Page 85 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
Six Years Ago
Berlin, Germany
Alex
When Alex woke, the sky was gray again and the sun was going down, sinking low over the rooftops to the west. She should have been mad at herself for sleeping away the day. The Agency was going to be looking for her, asking questions. There were reports to file and briefs to give, but when she threw off the covers, a sharp stab of pain surged through her midriff and her whole body vibrated like a piece of tin that had been hit with a hammer. She could almost hear theclang.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
King was leaning against the doorframe, arms across his chest. Those long legs crossed at the ankle as if some Hollywood director had told him to stand there until they got the light just right. But it was the look on his face that made Alex go a little woozy: worry and frustration and fear all trying to hide behind a crooked grin.
This was King At Home, and she got the feeling that very few people ever had the luxury of seeing him here, with his bed-mussed hair and long-sleeve tee. Old sweatpants and mismatched socks.
“Morning, Cowboy.”
For a split second she wanted to pull the words back because maybe he didn’t remember the bar and that first night. Maybe she should have pretended she didn’t either. But then a hint of pink tinged his cheeks, so Alex tried to get out of bed.
“If I offer to help, are you going to try to kill me?”
“Maybe.”
“Good.” He laughed because, evidently, King At Home did that. “That means you’re back to normal.”
He walked toward the bed and put a hand on her forehead. Alex leaned against the cool, soft weight of it because she couldn’t help herself. It felt like the first time someone had touched her in years.
“That’s better.”
Was he talking about her fever or the way she leaned against him? Alex didn’t know. Didn’t exactly care.
Then he bent down and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. She didn’t think. She just blurted—
“I want...”
You to kiss me.
You to hold me.
You to tuck me back in and let me sleep for five more years.
“To take a shower.”
He rose slowly but smiled as he told her, “Stay here.”
A moment later, she heard the sound of water running.
There was a bandage around her waist and a small Band-Aid on her arm. Alex looked around the room, really studying it for the first time. She spotted a bag of saline and an IV drip hanging from the bedframe, a plastic trash bag full of bloody gauze. It looked more like a hospital room than a bedroom, and, for the first time, Alex saw the situation clearly. The pain in her side made so much more sense and so did the look on his face when he walked back to the bed and said, “Come on.”
She just wasn’t expecting him to swoop her up into his arms.
“I can walk, you know? I’ve been doing it for a while. I can even do it in heels.”
He shouldered the bathroom door open wider, then set her on the marble countertop of the most beautiful bathroom she’d ever seen.
“You were out for three days.”
“I... Oh.” That couldn’t be right. He had to be lying. But he wasn’t. She could see it in his eyes, because there were two thingsshe knew for a fact about Michael Kingsley: he didn’t lie, and he didn’t forget.
So she looked around the bathroom instead, at the antique tiles and ornate light fixtures. She didn’t know anything about architecture, but she thought it was probably built after the First World War and, miraculously, not destroyed by the second.
