Page 23 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)

Eight Years Ago

Somewhere off the Coast of Portugal

Alex

“I’m going to kill her.”

Alex shouldn’t have gotten so much pleasure out of another person’s suffering, but she’d spent the last two years having the

CIA burn away all of her compassion, so she thought she might as well kick back and relish the way King twisted and squirmed.

He’d already banged his head on the low ceiling of the jet, and his long legs didn’t exactly fit under the table that sat

between them. The plane was lavish but small, just a (CIA-issued) pilot in the cockpit and four club chairs in middle—facing

each other two by two. A sofa stretched across the back, but Alex sat by the window, legs crossed, manicured fingers drumming

on the table in front of her, watching King shift, trying to get comfortable.

The island was a ninety-minute flight from the Portuguese shore, and, like it or not, she and the grouchy bear across the

aisle had work to do, but he was still twisting and cursing and mumbling, “Going to kill her,” under his breath.

“Why, Michael Kingsley! You mean there’s someone you hate more than me ?” She almost sounded offended, but then he glared in her direction.

“You’re why I’m going to kill her.”

He looked like a two-year-old who really wanted to have a temper tantrum, but it sounded like so much work . Alex didn’t want to laugh at him. And she really didn’t want to smile, so she reached for the materials Merritt had handed her that morning.

“Come on. We have work to do.”

King grabbed the briefing packet and scanned through the things that Alex already knew.

“Is this right?” He sounded... concerned.

“You tell me, you’re the genius.”

“This isn’t funny, Sterling.”

“I’m not laughing, Kingsley.”

She reached for a large manila envelope and spilled the contents out onto the table.

“This says we are tasked with infiltrating a literal fortress.” He scanned down through the fact sheet, voice so low she wasn’t

even sure if the words were meant for her. “Portuguese fort... Volcanic rock... Shallow harbor... Decommissioned...

You’ve got to be kidding me.” Now Alex knew he was talking to her. “This.” He tossed a glossy photograph onto the top of the

pile. “This is the best picture we have of the place?”

It was nothing but a rooftop poking through a layer of fog and surrounded by mountains. “The peaks are tall enough that cloud

cover makes satellite imaging an issue.”

“You think?” Now he sounded angry.

“I don’t control the clouds, Kingsley.”

But his attention was already back on the materials.

“Yay. There are volcanic tunnels. And... excellent. It was once a stronghold for pirates.” She was almost certain that

was his sarcastic voice, but she didn’t want to ask him.

“I hope they packed me a bikini. I’ve been doing a lot of crunches. I think—”

“Sterling!”

“What?”

“Have you looked at this?” He sounded... scared. Or at the very least concerned.

“I have!” Alex sounded excited. “I’ve always wanted to see a black sand beach. Do you think they thought of sunscreen? I hope they thought of—”

“This isn’t an all-inclusive beach vacation.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure they’ll feed us.”

“This is a mission!”

“I know.” Now Alex wasn’t teasing anymore. “And I’ve already read all about it. I know how high the peaks are. And that we’re

the fifth team the Agency has tried to send in. I know that there’s one airstrip that services both sides of the island, but

that’s the extent of the crossover because there’s a literal mountain in the middle. I know one side is black sand beaches

and waterfalls and hot springs while the other is nothing but volcanic rock and a real steep climb, sheer cliff faces, and

an old fort with literal cannons. I know what we’re facing, Kingsley. And I also know...” But Alex couldn’t bring herself

to finish.

“What?” He wasn’t going to let her off that plane until she’d said it.

“They wouldn’t be sending us if we couldn’t do it.”

“ Can we do it?” It was like he really wanted to know—like their roles had been reversed, and for the first time, he was the outsider

and she was the badass, so Alex didn’t even blink when she leaned forward.

“You’re smart and I’m fearless. Of course we can do it.”

Instantly, Alex wanted to pull the words back, but King just looked out the window, like the answers were somewhere among

the clouds. When he spoke again, the words were so soft, she almost missed them. “You’re not not smart , you know.”

She did know, but the fact that he’d said it...

It was all she could do not to smile.

She thought about the look on his face as he talked to Merritt on the tarmac, the guy in the shadows of the Farm. He was a

man—close to thirty. But she’d seen him look like a child exactly twice. And both times—

“Who’s Nikolai?”

He blinked—too fast—and spun on her. “How...”

“They teach lip reading at spy school.” Alex felt almost guilty for a split second, but then she watched his features change

and harden.

“Who’s Zoe?” It wasn’t a question—it was a dare.

“I asked first.”

“It’s need-to-know and you don’t.”

“We’re on our way to a private island to take on an arms dealer. If that’s not a need—”

“If you needed to know, then Merritt would have told you. But she didn’t. So you don’t.” He wasn’t just indignant; he was

angry. And he was scared. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“Forget it, Sterling.” Alex had seen a lot of Michael Kingsleys in the past two years. Bored and overly earnest and so stoic,

she could scream. But she’d never seen him vulnerable before. And she was pretty sure she didn’t like it. “Please. Please,

just... It’s not my secret to tell.”

The contents of the envelope were still strewn all over the table, so Alex picked up a familiar blue booklet and looked inside.

It was a good photo, and she had to bite back a smile as she slid the passport toward him. “Okay, Mr. Dixon. Let’s get you

ready to spend the next week with your loving wife of—”

Alex examined her own cover sheet. “Six blissful years. No way! Six? What was I? A child bride?”

She sorted through the scraps of a life that wasn’t really hers. Officially, it was called pocket litter. Someone back at

Langley had probably spent a week figuring out everything from the kind of gum Mr. and Mrs. Dixon would chew to the places

stamped on their passports. The newest iPhone opened at Alex’s touch—full of photographs and text messages and emails—receipts

for clothes she didn’t purchase. Lunch plans with friends she didn’t have. There was an entire life spread out on that table,

but none of it was real, and Alex didn’t know why she felt so jealous of a woman she’d never meet but had to be.

“So...”

“So?” he asked.

“How were you?”

King blew out a tired breath. “I was doing a joint task force with MI6. The details are classified, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t ask who you were working with or what you were doing. I asked how you were.” The look on his face said everything, as if that was the most foreign of notions—that someone might ask. That

someone might care. “You know what, never mind.”

Alex started putting fake credit cards in her fake wallet and then slipped it into her fake purse. She stopped trying to talk

to her fake husband.

“How were you?” a soft voice asked, and Alex froze. She didn’t want to think about the answer—

A little homesick. Kind of afraid. And so lonely sometimes, it hurt. “I infiltrated the stronghold of a dictator who shall remain nameless with nothing but a push-up bra and a stiletto in my

heels.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he whispered, but his tone just said touché , so Alex leaned across the table and let her voice pitch low.

“I was very far away from you.” Then she grinned like that was answer enough.

“Very funny, Sterling.”

“Oh, now, Mr. Dixon. Is that any way to talk to your loving wife?”

Suddenly, the light in the cabin changed. A shadow crossed his face and she felt the jet dip as they broke through the clouds,

but Alex couldn’t look away—not until something out the window caught King’s attention.

“If you were too loving, we wouldn’t be going there.”

It wasn’t a large island. According to their intel, just a little over twenty square miles, but the peaks seemed to rise forever,

rocky and jagged like a knife sticking out of the Atlantic and trying to stab the sky.

Alex couldn’t help herself: she whistled. Then she reached for a button on the armrest. “Liz, can you get us a good look at

this before you take us down?”

A woman’s voice came through the speaker. “I can try.”

The jet banked and took a slow circuit around the tiny island. They saw waterfalls and lush green foliage. Even the places that were hard and gray were also lush and green, and Alex couldn’t make those two facts make sense, but there they were, right in front of her eyes.

“There.” King pointed to a building near the top of the highest peak. There was a lone road zigzagging up the jagged rocks,

and the whole thing looked like it had been carved into the mountain ages ago and had spent the last few centuries trying

to fight the sky.

“Well, doesn’t that look lovely.”

“Not the word I would use,” King said dryly.

“It’s called sarcasm, darling.”

She studied his profile in the bright, clear light that filtered through the airplane’s window. There was a spark in his eye

when he said, “If you say so, sweetheart.”

“I do. Dear. ” Alex dropped the word like a hand grenade.

“By all means, love bucket.”

Which was a step too far and Alex cringed. “Love bucket?” King looked... confused. Like this was a game and she’d changed

the rules. “Love bucket?” Alex snapped again. “That sounds like something they’d have in a Victorian brothel. Love—”

But the plane banked again, harder and sharper, and Alex felt herself tipping and falling—right into Michael Kingsley. His

hand felt impossibly large on her waist, and Alex thought it might burn a hole right through her dress—through her skin.

“Easy there, Sterling.”

Alex didn’t like it. Not the little dip she felt in her stomach as the plane started its rapid descent. Not the look in his

eyes when the pilot said, “Hold on back there. This is gonna be quick.” Not the way he gripped her tighter and tugged her

down onto the plush leather seat when the plane dropped sharply over the edge of a rocky cliff and down into the lush green

valley that stretched between the mountain and the sea.

Alex didn’t reach for the seat belt. She didn’t reach for anything. She was too busy trying to find her balance and her dignity.

On the other side of the window, the sand was black and the wa ter was sapphire, but all Alex could think as the plane touched down and bounced along the too-short runway was It’s fake .

Because of course it was. That was what she’d signed up for: fake names and fake loves and fake lives. They’d just landed

on the island of one of the most dangerous arms dealers in the world, but somehow she felt safer there, as Mrs. Donna Dixon,

than she’d ever been as herself.

The plane slowed, then stopped, but Alex didn’t move off of King’s lap. She didn’t stand or scurry or pull on her sunglasses

or her cover or her dignity. She just... sat there. Waiting until—

“Are you ready?” King suddenly looked like he wasn’t at all sure of the answer.

“No.” She didn’t know where the word came from. It just popped out.

“Oh. Of course.” King pulled back, and Alex waited for some insult or jab, but he just started looking around like they’d

forgotten something, then he picked up a small velvet box. “I guess you’ll be needing this.”

And then the most infuriating man that Alex had ever known presented her with a four-carat Harry Winston. “For the cover.”

Fake. Every last thing.

“And here I thought it was because of our undying love.”

“Do you want it or—”

“Hey. A girl only gets Fake Married once.” Which wasn’t true. She’d already been fake married to him once before, but this

time felt... “You’re supposed to get down on one knee, you know? Ask my father’s permission. Maybe spell out Will you fake marry me? in rose petals.”

He closed his eyes as if to silently remind himself that Merritt was an old woman and a living legend and it would be a great

mistake to kill her.

“Alexandra Sterling,” he ground out, “will you be my fake wife?”

When he slipped it on her finger a moment later, Alex absolutely loathed how much she was smiling.