Page 52 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)

One Year Ago

Russia

Alex

Alex wasn’t supposed to be there, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.

Not when she’d been undercover for five years.

Not when she’d burrowed her way so deeply into Kozlov’s inner circle that she could practically see the rotten core.

Not when she was so very, very close to taking down someone who was so very, very evil.

Alex and Sawyer had a theory and an agenda and a plan that absolutely did not involve her doing a black bag job by herself,

so, yeah—

Alex wasn’t supposed to be there.

But something was wrong , and Alex couldn’t trust anyone at the moment—not even herself. So she was silent as the grave as she slipped through the

shadows of the Kozlov compound, worrying about what she had to do.

The thing that made Kozlov so dangerous was that he had the ruthlessness of a twenty-first-century villain in the body of

an old-school spy. He’d been KGB, and his tradecraft was still sharp, but there were rumors about a database—one single cache

of information that included everything from contacts to calendars, inventories to investments. There was a computer somewhere

in that compound where the mother lode was stored. And as soon as Alex found it...

Well, it sounded too good to be true, which meant it probably was. But Alex had to take the chance.

Rumor had it, there were only two copies. One was a backup housed at a second location, but one was supposedly here , and Alex had an idea where to look, so she stayed silent as she slipped through the shadows toward Kozlov’s empty office—not

skulking because skulking was for amateurs. No, Alex strutted. Alex belonged . Half of Kozlov’s goons were in love with her and the other half were terrified of her. (With a fair amount of overlap in

the middle.) So she didn’t act out of place as she picked the lock on the office door and stepped inside.

A few days before, she’d felt a draft coming from the glass-fronted shelves that lined the wall behind Kozlov’s desk, and

Alex had come to one conclusion: there was a secret room back there. And what better place to keep a secret computer?

So that was why Alex stood there in the middle of the night, staring at the kind of display she’d seen twice in her life:

once at the Farm and again in Amalfi.

She looked across the illuminated shelves full of lipstick cameras and tiny transmitters and wondered what Kozlov would do

if he ever learned that Alex had been the one who’d turned his most prized possessions into ash. He’d done his best to rebuild

the collection, but there was a reason Alex had been avoiding those particular shelves.

They made her think about Amalfi.

And Amalfi made her think about King.

And thinking about King made Alex feel.

And feeling was careless and reckless and far too much like the girl in the airport Ramada, waiting for her chicken fingers

and flirting with strangers. Feeling would get Alex killed, and right then she had a reason for living, so she was careful

as she took in the tall shelves that seemed embedded in the old stone wall.

She was examining the sides of the cases when she heard the doorknob rattle, so she didn’t waste a minute before diving under

the desk. She was having trouble breathing when she heard the words—

“Come, Sergei. Close the door.”

Kozlov.

He was supposed to be at the Lake Como house with Mistress Number Three, but he wasn’t. He was there. Which meant...

“Our house is not secure,” the old man whispered, and the little hairs on the back of Alex’s neck stood straight up. The air

flowing through the vent in the floor felt like a sandstorm. She felt everything. She heard everything. Her heart was a drum so loud, it was going to get her caught.

“Sir, I assure you. The migration is complete.” There was no mistaking the deference in Sergei’s voice. “The servers are safe.

They cannot be breached from the outside. There are only two places on earth where someone can access your data. Here and

at the backup, and as you know, the backup is constantly moving. I assure you—”

“That is not my worry.”

Kozlov drew a heavy breath. He sounded... tired. And old. Computers and data migrations were of no interest to Viktor Kozlov.

He was a spy’s spy. A man from another time. He was like Merritt, Alex realized. And the thought made her homesick.

“We have a spy in our midst, Sergei. A traitor. A mole. ” Kozlov sounded furious but also... excited? Like he was back on familiar turf—they were getting the band back together

and his covert glory days weren’t over yet.

“How can you know?”

Alex watched Kozlov’s legs move toward the shelves. His voice was full of wonder when he said, “I have collected many things.”

The old man opened the glass doors and moved his trinkets around like they were action figures or porcelain dolls. “I once

had a ring that was used by the greatest spy to ever live. Did I tell you?”

Sergei hummed in a way that sounded like This again? but the word he uttered was—“No.”

“In the old days, there was one prize that was coveted above all others: the double agent .”

Alex hadn’t moved in minutes, and yet it felt like she froze— time froze. The whole world froze except for Kozlov.

“Things were civilized in those days. There was honor among spies, and if you could get one to turn and work for you, it was the greatest achievement. Double agents were rare and they were legend. I have long wanted one of my own.” He pulled a can of shaving cream off the shelf, unscrewed the false bottom, and pulled out a key.

“He has told me the most interesting things.”

Alex couldn’t feel her hands. She couldn’t feel her feet. She couldn’t feel anything but terror because there was one thing

she knew for certain:

Kozlov didn’t just want a double agent.

Kozlov had one.

“I see,” Sergei said slowly. “Shall I bring the girl to you now or—”

“No,” Kozlov cut him off. “She could still be useful to us. We must be careful of her, though. She is dangerous.”

Then Kozlov slid the key into a tiny gap in the stones beside the case and turned. The case slid open, and the two men disappeared

inside, but Alex didn’t move. She barely breathed. She just sat there thinking—

You have no idea.

***

Thirty minutes later, Kozlov’s data was on a flash drive, and the flash drive was in Alex’s bra, and she was almost to the

garage when she heard a voice behind her.

“Alex?” It was darker and lower than when she’d first heard it. But, then again, so was Sawyer. “Hey.” He inched toward her,

knowing something was wrong because Sawyer was good. He’d always been good.

Except what if he wasn’t? What if he was very, very bad, and Alex didn’t want to think about the possibility. He’d been her

only friend—her only ally—for five years. He was the only person for a thousand miles that she could trust, but—

He has told me the most interesting things.

“What’s wrong?” Sawyer glanced behind her, making sure they were alone. There were no cameras in that stretch of hallway. No guards.

No witnesses.

“Hey. You’re scaring me,” he said, and Alex forced a laugh.

“Not scared. Disappointed.”

“But—”

“Kozlov didn’t go to the lake house,” she said. “He and Sergei are up to something. We’re gonna have to do it another time.”

“Oh.” Sawyer ran a hand through his dark hair. He looked tired and worn—like paper in a very old book, faded and thin, but

she could still read him.

“Sorry you got out of bed for nothing.”

“That’s okay. I don’t sleep, remember?”

Alex had trusted Sawyer from the moment he’d first appeared on that tarmac and said King’s name into the wind. She’d trusted

him, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because, at that moment, Alex couldn’t even trust herself, and suddenly, the gold

cuff was a heavy, familiar weight on her wrist—more talisman than bracelet—and she saw Sawyer cut his eyes down at it.

“You ever going to tell me the story behind that?”

“No,” she said, but he smiled the smile of a man who already knew, and then he inched away.

“You sure you’re okay?”

No, because Kozlov has a mole, and I can’t swear that it’s not you.

No, because I know what I have to do but there’s not a soul I can trust to help me.

No, because I was with someone in the womb, but I’ve been alone ever since—alone and afraid—and there’s a part of me that’s

still waiting for my chicken fingers to get there, wondering if I’m actually good enough for the guy on the other end of the bar.

No.

No.

No.

“Yeah. Of course.” She cocked a hip. “Never better.”

Five minutes later, Sawyer was gone, and Alex was adjusting the rearview mirror on Kozlov’s favorite car as she sped down

the winding drive.

One down , she told herself as, behind her, the compound exploded.

One to go.