Page 8 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
“But if you want to stay”—Merritt looked at them all in turn—“know this: you don’t have friends anymore. You don’t have siblings or parents or sweethearts. There are only three types of people in the world going forward: targets, assets, and threats. If that doesn’t sound like how you want to live—or even if you just want to Not Die... A bus back to DC will leave in fifteen minutes. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get on it.”
No one moved or spoke or even breathed, and Merritt gave a slow, sad smile. “No one ever does.”
Chapter Four
Present Day
The Shack
King
“King?”
When King heard the voice in the darkness, he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or downright angry. He’d been sitting there for at least twenty minutes, listening to the unconscious figure behind him breathe and groan and stir. It had sounded like her, but he hadn’t been sure. Not until—
“Kingsley?” It was more curse than question, and that’s how he knew for certain.
His head hurt. And his arms hurt. He couldn’t even feel his hands, they’d gone so numb in the too-tight handcuffs. The dusty air made him feel like he was going to sneeze, which would have added a new layer of insult to his injury, but King couldn’t help himself. He went boneless, one thought echoing over and over again in his mind.
She’s alive.
She’s alive.
She’s—
“King?” Her voice cracked, and he thought of a million things that she might say.I’m back. I’m here. I’m sorry.But what came out was “What did you do?”
King couldn’t help himself: he laughed. Nothing was funny, and yet... “What didIdo? You’re the one who’s been out in the cold for a year, Sterling. What didyoudo?”
“Let me go.” She pulled at the handcuffs again, trying to breakfree from whatever was holding her back. She clearly hadn’t realized that the thing she was handcuffed to washim.
“Ow.” His voice was flat, and she went still.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” She jerked her arms again—which hurt. But not as much as his pride. “Of all the idiots in all the abandoned shacks in all the world, I had to get tied up with you.”
“Actually, you’re tiedtome,” King corrected, and Alex gave an exaggerated gasp.
“You’reactuallyingme? Now? At this moment?” Then she jerked her arms again, just to spite him. Because, after all this time, she was still the girl in theFuture Spyhoodie, and he was still...
“Kingsley!”
“What?” he asked.
“Tell me what you see.” The room was pitch-black, nothing but a few traces of faint light drifting through cracks in the walls. It wasn’t a house. Maybe a barn or shed. It was dusty and dry and had the smell of disuse and desperation.
“Not much on this side. How about on yours?”
“Nothing,” she conceded. “What can you hear?”
“Nothing.”
“You have to hear something. You’ve been awake for longer than I have and—”
“I stand corrected. I hear nothing but the sound of you yapping—”
“Yapping?” The handcuffs jerked as she tried to spin. “Little dogs in expensive purses yap. I do not yap.”
“Clearly.”
