Page 75 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)

Alex

King was gone. Alex paced the hotel suite, watching day turn to not-quite-night as the sun dipped and the lights of the Strip

came alive in neon glory.

“Where is he?” She turned to Sawyer.

“Walking it off.”

“Alex...” Zoe started, but trailed off when she saw her sister’s face as Alex headed for the door.

“I’m going to go find him.”

“Alex, wait!” Zoe looked nervous. Then sheepish. Then guilty.

“What?”

“Just...” Zoe glanced nervously at Sawyer, something silent passing between them. “Good luck.”

Alex was aware, faintly, of the irony. King had spent a whole year looking for her, but now he was the one who was missing.

It had been hours. Merritt was gone. It was over.

It was over.

And all Alex could think as she pushed out of the elevators was What if it is?

Alex knew what it was like to have the world ripped out from underneath you. To run away and hide because you were still looking

for yourself. King had just found out that his whole life had been a lie and...

She didn’t want to think about the rest of it, but the truth was, Zoe was right.

It was over. They had the ring and the villain and the answers they’d been so desperate to find.

No one wanted them dead anymore. They wouldn’t have to run or hide.

Alex had gone from being the only person King could trust to just another woman in Vegas, tired and a little bit desperate.

And she was feeling more desperate by the moment.

What if he was on his way to the airport? Already on a jet? He could be halfway around the world before she even really knew

to start looking, but... No. Alex wasn’t going to panic. She was a trained spy. She could find one infuriating man in a

city full of surveillance cameras. She’d tear the whole town down if she had to. She’d—

“Alex?”

Or she could wait for him to find her.

He looked the same but everything was different. They were standing between two banks of elevators, going up and down. Kind

of like the feeling in Alex’s stomach.

“It’s not over,” she blurted as soon as she got her wits about her. Except her wits weren’t really about her. Hence the blurting.

“It’s not. For me.”

“Listen, Sterling...”

“No! You listen. I... Please.” People were coming and going, in and out of elevators, a steady stream of ding ding ding s that formed a kind of bubble made of sound and motion and indifference.

King and Alex were ten years and a million miles from the airport Ramada, but there they were, standing by a different elevator

in a different hotel, and Alex could only hope for a different ending.

“You’re braver than I am, Michael Kingsley. Okay? You win. You were braver than me in Berlin, and you were braver than me

in Scotland. You said it first, and you said it best, and I ran... I ran and then I was too stubborn and too proud to come

back even though I wanted to. I wanted to every single day, and I know that ring upstairs ruined a lot of people’s lives.

I know you wish you’d burned it, but I’m glad you didn’t. Because without it, I never would have woken up handcuffed to you.”

Her nose was running, and her eyes were blurry—her throat burned—but she couldn’t possibly be crying. The words were like

fire on her tongue. “I woke up handcuffed to you, and that’s what set me free.”

“What are you saying, Sterling?”

Ding. Ding. Ding.

There was only one thought, one answer, one word.

“Mercy.”

And then his arms were around her and the world got very still and very warm. She forgot about old spies and older secrets—twin

sisters and cursed rings. The only thing that mattered was him. And them. And this.

They might have kissed forever if someone hadn’t shouted, “Mr. Kingsley?” A man in a blazer ran up to them, a tiny bag in

his hands. “It’s ready for you, sir.” He handed King the bag, and Alex just stood there, staring.

“What... What’s that?”

Then King looked sheepish, maybe for the first time in his life. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at the glossy

floor. She imagined it was what he must have looked like as a little boy, guilty but excited, trying to be cool but failing.

“Tyler was right about one thing; sometimes you have to make the big gesture, so...” He held up the little blue bag. “I

got a new ring. I was going to ask you if you wanted it... I was going to ask you—”

“No.”

He looked like she’d punched him. “Oh.” He stumbled back, unsteady and uncertain. “I see.”

Except he didn’t see, she could tell by the look on his face, so she inched closer and pitched her voice lower beneath the

ding ding ding s and the sound of their hearts.

“I want the ring you stole for me. I want the one that your grandmother used to wear and Merritt used to borrow. I love you

and I want... you. If you want me. I mean...”

“Sterling.” He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight. “Mercy.”