Page 80 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
“It’s morphine. Shhh. It’s okay.”
“No...” She tried to turn. “King.” He stopped moving. “I need...”
“I’m here. What, Alex? What do you need?”
Her eyes opened. She was almost herself when she said, “You.”
***
“Alex?” Her eyelids fluttered, and she came, slowly, awake, and King tried to keep the panic out of his voice. But he had to talk to her. It had already been an hour and they were running out of time. He had to know—
Was she clean? Was she followed? Was someone going to come bursting through that door to finish the job?
Dark eyelashes fluttered on pale cheeks, and he wondered if it might already be too late.
“Alex, come on. Wake up and fight me.” He was cleaning the wound and had to warn her—“You’re gonna hate me for this, but...”
The alcohol hit the wound, and she jerked. “Already do.”
To King, it sounded like music.
“Hey.” He looked into her eyes. How had he never noticed how green they were?
“Love what you’ve done with the place.” Every word hurt, he could tell, but she choked them out anyway because she was still Alexandra Sterling and he wouldn’t have wanted her any other way.
But then she coughed and curled in on herself in agony. She was going to need more morphine. But first...
“Who did this to you?” King didn’t recognize his own voice, it got so dark so quickly.
“Doesn’t”—she twisted, as if the settee and not the hole in her side was causing her discomfort—“matter.”
“It matters.” It did, and he didn’t even bother to explain why. “Who, Sterling? Tell me.” She looked up at him, gaze a little hazy, from the pain or from the meds. So he used a bloody hand to push her hair back. “Tell me. I need to know.”
Hewouldknow—either then or in the future. He’d find out. And then he’d find them. And then...
“Who, Sterling?”
“Russians.” She closed her eyes and exhaled the word. “Kozlov.”
Kozlov. Of course it was Kozlov.
“Were you jumped? Are you compromised? Listen to me—Sterling. Alex! Stay with me. Is this about Amalfi?”
She winced as she shook her head, but it must have hurt more to speak. “New op.”
“Were you followed? Do I need to get you out of here?”
“I don’t think so.”
King felt his pulse slow down. His adrenaline was fading, and so was hers, which meant the pain was going to get stronger. She’d need another shot soon. But first he had to know—
“What was the op, sweetheart?”
“Tyler. Tyler ran it. It was fine.”
It wasn’t fine, but King just smiled and smoothed her hair and gave her a little more morphine before he watched her fade, bliss on her face for one split second.
“Michael...”
