Page 96 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
“I said okay.” She sounded angry, but she looked moreannoyedwith a touch ofhappy someone finally cares.
There were only a handful of people on the ferry, and everyone else had the good sense to stay inside, so they were alone when they settled onto the bench and Alex cautiously raised her shirt up. She’d been right. It really was more of a graze than a gunshot, but it had bled like the dickens and the skin was angry and red.
“It might scar,” he warned.
“Darn. I guess my beauty pageant days are behind me.”
But all King could do was say, “Ordinarily, I’d think that was a joke, but with you I never know.”
He tugged off the old bandage and put on a fresh one, but Alex kept her gaze straight ahead, wind in her hair. She should have been shivering. It was January on the North Sea. The wind was straight from the Pole, and the mist flying off the water felt like sleet, but it was like she didn’t feel it. Like she’d spent her whole life teaching herself not to feel anything, and King wanted to go back in time and tell the girl at the airport Ramada that it was okay to feel, it was okay to hurt, it was okay to be too excited and too angry and just generally too much. He hated that he had ever made her feel like not enough.
“Alex...”
When she turned to him, she was so close and her skin was so warm as her hand cupped his face. “Did I tell you I like your beard?”She was looking at his lips, and it was like the last year had been a very bad dream.
“Alex...” He inched closer, needing her heat and her weight and... her. He needed her, and he’d never stopped and that’s what he wanted to tell her—show her. And never let her forget. “Sweetheart...”
But the sea chose that moment to dip too quickly. The ferry felt like a roller coaster, and a cold spray blew across the bow, chilling them both to the bone while Alex turned a shade of green that King had never seen before.
“You okay?” Now he was honestly worried. “I thought you liked boats.”
“Yeah, well. I didn’t have a great time on the last one.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
One Year Ago
The Middle of the Mediterranean
Alex
It was the middle of the night in the middle of the Mediterranean, and a woman just woke up a ton of bad guys.
Alex didn’t know whether she was lucky (there were only so many “constantly moving” locations for Kozlov to keep his backups and she’d guessed it on her very first try). Or supremely cursed. (Since when do Russian thugsnotfinish the whole bottle of vodka?)
She’d sprung for the good stuff and you couldn’t even taste the tranquilizers, but then the morons had to go and drop the bottle and waste half, so now—instead of taking her good sweet time—Alex was running across the deck of Kozlov’s megayacht, Russian curses flying on the air along with the bullets.
So. Many. Bullets.
She was almost to the aft, though. Arms pumping. Wind in her hair. There was no way she was going to make it to her lifeboat in time, but Alex told herself it didn’t matter.
Even if she died... even if all she managed to do was destroy Kozlov’s backup... then that would be enough.
The flash drive was already safe. There was only one other person in the world who could access it, and she was far away and blissfully innocent. She was going to stay that way too. Because Alex hadn’t talked to her sister in years. With very few exceptions, no one even knew Zoe existed.
And it wouldn’t matter anyway because time was almost out.
The clock in her head was ticking down.
Five.
Four.
More shots. More curses.
Three.
Two.
