Page 75 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
“I know.”
“I thought you’d put your differences behind you?” Now she sounded curious. “The fighting seemed different this time. Almost... playful?”
It was. It is.And that was worse. He couldn’t believe she was going to make him say it—spell it out, admit it to himself. He couldn’t believe Margaret Merritt—perhaps the world’s greatest living spy—didn’t know that was worse by a factor of a million.
“Michael?”
“Please.” Was that his voice cracking or was it something else, deep inside of him, that wasn’t going to mend? King didn’t know anymore. Didn’t exactly care. In fact, from that point forward he wasn’t going to care about anything, he decided. That was the only way he knew not to let this business win, by refusing to play the game. “I’m not going to be my father, Merritt.”
He pushed away from the counter and headed toward the door. He’d said all the things he needed to say and a few more he probably shouldn’t have, and the best thing to do was get out while he still could.
“Michael?” She stopped him at the door.
“I’m not going to be my father.” He kissed her cheek. Her skin was soft and paper thin, and he vowed to remember the feel of it, just in case it was the last time.
She cupped his face. “Consider it done.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Six Years Ago
Berlin, Germany
Alex
It had been a year since Amalfi, but Alex wasn’t counting the days. She was happy, in her own way. She’d run a nice op out of Sydney and the higher-ups at Langley were happy with what they’d been seeing. Her Russian was good, and her tradecraft was sharp, and she hadn’t had to work with Michael Kingsley in ages, so it had been a good year.
She cut her hair short and stopped taking Zoe’s phone calls because that was better for everyone. Her sister was healthy—she was fine—so Alex had two missions at that moment: (1) keeping her that way and (2) whatever the Agency told her to do.
That’s why she didn’t ask a single question when she walked into the old, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of what used to be East Berlin. She just said, “Hello, Merritt.”
The old woman had a twinkle in her eye when she gave Alex a hug, and Alex got the feeling this wasn’t just a social call. It never was.
“So where is he?” Alex looked around, waiting for King to materialize out of thin air and announce that her shoes were impractical and her hair wasn’t covert enough. Then Alex would have to roll her eyes and ask if the stick up his butt could be used as an actual weapon. It was their thing. She was almost looking forward to it. It was almost as if—
“Hello, stranger.”
The words were right, but the voice was wrong. The footsteps onthe concrete were wrong. The feeling in her gut was wrong, wrong, wrong, because...
It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t—
“Tyler?” She almost didn’t know him, he looked so different. Rougher. Harder. Hotter?Had Tyler gotten hot?Alex blinked and tried to make it make sense. He’d lost the softness that filled his face, his too-big, too-trusting grin. This life changed everyone, but she felt a little sad to see that the sweet guy she’d met at the Farm had morphed into this slightly darker version.
She’d seen him a few times over the years. Always in passing. They’d say something like they’d have to work together soon. Or at the very least, they should grab lunch, keep in touch. But spies don’t do that. Even she and King...
What?
There was no she and King.
“Hey!” Tyler was pulling her into his arms and squeezing her a little. It was that thing that normal people do when they see old friends. Some people called ithugging. But she and King didn’t hug.
She and King...
He wasn’t King.
“How are you?” Alex pulled back and squeezed his (larger than she remembered) biceps and tried to sound like women always sound in movies about high school reunions. Like things were amazing! And awesome! And her life was everything she’d ever hoped it would be!
But the CIA didn’t train fools, so Tyler the Suddenly Rugged didn’t buy it. “You look disappointed.”
