Page 41 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)

Six Years Ago

Berlin, Germany

Alex

It had been a year since Amalfi, but Alex wasn’t counting the days. She was happy, in her own way. She’d run a nice op out

of Sydney and the higher-ups at Langley were happy with what they’d been seeing. Her Russian was good, and her tradecraft

was sharp, and she hadn’t had to work with Michael Kingsley in ages, so it had been a good year.

She cut her hair short and stopped taking Zoe’s phone calls because that was better for everyone. Her sister was healthy—she

was fine—so Alex had two missions at that moment: (1) keeping her that way and (2) whatever the Agency told her to do.

That’s why she didn’t ask a single question when she walked into the old, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of what used

to be East Berlin. She just said, “Hello, Merritt.”

The old woman had a twinkle in her eye when she gave Alex a hug, and Alex got the feeling this wasn’t just a social call.

It never was.

“So where is he?” Alex looked around, waiting for King to materialize out of thin air and announce that her shoes were impractical

and her hair wasn’t covert enough. Then Alex would have to roll her eyes and ask if the stick up his butt could be used as

an actual weapon. It was their thing. She was almost looking forward to it. It was almost as if—

“Hello, stranger.”

The words were right, but the voice was wrong. The footsteps on the concrete were wrong. The feeling in her gut was wrong, wrong, wrong, because...

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t—

“Tyler?” She almost didn’t know him, he looked so different. Rougher. Harder. Hotter? Had Tyler gotten hot? Alex blinked and tried to make it make sense. He’d lost the softness that filled his face, his too-big, too-trusting grin.

This life changed everyone, but she felt a little sad to see that the sweet guy she’d met at the Farm had morphed into this

slightly darker version.

She’d seen him a few times over the years. Always in passing. They’d say something like they’d have to work together soon.

Or at the very least, they should grab lunch, keep in touch. But spies don’t do that. Even she and King...

What?

There was no she and King.

“Hey!” Tyler was pulling her into his arms and squeezing her a little. It was that thing that normal people do when they see

old friends. Some people called it hugging . But she and King didn’t hug.

She and King...

He wasn’t King.

“How are you?” Alex pulled back and squeezed his (larger than she remembered) biceps and tried to sound like women always

sound in movies about high school reunions. Like things were amazing! And awesome! And her life was everything she’d ever

hoped it would be!

But the CIA didn’t train fools, so Tyler the Suddenly Rugged didn’t buy it. “You look disappointed.”

She rolled her eyes. “Surprised? Yes. Disappointed? Never!” And then Alex hugged him again because it really was good to see

him. And not just because he’d put on a little muscle and grown a little scruff and, all in all, looked like the kind of guy

she should have wanted. Maybe she would want him? Maybe they’d do espionage and also kissing. They could fall in love and their life would become the kind of story

that would make her sister swoon. But she could never tell him that because Tyler didn’t know about Zoe. No one knew about Zoe.

Well, no one except...

“How have you been?” Alex asked, and instantly, she wanted to pull the words back, because Tyler’s eyes went dark. He practically

winced.

“Undercover.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Nine months.”

“Wow. Nice!” It wasn’t, though; she could tell by looking at him. Suddenly, the muscle and the scruff made sense. He’d been

someone else for the better part of the year, and it had changed him. Because sometimes you either change or die. Alex made

a mental note. She was going to need it soon.

“Is it?” He huffed out a laugh. “I can’t remember.” Then he laughed again, a real one this time. “Don’t tell King.”

His voice was a little too loud to be a whisper. He was teasing her. Maybe. Probably. But Alex couldn’t stop herself from

pulling back too quickly. The Agency was going to put a letter in her file for Insufficient Covertness. She was going to lose

her cred and his respect, but she couldn’t stop herself from blurting, “What makes you think I talk to King?”

He had to have noticed the panicked tinge to Alex’s voice, but he had the good sense (or good tradecraft) not to show it,

and Alex had to wonder if maybe Tyler had been the best spy from their class at the Farm all along—maybe while she and King

had been duking it out, Tyler was leaving them both in the dust and they hadn’t even noticed. She’d even managed to forget

about Merritt until she heard—

“He’s here, you know?” It took all of her self-control for Alex not to spin. “His grandfather owned a penthouse in the Schlossberg

Building. Michael just moved in.”

“Oh.” King would hate that Merritt had told her that, but then again, he’d probably never find out. Alex would certainly never

be in a position to tell him. “I assure you, the only reason I would care about Michael Kingsley’s place of residence is so

that I can stay far, far away.”

She watched Tyler smile but not quite laugh—little lines around his eyes.

A lone dimple in one cheek. He looked like a guy who was growing into a man, and Alex waited for a flip in her stomach—for a tingling in her palms. It should have felt nice, having a partner whose eyes she didn’t want to claw out, and she told herself it was a delightful change of pace.

Really, she should have insisted upon it long ago.

But she still jumped a little when Tyler slung an arm around her shoulders. “So, you ready to get your hands dirty?” Alex’s

hands had been plenty dirty. Hadn’t they? She wasn’t some green recruit, but she’d never worked in deep cover, so maybe Tyler

had a point. He dropped his voice. “You ready to work with a real spy?”

He was teasing. Joking. But Alex didn’t laugh. She just forced a smile and said, “Who needs Michael Kingsley?”

Tyler chuckled and Merritt huffed, but Alex just stood there, starting to worry, even as she asked, “So what do you have for

us?”

Merritt looked uncertain for the first time since Alex had known her. “Possibly nothing,” Merritt admitted. “But there has

been chatter of late.”

“Chatter?” Alex asked, and Tyler ran a hand through his hair.

“Kozlov.” Oh. Alex felt a chill go down her spine at the name. Viktor Kozlov had only gotten bigger—more dangerous—in the last year. Half

the world’s intelligence services had task forces dedicated to the man, and...

She looked at Tyler. “Is that where you’ve been...” Somehow, she knew. “You were in deep cover? With Kozlov? ”

Alex wanted to ask him a million questions. She needed to know—

“Yeah.” A shadow crossed his face, and suddenly, the changes in Tyler made sense. Of course he’d grown harder, leaner, darker.

“Not all of us can do our missions on private islands with gourmet chefs.” He laughed again. “Anyway, Kozlov’s got a shipment

coming in tonight and I want to get eyes on it. I thought you might want to get a little closer to the action, but if not...”

“No,” Alex blurted. “I’ll do it.”

“I’m no Michael Kingsley.” He was teasing again. Wasn’t he?

So Alex grinned. “That’s why I’m saying yes.”

“Okay, let’s do this thing,” Tyler said, but Alex had to wonder, What thing? But also: Do how? She didn’t know the mission or the objective, the risks or the plans. She didn’t know anything, except...

He’s not King , the little voice in the back of her mind whispered. And rest of her whispered back, But isn’t that what you wanted?

Alex followed him into the sunset, trying very hard not to think about the answer.