Page 83 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
“Alex!” King snapped, but it was the sound of her own name that stopped her. She wasn’t Sterling anymore—not even Alexandra. “You’re clean.” His voice was so soft, so close. “You’re good.”
She glanced at the bathroom again, streaks of red on white, and Alex grew even more afraid of the answer.
“Whose blood is that?”
He couldn’t touch her anymore. “It’s not yours.”
“King...” If he could do it... “Michael?”
He couldn’t face her anymore. “No one is going to come looking for you. It’s taken care of. It’s done.”
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. The look on his face—the way his eyes couldn’t meet hers—it was all she needed. All that mattered.
He wasn’t that guy. He’d always been dangerous and intense and lethal, but he wasn’tthat guy. He was...
“Michael.” Alex’s voice cracked. Her lips quivered. Her whole body was starting to shake and she didn’t know if it was fear or shock, she just knew that her teeth were starting to rattle in a way that only happened in cartoons. She couldn’t make herself stop shaking. She couldn’t make herself stop feeling.
She couldn’t make it stop. “King...”
“Shhh. Easy. Rest.”
She was back in bed then, covers wrapped around her, and she wasn’t even sure how it had happened. She just knew Michael Kingsley was leaning over her, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.
“I’m too cold.” She was still shaking and she didn’t even know how to stop.
The sun was almost up and the sky was the color of doves. Little strips of light fell over a room with high ceilings and ornate moldings. The bed was some kind of antique, made for another era. Ethereal and gorgeous, but there wasn’t another stick of furniture in the room, so it wasn’t a surprise when he said, “That’s my only blanket. Stay here.” Like she was going anywhere. “I’ll turn up the heat.”
But Alex had a hold of his arm and she couldn’t let go. She didn’t know why. She just knew that he was as much a part of her as an IV. He’d have to be ripped out.
There had been lectures at the Farm about first aid and bodyheat, so she wasn’t only thinking about Zoe’s favorite novels when she threw back the covers and whispered, “Come to bed.”
They had to share because they were both exhausted. It didn’t matter that King thought the threat was over, there were always new threats—a whole world full of them. He needed his rest, and she highly doubted there were any other beds.
But she didn’t say any of that, because Michael Kingsley was a very good spy. He knew a lie when he heard one. So he slipped between the covers, and, for the first time, Alex stopped shaking.
He tugged until her head rested on his shoulder and his arms held her tight.
“Does it hurt?”
It did, but not in the way he was asking.
“Michael...”
“Shh.”
“Where’s Tyler?”
“On his way back to Langley.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know how she felt—relieved or disappointed? The night was fuzzy. She remembered... very little. “It wasn’t his fault. We split up.”
“He let you out of his sight. It was his fault.”
“I’m a professional.”
“He went in with no plan, and you got hurt.”
“How did you know there was no plan?”
