Page 13 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)
Alex
Alex didn’t move. Not a muscle. She couldn’t even think as she looked at Merritt—the quirk of her lip. The tilt of her eyebrow.
She’d always seemed omniscient and all-knowing—more angel than agent—and, not for the first time, Alex got the feeling that
this might just be some elaborate game—a silly lark. Like the fates were toying with Alex and making her dance.
With him .
“Now, before you tell me how much you hate each other, you may want to straighten your clothes and... disengage... before
we get kicked out of this hotel for indecent behavior.”
Alex dropped to the floor and stepped out of the elevator like she and Michael Kingsley had never even met.
Merritt opened a pair of double doors, and Alex followed her into a room that felt like a slightly smaller version of the
lobby below. White and glossy. The furniture was modern, and the finishes were chrome, and the whole thing felt like it was
made of ice even though the sun was almost scorching as it burned through the wall of windows. Alex told herself that that
was why her face was red and little beads of sweat were sliding down her skin.
But King looked like a man who had never been embarrassed in his life. If anything, he just looked angry.
“Is it clean?” he asked under his breath. The penthouse felt as sterile as an operating room, but that wasn’t what he was
asking and they all knew it.
“It is,” Merritt told him.
“Good.” King took off his linen jacket and tossed it over the back of the long white couch. Then he started rolling up his shirtsleeves. Slowly. “So there’s no reason why you can’t explain why my first solo mission is not as solo as I was led to believe?”
For the first time, Alex was grateful King was there, asking questions so she didn’t have to. She didn’t know how a senior
intelligence officer with the CIA would take to being challenged, but she definitely wasn’t expecting Merritt to pull something
from her pocket and toss it in King’s direction. He caught it in a flash.
It was a pouch, small and black and velvet. There was an intricate L embroidered on the side in pale gold thread, Alex noticed, while King tossed it gently, testing its weight.
“Go on,” Merritt told him, so he loosened the strings and tipped the pouch over, sending dozens of small green stones tumbling
out onto the palm of his hand.
“Are those...” Alex inched closer.
“Uncut emeralds?” Merritt filled in. “Yes. Approximately ten million dollars’ worth.”
King cut his eyes at Alex.
“I’m not going to steal them.” Alex pouted back.
“Go right ahead and try, Alexandra,” Merritt told her. “You won’t get far. Because those are equipped with trackers.” Of course,
to Alex, that just made them cooler.
King put the stones back in the bag. “I’m still not sure what we’re doing here?”
It was the we that mattered, because King didn’t like her, didn’t need her, and didn’t want her. She was cramping his style and trying
his patience.
“I thought you knew?” Merritt gave them a wide-eyed innocent look. “You have a mission.”
“ I have a mission.” King gave an annoyed glance at Alex. “And I suppose it’s possible that she has a mission. But we do not have—”
“You have whatever I say you have, and I’m saying you have a mission.” Merritt’s gaze swept between the two of them like a
searchlight. After a prison break. “This is a team sport, and like it or not, the two of you have to learn to play. Together.”
As much as Alex wanted to kill King, she wanted to impress Merritt more. “What’s the op?”
Merritt nodded as if to say, Finally, someone is asking the right questions . “I’m sure I don’t have to tell the two of you that uncut gems are the currency of choice for very bad people. Your mission—”
“Should we choose to accept it?” Alex couldn’t help herself. She’d been waiting her whole life to hear those words, and if
they made King sulk and roll his eyes, all the better.
“Should you accept it,” Merritt echoed, and Alex couldn’t help but smirk in King’s direction, “is to swap our stones for theirs
and then get out . We have people in place who can track the stones and see where they go.”
“Who’s the target?” Alex asked.
“Unclear,” Merritt admitted. “We overheard chatter that a local jeweler was contracted to procure ten million dollars’ worth
of uncut emeralds and, naturally, we got interested. But we don’t know who the buyer is or why he needs them.”
“Hence the trackers.” King sounded resigned.
“Hence the trackers,” Merritt agreed. “There are some new players entering the field. That’s why it’s so important that we
see where these end up.”
King clasped one tiny stone between two fingers, holding it up to the light. “I can do it alone.”
“King is very shy,” Alex said. “Performance issues, you know. I make him nervous.”
King chose to ignore her. “This is too important to leave to chance.”
“Precisely.” The word was clipped and left no room for debate. “Which is why I personally requested the two of you.”
“To do what? Exactly?” King asked, because there was obviously more to the story.
“Easy, Michael. You’re going to buy a very large emerald.” She smiled at Alex. “For your wife.”