Page 37 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)

Present Day

The Island

King

King didn’t like it. Not the angle or the equipment or the woman who was lying beside him, almost vibrating with glee—and

a small amount of skepticism.

“Tell me again why you had a crossbow in your luggage?”

“It’s called planning for contingencies,” he said, but Alex was Alex. Nothing was ever as obvious—or as easy—as it should

have been.

“But”—she made quote marks with her fingers—“ crossbow contingencies . What are those, exactly?”

“Give it to me. I’ll do it.” He held a hand out, but she jerked back.

“No. I like it. I’ve never had a travel crossbow before.”

“You still don’t have a travel crossbow. I have a travel crossbow. And I can take it—”

But Alex was already rising to a knee, taking aim, and firing into the night. The line unfurled, disappearing into the darkness

between the peak where they were currently lying and the wall of the compound that was nestled into the cliffs a hundred yards

away.

“If this has all been an elaborate ruse to throw me into a volcano, then I honestly have to applaud the commitment,” she said

as they both peeked over the edge of the cliff.

“That’s not a volcano. I don’t think.”

“Oh, but the fall would kill me.” She sounded almost upbeat about it.

“There is that,” he said.

The compound hadn’t changed that much in the eight years since they’d last seen it. It was still nestled into the cliffs overlooking

the sea. Still isolated and angry, with its stone facade and narrow road that zigzagged up the steep incline—the only way

in. Or out.

Almost.

He pointed to the helicopter that was sitting on the landing pad that jutted out from the side of the mountain. “Our guy is

home this time.”

“He is.”

“So I guess we should do this... now?” King hated the uptick in his voice—the uncertainty in his gut. It had to be this

way, he told himself. And he had to do it with her, but he hated that, too, and he didn’t stop and let himself think about

the fact that he didn’t want to work with her and he didn’t want to work without her. He didn’t want to be there. And he didn’t

want to be anywhere else.

“King?” Alex was saying. “You got weird.”

“I was just thinking...”

“I told you, you don’t need to redo the math. I checked it. The math is—”

“What if we stopped?”

“What?” Now she sounded confused.

“We’ve done a lot of bad things to a lot of bad people, Sterling. And now one of them wants us dead. So forgive me if I want

to take a minute and imagine a future where we stopped looking for trouble.”

“We did that. Then trouble came looking for us, remember?” Of course he remembered. “And they don’t want us dead ,” she went on. “Dead would have been over in Vegas. Dead would be done by now.”

“You’re right.”

“Someone wants us alive , which is a whole lot scarier.”

“I know.”

“Someone from our shared and terrible past wants something , and I intend to find out what it is from the best lead we have.”

King blew out a tired breath. “He’s the only lead we have.”

“Exactly.” She looked triumphant. And so beautiful, it hurt. The moon was full and the stars were bright and there was no sound but birdsong and crashing waves and the little voice in the back of King’s head, telling him he was out of other options.

“Besides, we were good at being bad. Weren’t we?” she asked over her shoulder.

“We were the best,” he said.

And then she threw herself over the edge, disappearing into the darkness and the night.

***

The balcony doors were open, and King hated the sight of them. They felt like a trap. But there was nothing he could do but

marvel as Alex slipped across the balcony like a phantom, then breezed through the doors like a ghost.

She was almost weightless, formless. Fearless. She moved like smoke, and she danced like fire, and he almost felt sorry for

anyone who got in her way as she slipped across the old stone floors. With the sounds of the waves breaking against the rocks

down below, it was almost tranquil except for the sound of... shooting?

The lights were off, but the room was full of flashes of color and little ping s and bang s that echoed off the old stone floors. That must have been why the figure in the chair didn’t turn—didn’t even falter—until

he felt Alex’s gun against his temple. “Remember us?”

The controller in the man’s hand dropped, shattering on the floor. His face turned red and Dr Pepper dribbled down his chin.

He looked like he couldn’t decide what to do with the bottle because he’d never been held at gunpoint before.

On the screen, there was a bang and a flash of fire, and Alex said, “You’re dead.”

King turned off the television and switched on the overhead light, but the man in the chair just sat there, staring.

“I don’t think he remembers us?” Alex looked up at King. “I’ve got to say, I’m gonna be disappointed if he doesn’t.”

The guy had to be at least thirty, so he wasn’t a kid, but that was the word that came to mind, maybe because he was drinking Dr Pepper at three a.m. while playing Call of Duty .

Or maybe it was the softness of his face and his features that made Alex cut King a look that said, This is the most fearsome arms dealer in the world?

The man fumbled and put the Dr Pepper on the side table, and then he picked up a bag of something orange. “Cheez puff?”

“No thank you?” Alex didn’t sound so sure.

“Okay. I just... I wasn’t expecting company.”

“We dropped by.” Alex smirked. “Hope that’s okay, Mr.... You know... I don’t think we ever got your name.”

“Call me TriBlade.” The guy gave a cocky smirk, so King cocked an eyebrow and Alex cocked her gun. “Or Franklin,” the guy

mumbled. “My real name is Franklin.”

They could have asked if it was his first name or his last, but in the end, it didn’t matter and they both knew it.

“Okay, Franklin.” King crossed his arms and leaned back against a credenza. “Now we’re going to ask you some questions and

you’re going to answer them or else I’m going to let her do that to you .”

“Do what to me?” the guy asked, so Alex pulled an action figure off a table and hurled it through an open window and out toward

the sea.

“That was a collectible.”

“And now it flies,” King said.

“There’s no reason to do anything to me.” He threw his hands up. “I’m not a bad guy.”

“You’re the definition of bad guy .” Alex sounded annoyed.

“No, I’m not. I’m...” He thought of something. “Ask Merritt!”

King felt Alex go still—everything but her grip on the gun—that went tighter.

“Seriously?” Franklin’s jaw went slack in disbelief. “Merritt didn’t tell you? I’m a broker—a dealer. After the two of you

paid me a visit and left me your little... gifts.”

“I think he means the bugs,” Alex whispered.

“Yes. I surmised as much,” King told her.

“Merritt reached out, and now she’s... like... one of my best clients.”

“So you’re an informant?” Some things were starting to make sense to King. But not everything. Not yet.

“I am a businessman.” Franklin sounded defensive. “A free agent. A... useful person to know when people like you need to

talk to people even worse than me.” He got out of the chair and walked to a glass-fronted fridge, where he pulled out a fresh

Dr Pepper. “Want one?”

“No thanks. I’m good.” King felt cold. This wasn’t how he thought this was going to go, and if there was one thing King hated,

it was surprises.

“How about”—Franklin turned to Alex and added with an exaggerated wink wink —“your lovely wife? Say, how are things on the other side of the island? I heard they got a new chef. Flora won’t let me order

takeout, though.”

“Flora—” Alex started, but Franklin’s laugh cut her off.

“She’s my big sister. You didn’t know?” He laughed harder. “Behold”—he held out a hand, gesturing to the island all around

them—“our inheritance. I make more money with my side than she does with hers, though.” The Dr Pepper opened with a fizz.

“Congratulations.”

“Now.” Franklin dropped into a leather desk chair and crossed one leg over the other. He looked ready to make a deal. “To

what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I think you know.” King pointed at the painting that was hanging over the desk. Three daggers formed a triangle. “We just

saw that. Tattooed on the arm of a man who tried to kill us in Las Vegas.”

“Oh. That’s my personal symbol. Three blades, you see. TriBlade. My whole organization kind of...” Recognition seemed to

dawn. “Oh shit! Javier. Is he okay?”

“He is not,” Alex said simply.

“That’s too bad and...” The man kicked back and eyed King. “ Surprising. I didn’t think you liked the violence.”

King hated the violence, but that didn’t change the fact that—“It was unavoidable.”

Franklin nodded slowly, as if he understood. As if he’d been there himself. As if that was the cost of doing business. “Poor Javier. He was good. Not good enough, though, I guess.” He gave a sigh that said, Oh well .

“So our question to you is pretty simple.” Alex prowled closer. “Why, exactly , did you send him to kill us?”

It might have been the shadows or the hour or the sound of the sea, but it seemed to take forever for the man to understand.

“I’m sorry... me ? You think I want you dead?”

He leaned back and studied King and Alex. “Oh no. I’m what you might call... a fan.” He pointed between them. “I ship it.

Gotta say—kind of exciting to see you two working together again!”

“Then why did your men try to kill us?” King was running out of patience.

“Oh, they didn’t.” Franklin sounded so strong—so earnest—King almost wanted to believe him. “I’m just a broker. I thought

you knew. Merritt never told you?” There he was, using her name again like he had any right to say it. Like they were old

colleagues—old friends. Like they were all on the same side and everything else was just a technicality. “I’m a matchmaker,

so to speak. I put people who have needs”—he held up his right hand—“in touch with people who provide goods.” He held up his

left and then brought them together. “Or services. It’s all very civilized. Murder for hire is hardly my forte.”

King could actually see Alex’s patience starting to wane. “So who hired you this time ?”

They should have shut the doors—turned on more lights. They should have done something because King couldn’t get a read on

that moment or that conversation or that man. Because the guy with cheese-puff fingers was suddenly looking at Michael Kingsley

as if he might be a fool, even as he whispered—

“ Nikolai .”

The word sounded like a shot fired from long range in high wind, like something that had been chasing King for ages and was about to find its mark. But Franklin just sat there, shaking his head like he might be on candid camera—like it might all be a joke. “I thought you knew—”

“Nikolai doesn’t exist.” King was going to throw him out the window himself.

“Ha. That’s...” Franklin trailed off. “Wait. What do you mean?”

“You just said the tooth fairy tried to kill us,” King snapped.

But Franklin was shaking his head, confused. “No. Nikolai is... like... my best client.” Franklin scooted forward. Alex cocked her gun. Franklin scooted back. “Look, I don’t know—”

“ I do ,” King snapped. “Even if Nikolai were real, he’d be dead or in a nursing home by now, so—”

“Merritt isn’t in a nursing home.” The kid had the audacity to smile.

“I should put you in the ground.” King would have done it, too, but Alex was there, pulling him back.

“King, calm down. King... Michael.”

It was the only word that could make him stop. His name in her voice. So he pointed at the man-child in the chair and snapped,

“He’s lying.”

Franklin gave a hapless shrug. “Have it your way. I just know what I know. Hey, you guys like Mexican food? I’m feeling nacho-y.”

“You have one more chance to tell us who hired you,” Alex warned, but Franklin just sat there, slowly shaking his head as

if maybe Alex and King weren’t as good as he’d been led to believe.

“No. Nikolai didn’t hire me .”

King pinched the bridge of his nose. “But you just said—”

The smirk on Franklin’s face faded. The vein in his neck pulsed. He was the most serious man in the world when he whispered,

“Nikolai hired everyone .”

The word itself wasn’t ominous, but King could feel it, swirling in the air and bouncing off the walls. They’d come to that

island for the truth, but this was the kind of answer that only led to five more questions, and—

Franklin was reaching for a drawer.

“Hands!” Alex ordered, and he backed away slowly, raising his hands in the air but glancing down at the desk.

“There’s a picture in the top drawer,” he said.

King wouldn’t have put it past Franklin to booby-trap the place, so he pointed to the drawer and said, “You get it. Slowly. ”

“Nikolai...” Franklin started but trailed off when King made a sound. “Or whoever is using that name doesn’t want you dead.” He reached inside the drawer, then pulled out a photograph and tossed it on the desk in front of

them. “Nikolai just wants that . And he’s hired every free agent in the world to track the two of you down and get it for him.” He made it sound so simple—so

easy. He looked almost smug when he asked, “Look familiar?”