Page 31 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
King was a brilliant strategist and a focused operative, but he wasn’t a great liar—not when he was talking to her.
“Like I said, no one knows I own this place. Technically, Idon’town this place. And it’s sitting on top of a fortress. I’m not an easy target here. But, more than that... someone trackedyoudown, and so help me”—he let out a laugh that was more like a growl—“I’d like to know how. So whoever they were and however they did it, we know one thing...”
“They’re good,” Alex filled in.
King looked at her, long and hard. “They’re very, very good.” The moment felt charged and ready to blow. “Guest room’s through there.” He pointed to the closed door on the far side of the room. “Go clean up.”
“We have to call it in.”
“Do we?” A chuckle shot out of him. Michael Kingsley—a man who had probably memorized the Moscow Rules when he was five—actually laughed at the idea of following standard operating procedure, and Alex didn’t know what was happening. Up was down. Black was white. “Do we have to call it in? Because I’m out. Remember?” He ran a hand through his hair. “The only question is, aren’t you out, too?”
And that was the problem. The elephant wasn’t just in the room, it was standing on Alex’s chest and making it hard to breathe. “I...”
“Ayear, Alex.” She was Alex again—not Sterling—and something about that made her close her eyes, but when she did, images danced on the back of her eyelids, black and white and far too quick—like an old movie in fast forward. Too fast to read their lips. “I just lost forty-eight hours,” he said, “but you’ve been missing for a year.”
“I wasn’t missing.” Her voice was lighter than she felt. “I knew exactly where I—”
A crashing sound cut her off, and when Alex turned, she saw the glass King was drinking from lying shattered on the floor. The wall was wet. And he wasn’t looking at her anymore.
“There are people in this world who care about you, Sterling. They were worried.”
“People like Merritt?” She wasn’t sure what made her ask it, but as soon as the words were out, she wanted to beg him not to answer. So why did it hurt so much when he didn’t?
“Shower through there.” He pointed to the guest room again. “Use it. Don’t use it. Jump out the window for all I care. Just ask yourself this: Do you really want to make that call and explain where you’ve been for the past year and why you ran and what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into now?”
“Why does this have to be about me?”
“Because trouble usually is.” He didn’t even turn around before he slammed the door.
***
The robe was soft and warm, and Alex was finally clean and dry, but, more than anything, it was a relief to have finally stopped shaking.
She didn’t ask for advice. She didn’t need his permission. Alex knew what she wassupposedto do, and her gut was telling her what shehadto do, but it was still harder than it should be to drop down on the bed and reach for the phone.
Because King was right.
(Oh, how she hated that sentence.)
King hadwalkedaway, but Alex hadrunaway, and she’d never been more aware of the difference.
The Agency might not know where she was yet. There might be a chance she could take the stairs to the lobby and disappear onto the Strip and into the desert and lose another year of her life. But it wasn’t the last year that bothered her. It was the last forty-eight hours. It was the dark shed and the handcuffs and the man on the other side of the wall.
So Alex picked up the phone and dialed the number she’d hoped she’d never have to use again.
“Secure line,” she said to the silence that answered. “Nine one seven alpha six.” Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. “It’s me. I... I think I need help.”
Chapter Eighteen
King
Spies live and die by their senses. It was something King had known for as long as he’d known what to call them. He knew to trust only what he could see and smell and taste and feel, but right then, he was more concerned about his hearing. He was standing, too still, in the penthouse, listening to the sound of running water, not knowing if he wanted it to stop or run forever.
She was there. In his apartment. Showering on the other side of the wall, and King stayed frozen, lulled into a kind of trance by the sound.
When the water turned off, he went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. When he’d called down for the clothes, he’d asked the concierge to send up the usual provisions, and now they had milk and bread. Fresh eggs and cheese and some veggies, so he pulled out an omelet pan and went to work because King had to stay busy. Besides, he wanted to break something and the eggs were nice and handy.
“Thank you. For the clothes.”
