Page 39 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
Instantly, Alex wanted to pull the words back, but King just looked out the window, like the answers were somewhere among the clouds. When he spoke again, the words were so soft, she almost missed them. “You’re notnot smart, you know.”
She did know, but the fact that he’d said it...
It was all she could do not to smile.
She thought about the look on his face as he talked to Merritt on the tarmac, the guy in the shadows of the Farm. He was a man—close to thirty. But she’d seen him look like a child exactly twice. And both times—
“Who’s Nikolai?”
He blinked—too fast—and spun on her. “How...”
“They teach lip reading at spy school.” Alex felt almost guilty for a split second, but then she watched his features change and harden.
“Who’s Zoe?” It wasn’t a question—it was a dare.
“I asked first.”
“It’s need-to-know and you don’t.”
“We’re on our way to a private island to take on an arms dealer. If that’s not a need—”
“If you needed to know, then Merritt would have told you. But she didn’t. So you don’t.” He wasn’t just indignant; he was angry. And he was scared. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But—”
“Forget it, Sterling.” Alex had seen a lot of Michael Kingsleys in the past two years. Bored and overly earnest and so stoic, she could scream. But she’d never seen him vulnerable before. And she was pretty sure she didn’t like it. “Please. Please, just... It’s not my secret to tell.”
The contents of the envelope were still strewn all over the table, so Alex picked up a familiar blue booklet and looked inside. It was a good photo, and she had to bite back a smile as she slid the passport toward him. “Okay, Mr. Dixon. Let’s get you ready to spend the next week with your loving wife of—”
Alex examined her own cover sheet. “Six blissful years. No way! Six? What was I? A child bride?”
She sorted through the scraps of a life that wasn’t really hers. Officially, it was called pocket litter. Someone back at Langley had probably spent a week figuring out everything from the kind of gum Mr. and Mrs. Dixon would chew to the places stamped on their passports. The newest iPhone opened at Alex’s touch—full of photographs and text messages and emails—receipts for clothes she didn’t purchase. Lunch plans with friends she didn’t have. There was an entire life spread out on that table, but none of it was real, and Alex didn’t know why she felt so jealous of a woman she’d never meet but had to be.
“So...”
“So?” he asked.
“How were you?”
King blew out a tired breath. “I was doing a joint task force with MI6. The details are classified, I’m afraid.”
“I didn’t ask who you were working with or what you were doing. I askedhowyou were.” The look on his face said everything, as if that was the most foreign of notions—that someone might ask. That someone might care. “You know what, never mind.”
Alex started putting fake credit cards in her fake wallet and then slipped it into her fake purse. She stopped trying to talk to her fake husband.
“How were you?” a soft voice asked, and Alex froze. She didn’t want to think about the answer—
A little homesick. Kind of afraid. And so lonely sometimes, it hurt.“I infiltrated the stronghold of a dictator who shall remain nameless with nothing but a push-up bra and a stiletto in my heels.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he whispered, but his tone just saidtouché, so Alex leaned across the table and let her voice pitch low.
“I was very far away from you.” Then she grinned like that was answer enough.
“Very funny, Sterling.”
“Oh, now, Mr. Dixon. Is that any way to talk to your loving wife?”
Suddenly, the light in the cabin changed. A shadow crossed his face and she felt the jet dip as they broke through the clouds, but Alex couldn’t look away—not until something out the window caught King’s attention.
