Page 98 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
He put a hand on her forehead like he was feeling for a fever, but he left it there like he couldn’t stop touching her quite yet. “Always.”
And then he kissed her—soft and then hard. It was the kiss of a man looking for his last breath.
When she tried to sit up, he said, “Easy,” then he helped her lean against the pillows. “Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere? Nowhere?” Alex was honestly guessing. She’d hurt so much and for so long that she didn’t remember what the lack of pain actually felt like.Hurtwas her default state. “How long...”
“Two days.”
That explained the wrinkles and the stubble and the way her legs felt as if they couldn’t quite hold her when she struggled to her feet.
“I have to go,” Alex blurted. “I have to...” But she trailed off when she realized she had no idea how that sentence was supposed to end. “Do... something?”
“Do you?” King was honestly asking. He wasn’t arguing or fighting or telling her he knew better. “What do you need to do?”
“I need...”
Her hair was crusty and stiff with dried salt water. Her skin was sticky with sweat and soot. She was wearing nothing but a too-big T-shirt she absolutely hadn’t put on herself, and it was easy to imagine King, Boy Scout that he was, closing his eyes to strip her out of her wet suit, doing war with himself over what was worse: looking at her body without permission or letting her get sicker and die.
“I need... to take a shower?” Alex looked around the room. There were gray stone walls and floors covered with thick rugs, windows framed by heavy curtains. The light fixtures were downright medieval, and yet the whole place felt warm and safe and... his. This wasn’t some safe house. This wasthesafe house. But it probably wasn’t enough.
“I’m not safe. And if I’m here, then you’re not safe either.”
“Try me.”
“I kicked a hornet’s nest.”
King actually laughed. “Judging by the amount of debris in the Mediterranean, I’d say you blew one up.” Alex didn’t bother to deny it. “Kozlov?” he guessed.
“I have to go.”
“Do you?”
Alex had to think about the answer. The flash drive was safe,and the backup was gone, and there was probably a manhunt of insane proportions going on all over Europe. Kozlov hadn’t been in the compound when it exploded, so now he was going to be out for blood. The Agency would have a host of other questions. As soon as the intelligence community realized what Alex had, the whole world would be gunning for her: good guys, bad guys, and literally everyone in between.
She had to get to Langley. She had to turn herself in. She had to...
The words came back again, ringing in her ears.“Double agents wererareand they were legend. I have long wanted one of my own. He has told me the most interesting things.”
Kozlov had a mole, and Alex felt her legs give out. She dropped to the bed and King surged toward her, worry in his eyes that morphed into something far, far different when she looked up at him. And grinned. “Actually, no. I don’t have to go... anywhere.”
She huffed out a laugh because surely that wasn’t true? Shealwayshad to be going somewhere or doing something. Alex had spent her whole life running from her sister and her parents and her past—from a universe that looked at her and wondered if she was even worth it. Alex had been running her whole life, and now that she was actually, literally, on the run, she had to wonder...
Where was she supposed to go? What was she supposed to do? Surely she was supposed to bedoing something, but right then she was too busy watching King deflate. He was what the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade probably looked like at five o’clock, hot air seeping out of him. Wilting before her eyes. He’d been bracing for a fight because that was who they were. Or who they used to be.
She tried to read the last five years on his face. He should have looked like a stranger, but instead, he felt like home, which was why Alex knew she shouldn’t stay.
“I reallyshouldgo—”
“Back to bed,” he said. “I agree. Great idea.”
“No. King. It’s not safe. You’re not safe.”
“Let me worry about me. Let me worry about you. In fact, why don’t I take charge of all the worrying for the time being?”
“You got out!” She didn’t mean to yell, but it felt, somehow, like it was either that or whisper. Like those were her only two options. His hands were on hers and she’d never been more obsessed with his fingers. “You got out, and I’m not going to drag you back in.”
“I’m not in. I’m with you. I’m wherever you are.”
