Page 6 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
They’d reached a large sort of multipurpose room. There were tables and chairs. A few people helped themselves to coffee, but no one touched the donuts. She could feel the tension in the room—like the air before a storm. Charged and a little dangerous.
There were twenty-four recruits in the class—plus faculty and staff—and it made for an interesting mix of people. Big and small. Dark and fair. There was no pattern or mold. This wasn’t a casting call for a spy movie; this was a training ground for people who were supposed to blow like dust to the four corners of the earth and disappear.
The rest of the class was talking and mingling, shaking hands and slapping backs. A little friendly ribbing in languages Alex recognized but didn’t know. There was a quiet competition going on, but The Guy was on the far side of the room, leaning against a beam in the world’s most average jeans and the world’s most average shirt, trying not to be seen at all.
His shirtsleeves were rolled up, though, and his forearms were lean and corded with muscle, a hint of a tan line around one wrist—like he’d been lying on a beach somewhere a few days ago, like he belonged in the sun and not an Army base in Virginia on a cold, gray January morning.
The room smelled like burnt coffee and flop-sweating geniuses. The new recruits were trying to be cool, sure, but acting cool and being cool were two totally different things. And yet The Guy juststood there, looking... indifferent. Like he’d seen the movie, read the book. He knew the twists and nothing could surprise him. He was bored. And maybe that’s why he didn’t look around or study the people. Instead, he stayed on the far side of the room, studying Alex.
He was like a nature biographer—the Jane Goodall of covert operations—and if he stood still enough and stayed quiet long enough, then two dozen keenly observant people might fail to notice his existence.
Except... forearms. And a stare that was probably going to turn Alex into ash.
“Is that...” Tyler trailed off, following her gaze, and Alex felt the words rising up in her throatNo, that guy isn’t bothering me!“Michael Kingsley?” Wonder filled Tyler’s voice. He let out a laugh. “It is! No way!” he called out with a grin. The Guy shifted his gaze off Alex, and the room suddenly felt cold without the heat of it. “I don’t know if you remember—”
“Tyler.” The Guy held out a hand. “Of course I remember you.”
“Of course.” Tyler gave a self-deprecating grin. “I forgot.” He tapped his brain in a gesture that made Alex want to ask a million questions, but Tyler was already pulling The Guy into a backslapping hug. “I thought you were dead.” It was a joke—or it was supposed to be, but Alex watched Tyler remember a moment too late that it wasn’t funny. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Yeah, we kind of fell out of touch, didn’t we? How have you been?” It was a graceful cover, an easy exit, and Tyler took it.
“I’ve been good. Just...” Tyler must have followed The Guy’s gaze, which had, of course, gone back to Alex. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Alex. Alex, meet Michael Kingsley. Mike and I...” He trailed off, like he really didn’t know what to say. “Our parents...”
“We were neighbors,” The Guy filled in. “For a while.”
Tyler gulped. “Yeah. A while.” An awkward silence descended, and Tyler looked down at the floor, a little sheepish. “I heard about... I’m sorry...”
Heard about what?
Sorry about what?
Alex was brimming with questions because she was, at her core, a nosy bitch (and hence:spy school). But she was also smart enough not to push it.
“I’m gonna grab a coffee before we get started.” Tyler gestured to the table. She was aware, faintly, of him walking away, but Alex didn’t follow. It was like she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stand there, overflowing with questions she couldn’t ask.
Like had The Guy—Michael Kingsley—been following her at the hotel last night? Waiting for her? How did he know her name? And why did he look like a dark cloud was hovering over his head all of a sudden? But the question she most wanted to ask wasWhy her?Was she so unqualified that he’d had to track her down at an airport Ramada and steal her chicken fingers?
Suddenly, Alex was too hot. Her face was flushing, and her fingers were shaking, and it was all she could do to unzip her heavy coat, but then The Guy’s gaze just shifted to her chest—though not for the reasons men usually looked at Alex’s chest.
“Is that...”
She glanced down at her T-shirt. “I lie for a living.” She pointed to the words as she read them.
“Very... covert.”
“It’s called irony, Cowboy.”
“If you’re not going to take this seriously—”
“I left myFuture Spyhoodie at home.”
Alex had never seen someone stumble while standing still. “Tell me you’re not serious.”
“Of course I’m not serious.” He gave a sigh of relief. “If you think I’m coming to the FarmwithoutmyFuture Spyhoodie, you don’t know me at all. Except—oh wait. Youdon’tknow me.” Alex wasn’t hot anymore. If anything, she was freezing when she lowered her voice and whispered, “At all.”
“I knew this was going to be a disaster.”
“Take it easy, Cowboy.” Alex wanted to roll her eyes. “You knowwho no one thinks is a spy? The chick wearing the hoodie that says ‘future spy.’”
