Page 4 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)

Ten Years Ago

Camp Peary, Virginia

No one knows anything about the Farm. Officially, it doesn’t even exist. Baby Alex had first heard the term on one of the

two dozen spy movies she used to watch under the covers in hospitals, ready to shout Wrong sister! to anyone who might want to try to cut her open.

The spies in the movies were tough. They were fearless. They knew how to stab with pencils and strangle with string, and they

never, ever cried because their twin sister was about to have her heart pulled out of her chest and then sewn back together—again.

They wore fancy dresses and drove fancier cars, and they didn’t need the person in the twin bed on the far side of the room

because they weren’t half—they were whole. And they learned it all on some farm in Virginia.

It didn’t matter how many stalls she had to muck or tractors she had to drive, nine-year-old Alex had sworn that she was going

to learn to do those things too.

It wasn’t until much, much later that Alex learned it wasn’t that kind of farm. What the CIA grew at Camp Peary, it turned out, were secrets. But that was okay. Alex had a knack for those

too.

So it didn’t seem quite real, that January morning, as Alex gazed out the tinted windows when the bus stopped at the gates.

German shepherds circled, sniffing at the wheels. Guards scanned for bombs, but Alex was more concerned with the man who was

staring holes in the back of her head from the row behind her.

She turned and whispered, “Oh my gosh, was this the bus I wasn’t supposed to get on?” She gave a gasp. Then a giggle. “This is so embarrassing.”

“You seem pleased with yourself.”

“Me?” She turned in her seat and watched the gates swing open. “Absolutely.”

When they climbed off the bus ten minutes later, the sky was the color of gunmetal and the parking lot was rimmed with piles

of dirty snow. Alex’s breath turned to fog in the chilly air, but she could have stood there for an hour—a day—taking in the

sights and sounds of that place that had loomed so large in her imagination. In reality, it was just a collection of neat,

government-issue buildings surrounded by dense forest. On the drive, she’d spied ( Ha! ) shooting ranges and an airstrip and fractured glimpses of glistening water through breaks in the trees. It was all perfectly...

ordinary.

“So this is it?” a voice asked from behind her, and Alex turned to take in a shadow that was the wrong shape—a voice that

was the wrong tenor. The sky was just dull enough that she would have looked stupid in sunglasses, but she still had to squint

against a glare as she looked up at a guy who was definitely not The Guy . Alex tried not to think about why she felt so disappointed. “I’m Tyler.”

He held out his hand and Alex took it because she was going to play nice, she’d decided. Make friends. She was a new person

here, and she was going to learn how to be a million more people. No one knew about Zoe or the hospitals. If anything, her

history might have been an asset. Not a lot of people could almost kill someone in the womb. At spy school, that might make

her a badass.

So Alex looked up at the new guy and told herself to smile. He looked... nice. The human equivalent of a photograph that

had been put through so many filters that it couldn’t help but look appealing, lines blurring together until there were no

shadows anymore. He was attractive and easygoing and probably just not-threatening enough to make people feel like they could

tell him their secrets. If so, he was in the right place.

So she asked, “Is that allowed?”

He exhaled about a third of a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Names,” she went on as he held open a door and they followed the group inside. “Or is Tyler a code name?” He gave her a look that said he didn’t know if she was teasing or serious. “Because if you’re going with Tyler, I guess I could be Falcon . Or Dragon Rider . Or Gemini .”

“I don’t know much about astrology.” He sounded leery, like the CIA might have just invited a crazy person into their inner

sanctum. What Tyler the Kind of Boring didn’t know was that Alex’s sarcasm was the most ordinary thing about her.

“I guess I’ll just be Alex, then.”

Tyler smiled down at her. “Alex, it’s my pleasure.” And the thing was, he even sounded like he meant it and not in an overly

creepy way.

They’d reached a large sort of multipurpose room. There were tables and chairs. A few people helped themselves to coffee,

but no one touched the donuts. She could feel the tension in the room—like the air before a storm. Charged and a little dangerous.

There were twenty-four recruits in the class—plus faculty and staff—and it made for an interesting mix of people. Big and

small. Dark and fair. There was no pattern or mold. This wasn’t a casting call for a spy movie; this was a training ground

for people who were supposed to blow like dust to the four corners of the earth and disappear.

The rest of the class was talking and mingling, shaking hands and slapping backs. A little friendly ribbing in languages Alex

recognized but didn’t know. There was a quiet competition going on, but The Guy was on the far side of the room, leaning against

a beam in the world’s most average jeans and the world’s most average shirt, trying not to be seen at all.

His shirtsleeves were rolled up, though, and his forearms were lean and corded with muscle, a hint of a tan line around one

wrist—like he’d been lying on a beach somewhere a few days ago, like he belonged in the sun and not an Army base in Virginia

on a cold, gray January morning.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and flop-sweating geniuses.

The new recruits were trying to be cool, sure, but acting cool and being cool were two totally different things.

And yet The Guy just stood there, looking.

.. indifferent. Like he’d seen the movie, read the book.

He knew the twists and nothing could surprise him.

He was bored. And maybe that’s why he didn’t look around or study the people.

Instead, he stayed on the far side of the room, studying Alex.

He was like a nature biographer—the Jane Goodall of covert operations—and if he stood still enough and stayed quiet long enough,

then two dozen keenly observant people might fail to notice his existence.

Except... forearms. And a stare that was probably going to turn Alex into ash.

“Is that...” Tyler trailed off, following her gaze, and Alex felt the words rising up in her throat No, that guy isn’t bothering me! “Michael Kingsley?” Wonder filled Tyler’s voice. He let out a laugh. “It is! No way!” he called out with a grin. The Guy

shifted his gaze off Alex, and the room suddenly felt cold without the heat of it. “I don’t know if you remember—”

“Tyler.” The Guy held out a hand. “Of course I remember you.”

“Of course.” Tyler gave a self-deprecating grin. “I forgot.” He tapped his brain in a gesture that made Alex want to ask a

million questions, but Tyler was already pulling The Guy into a backslapping hug. “I thought you were dead.” It was a joke—or

it was supposed to be, but Alex watched Tyler remember a moment too late that it wasn’t funny. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Yeah, we kind of fell out of touch, didn’t we? How have you been?” It was a graceful cover, an easy exit, and Tyler took

it.

“I’ve been good. Just...” Tyler must have followed The Guy’s gaze, which had, of course, gone back to Alex. “Oh, I’m sorry.

This is Alex. Alex, meet Michael Kingsley. Mike and I...” He trailed off, like he really didn’t know what to say. “Our

parents...”

“We were neighbors,” The Guy filled in. “For a while.”

Tyler gulped. “Yeah. A while.” An awkward silence descended, and Tyler looked down at the floor, a little sheepish. “I heard

about... I’m sorry...”

Heard about what?

Sorry about what?

Alex was brimming with questions because she was, at her core, a nosy bitch (and hence: spy school ). But she was also smart enough not to push it.

“I’m gonna grab a coffee before we get started.” Tyler gestured to the table. She was aware, faintly, of him walking away,

but Alex didn’t follow. It was like she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stand there, overflowing with

questions she couldn’t ask.

Like had The Guy—Michael Kingsley—been following her at the hotel last night? Waiting for her? How did he know her name? And

why did he look like a dark cloud was hovering over his head all of a sudden? But the question she most wanted to ask was

Why her? Was she so unqualified that he’d had to track her down at an airport Ramada and steal her chicken fingers?

Suddenly, Alex was too hot. Her face was flushing, and her fingers were shaking, and it was all she could do to unzip her

heavy coat, but then The Guy’s gaze just shifted to her chest—though not for the reasons men usually looked at Alex’s chest.

“Is that...”

She glanced down at her T-shirt. “I lie for a living.” She pointed to the words as she read them.

“Very... covert.”

“It’s called irony, Cowboy.”

“If you’re not going to take this seriously—”

“I left my Future Spy hoodie at home.”

Alex had never seen someone stumble while standing still. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

“Of course I’m not serious.” He gave a sigh of relief. “If you think I’m coming to the Farm without my Future Spy hoodie, you don’t know me at all. Except—oh wait. You don’t know me.” Alex wasn’t hot anymore. If anything, she was freezing when she lowered her voice and whispered, “At all.”

“I knew this was going to be a disaster.”

“Take it easy, Cowboy.” Alex wanted to roll her eyes. “You know who no one thinks is a spy? The chick wearing the hoodie that says ‘future spy.’”

“This isn’t a game, Ms. Sterling.”

Alex reached for a donut. She took a big bite and felt the glossy sugar glaze break against her tongue—sweet and a little

bit spiky. “Then why does it feel like I’m winning?”