Page 57 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)

Alex

Alex got sick.

Not the kind of sick that comes with bags of O-negative and triage kits. It was the kind of sick that means chicken soup and

saltine crackers and watching The Price Is Right on the sofa by yourself all afternoon.

It was the kind of sick that comes from finishing your last final before Christmas. The kind of sick that only happens when

you let yourself stop running long enough for the world to catch up.

So she slept so long, she dreamed. And then she laughed so hard, she cried.

Her nose turned red and she carried a box of tissues with her wherever she went. King found an old-fashioned hot water bottle

and tucked it by her feet, and she made him read her favorite historical romance novel aloud to her every night by the fire.

And, through it all, she just kept thinking that it was winter in Scotland and he cared whether or not her feet were warm.

Zoe had once said that was what love was.

Zoe was right.

Outside the old stone walls, the wind blew and moaned and smelled like snow, but even in that drafty castle, Alex stayed warm

in King’s sweatpants and thick wool socks. They ate soup and played Scrabble.

They kissed and they touched and they spent their nights skin to skin, and for the first time in her life Alex was happy.

And she tried every day to forget it wouldn’t last.

***

“I got him.”

There was a bathtub in the bedroom. It sat in front of a fireplace that looked large enough to roast a whole hog. The tub

was five feet long and four feet deep and it wasn’t hard to imagine some highland warrior soaking away the aches and pains

of battle. It was a tub made for another age, and Alex was more or less obsessed with it because it was wildly impractical

(It was a bathtub ! In the bedroom !) and utterly perfect, and she was up to her neck in bubbles when the words came—

“You haven’t asked, but I did it. I got him.”

“Kozlov?” King put his book down. He was lying on the bed, little horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. She would have

mocked him for those years ago, but now they made her insides turn to lava.

Maybe that’s why her skin felt so cold when she said, “There’s a flash drive.”

She couldn’t face him when she said it, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see.

In the mirror, she watched his face change, everything going alert. Like a Cold War bunker flickering to life after decades

of collecting dust and being forgotten. He’d been out of the game for five years, but no one ever stops being a spy, let alone

someone named Michael Kingsley.

“So it’s true.”

He didn’t try to deny that he’d been paying attention to the chatter, and Alex didn’t try to lie.

“Whatever rumors you’ve heard...” She ran a hand through the soapy water. “Yeah. They’re true. The backup was on the yacht.”

“And the yacht is at the bottom of the Mediterranean.”

Alex gave a shudder and a shrug and a nod all at once. The water was hot, but she was suddenly cold and numb and shivering.

When she closed her eyes, she could feel the waves lapping against her, telling her to go to sleep. To just give up. That

her mission was over and it would be okay to just let go.

“Kozlov has nothing without it.” She balled a washcloth in her fist and squeezed until the warm water trickled through her fingers. “Nothing except a lot of guns and goons and nothing to lose, so...”

“He’s more dangerous than ever.”

Alex nodded and let herself sink lower.

“Alex?” When had he gotten out of bed and crossed the room? She didn’t know. She just knew he was there and leaning over the

tub, steam on his skin and fire in his eyes. “Where is it? Where’s the drive?”

“It’s...” The words didn’t come and she didn’t know why. She should have told him. She could have. She would have. She was wet and naked in front of him. She’d blown her nose in front of him approximately five thousand times. She’d

told him about her sister and her past. Alex had shown King... herself. Not her cover or her persona or her lies. He saw

her , and that made him dangerous. Because she trusted him, but she didn’t trust herself.

“It’s someplace safe,” she told him.

“Tell me where it is and I’ll go get it.”

“You can’t.”

He didn’t ask her to explain, because King wouldn’t waste time with such a silly question. “Then let’s go get it together.”

Alex curled up in the water and let her cheek rest on his cupped hand. “It’s safe where it is. If I go get it, they’ll find

it, and then they’ll find me.” She rolled her head back and looked at the flames. It was harder than it should have been to

say, “I don’t want them to find me.”

He took off his clothes, then slipped into the tub behind her, pulled her back against his chest, and held her tight. “Neither

do I.”