—see them. It was the air-conditioning. It was. But the guy behind the counter was looking at them with hearts in his eyes. Like Alex had entered the hot-guy lottery and King was the winning ticket.
“We’ll just take that key now,” King prompted, and the guy blinked.
“Of course. Penthouse elevators to the right. It’s a wonderful room. For newlyweds.”
“Oh. Yay.” Alex looked up at King. “I’m so excited, I could scream. But that’s for later, isn’t it, sugar lips?” The look on his face almost made it worth it.Almost.Then she gave the clerk a wink and didn’t protest too loudly when King started dragging her across the shiny lobby and into the even shinier elevator.
