Page 35 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)

Alex

“Hello, dear.”

Alex had honestly forgotten Merritt was down below, which might have been a mark on the “maybe Alex isn’t cut out for covert

operations” side of the ledger, but Alex didn’t show her surprise—which might have been a mark on the other one.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you didn’t hear that?”

She looked across the plush room to where Merritt stood, gazing out the windows at the lights that dotted the coastline. The

older woman gave her a look that was somewhere between you wish and give me some credit , but her smile was soft and indulgent. “You’re going to be good, dear. But for now, I’m still better.”

Merritt walked to a bar cart and poured two glasses of something dark and liquid. She handed one to Alex. “Michael’s family—”

“I know. He’s a baby duke...”

She hadn’t really meant to say it, and luckily, Merritt’s laugh cut her off. “A what?”

“Nothing.” Alex took a sip and sank down onto the sofa. “Just something my sister... Nothing.”

Merritt walked back to the window and looked out at the water. Her white hair stood in sharp contrast to the black night,

and Alex studied her reflection in the glass: she looked like a woman who had seen everything. She’d been to all the places

and done all the things, and now her whole life was one long case of déjà vu, but she wasn’t even mad about it. Because, this

time, she still had a chance to change things.

“He has a photographic memory.” The words floated across the darkened room.

“Did he tell you? Michael? His grandfather had one, too.” Merritt smiled at a memory.

“In 1969 the KGB infiltrated the CIA headquarters in Berlin. Do you know what they got?” She turned and looked at Alex, who was smart enough to stay silent.

“Nothing. Just a single piece of paper that said ‘ Khoroshaya popytka, tovarishchi .’”

“ Nice try, comrades ,” Alex translated, and Merritt raised her glass in a silent cheers .

“He had committed the files to memory—all of them. Every form. Every letter. He carried three decades’ worth of secrets around

in his mind until the day he died.”

“Okay.” Alex wasn’t entirely sure what the point was, but she was sure that Merritt had one.

“Michael is like him.”

“I see.” Alex didn’t see, though. Not really. It was like asking someone who had lived their whole life underground to describe

the sun. “Michael’s father is good too.” Merritt’s face went darker, like an old-fashioned lamp and someone had just turned

the oil down. “Or he used to be.”

That was it—the point of the story, and Alex stayed quiet and still and let the shadows ask the questions. “You see...

Michael’s father hasn’t been in the field for a long time. And he hasn’t been... himself... for even longer.”

Merritt caught Alex’s gaze in the reflection, but she didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. She knew Alex well enough to know she’d

have to ask—

“What happened?”

“His wife died,” Merritt said simply. She sipped her drink and turned from the window. “To this day, I don’t know which was

harder on Michael—losing his mother or watching his father... fade. It didn’t just break Michael’s heart, Alexandra. It

broke him.” Merritt gazed into the distance for a long time, but then her expression changed, less sadness, more all-seeing,

all-knowing deity. “I know he’s hard on you.”

Alex just sat there, blinking, trying to understand the sharp turn of the conversation. She’d been the villain of the Michael Kingsley Story for so long that she couldn’t quite keep up.

“I won’t take unnecessary risks, I promise. I’ll—” Keep him safe. Be careful. “Find a way to get to Kozlov. I’ll do it by myself if I have to.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s the one he’s worried about.”

Of all the cryptic things that Merritt might have said, that one was the biggest mystery to Alex, but she didn’t ask a single

question—not until Merritt placed the crystal tumbler on the bar cart, then walked toward the door, and suddenly, Alex had

to know—

“Can I do this?” Alex cringed a little, but she couldn’t hold the words back, so she didn’t even try. “Am I good enough?”

Merritt’s smile was a whisper in the shadow, soft and easy to miss. “You will be.”