Page 70 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)

King

King watched Alex land on top of a boat that was passing beneath the bridge, but he didn’t wait to watch her disappear down

the Seine. He could hear her shouting—cursing. Shooting?

Shots were ringing out, echoing over the water and off the bridge, and that’s how he knew they were out of time.

King had to lead them away from Alex and the boat, so he started running, praying that he wasn’t making the biggest mistake

of his life. But that wasn’t possible. He’d already made it. A year ago—the day he let her walk out of the castle without

him. It was almost fitting that the only way to keep her safe was to send her back out into Paris on her own.

“Stop!” someone shouted, and he found a new burst of speed as he left the bridge and raced down the streets that were becoming

bright with swirling lights. Tourists shouted. Sirens blared. And King knew that he just had to buy her a little more time

because as long as Alex had time, she had a chance.

But he could hear the sirens coming closer. Paris was a net that was getting tighter and tighter—like a noose. So he darted

down an alley, running until—

The alley dead-ended, and King let out a curse that was a little too loud for comfort as he spun and started back the other

way, but a shadow filled the mouth of the alley, silhouetted against the light.

“Come on, Michael!” someone shouted. Except it wasn’t just someone . King knew that voice. King hated that voice. “I know you’re in there.”

And he was trapped.

Sort of. There was a building to his left. The door was old and half off its hinges. Abandoned. And King was too tired to be stealthy, so he just knocked it down, barged into the big, empty space, and looked around.

Moonlight fell through sheets of plastic. There were stacks of wood and piles of debris. The whole place smelled like sawdust,

and King had spent enough time in a recently renovated castle to recognize a historic building under construction when he

saw one.

He was just starting to ponder all the ways you can kill a man with construction tools.... Alex would have liked that game.

He was starting to miss her—miss them —when he heard—

“It’s over, King.”

Footsteps on sawdust. A shadow on plastic sheeting.

“Maybe I’m just getting started?” King shouted back.

But Tyler’s voice was as dark and low as the night when he said, “Where’s the ring?”

King skirted around a pile of two-by-fours. “What ring? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” King was lying, and Tyler

knew it, but sometimes you just have to play the game.

“I’m not leaving here without that ring, Michael.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you where it is—for so many reasons.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Well, for starters, I don’t know where it is.”

Tyler laughed. “Nice try.”

“It’s true. Whatever those goons gave us in Vegas... it didn’t just knock us out. We lost forty-eight hours or so—”

“You’re lying.”

“All the time,” King said because, frankly, King was in the mood to be sarcastic. It was like Alex was still with him after

all. “The other reason I’m not going to tell you is... I just don’t like you very much.”

Tyler cocked his gun. “You’re going to tell me where it is, and then—”

“Why?” King cut him off. “Merritt wanted that ring burned seven years ago. Why does she want it back now?”

King was inching through the shadows. There was a heavy wrench not far away.

If he could reach it... If not, there was always the gun in his hand.

He was just starting to wonder if he could actually shoot someone he’d known since childhood when Tyler laughed again and, this time, it was different.

Something in the sound made King freeze where he stood.

“Oh, I’m sure she did want it destroyed,” Tyler said, and King’s blood turned to ice.

“But not now?” King knew. He knew before he even asked, “Or not her .”

“Come on.” There were footsteps. The sound of plastic being pushed aside. “I thought you were smarter than that. The Great

Michael Kingsley.” Another laugh, colder and darker somehow. “I thought you knew everything.”

And then King did know. He’d suspected, sure. But there wasn’t any doubt. Not anymore. “Merritt doesn’t need it. You just want it.”

“Very good. A-plus, Mikey my boy. Grandpa would have been so proud. And Daddy too. If Daddy were with-it enough to even know,

of course. How is he? Still crazy? Oh. That’s right. He died. ”

King wasn’t going to take the bait. He wasn’t going to get emotional and careless and sloppy. Or dead. King intended to be

dead least of all, but that didn’t change the fact that his nails were digging into his palms and they were going to draw

blood. But that was okay too. He welcomed the pain. It kept him centered there, rooted in that moment and that mission.

“Why do you need Viktor Kozlov’s nuclear option, Tyler?”

Tyler laughed again. “Very good. I knew you’d get there eventually. You might as well come out, Michael. You can tell me where

the ring is, and then I can shoot you in the head.”

That time, it was King’s turn to laugh. It must have been the wrong thing to do—or the right one—because when Tyler spoke

again, his voice was different. Sharper. The tone of a child who didn’t want to be treated like a little kid anymore.

“I can make you talk.”

“Torture?” King laughed harder. “There is nothing you could do to me that would hurt more than losing her. Nothing. ”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t even an exaggeration, and suddenly, something inside of King broke free. He hadn’t just lost forty-eight

hours—he’d lost a year. It was like he’d been sleepwalking and staggering along until he woke up in that shack outside of

Vegas. Like he’d been half dead and it had taken Alex’s voice in the darkness to bring him back to life. Like—

A ringing sound pierced the air, and King watched from the shadows as Tyler checked his watch. Then preened.

“I know there’s nothing I can do to you, King.” Tyler was pulling a phone from his pocket, keying in the code and answering

the call. “But when I think about all I can do to her ...”

A gruff voice on the other end of the line was saying, “We have her. It’s done.” But King already knew—even before Tyler turned

the phone toward the shadows. King didn’t have to see the screen to know what he was seeing. He could already hear the video—the

screaming.

“Let me go!” Blonde hair blew in the wind as a big man dragged her through the streets. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going

to eat your intestines on crackers. I’m...”

Certain. King was finally certain.

“That guy’s not with the Agency, is he?”

It was so clear then. It should have been clear all along, but King had been too tired and frustrated and blinded by love

to notice.

“No. Let’s just say he’s an... associate of mine from my... other... endeavors.”

“Because you’re Nikolai.”

“Don’t be silly. Nikolai is a ghost story.” He gave a low, dry chuckle in the dark. “But ghosts can come in handy, can’t they?”

“Why create your own reputation when you can just steal someone else’s?” King guessed.

“Power hates a vacuum, Kingsley. Don’t tell me a smart guy like you doesn’t know that? Someone was always going to take over

where Collins and Kozlov left off. It might as well be me.”

“Were you the Collins or the Kozlov of this enterprise?” The CIA mole or the world-class thug?

“Oh, don’t kid yourself.” Tyler’s expression turned to granite. “I was both.”

King stepped out of the shadows. “If you hurt her...”

“I don’t want to hurt her!” Tyler shouted.

And then he laughed. “I want to hurt you . The Great Michael Kingsley. How many months did you spend in deep cover, huh? How deep did you go? Because I went deep, Mike. I went so deep that I don’t think I ever came out. Until the day I realized, I didn’t even

want to.”

“You can turn yourself in, Tyler. Get help.”

“I don’t need help! I did my part for the cause, and now the cause is going to do its part for me. You think you’re so great.

So special. But what did you ever do? Hell, what did your father do? And your grandfather? They were desk jockeys. Bureaucrats.

They...” Tyler trailed off as he thought, then, in a flash, decided— “You’re right.” Tyler raised his gun and pointed it

at King’s heart. “I don’t need you anymore. I have her.”

“You will never have her. You’ll never even know her.”

“I already have her! I already know her! I... What? Why are you smiling?”

King couldn’t help himself. It was too perfect—too right. And King almost felt sorry for the man.

“What?” Tyler shouted again.

“If you really knew Alex...” There was a crunch behind Tyler, a footstep and a breath. “ You’d know she has a twin .”

At first, Tyler seemed confused when he turned—when he saw her. Because, in that split second, there were two Alexes—one who was still on his phone, shouting, “I’m going to choke you with your own kneecaps!” and one who was smirking,

almost flirty when—

“Here.” King tossed the wrench through the air and she caught it.

And then Alex knocked Tyler out cold.

She wasn’t even breathing hard, and she didn’t have a hair out of place as she stood there, wrench in her hands, staring down

at Tyler’s unmoving form. “Was that good enough to clear our names?”

“That was enough,” said the woman in the long, dark coat and the short, white hair who stepped out of the shadows.

“You took your time,” King complained.

“You can’t rush perfection, Michael. Things had to be airtight; you knew that,” Merritt said just as the screaming stopped

coming out of the phone that was lying on the ground next to Tyler’s outstretched hand.

King leaned down and picked it up just as the goon on the screen pulled his mask off. Sawyer’s hair was a mess when he leaned

close to the camera and said, “We good?”

“We’re good,” Alex said, but she kept her gaze on King’s—even as the woman on the screen shouted—

“Oh my gosh! I’m so good at decoying!”