The Blonde Identity: A Novel

He’d replayed Zoe’s message a dozen times, always listening for something in her voice that would tell him if she’d gotten hurt in the fall, trying to hear some noise in the background—a clue where she might be. Was she warm enough? Safe enough? Did she have money for food and shelter and slightly-more-comfortable shoes? He needed to know. He needed her.

Kozlov’s guys were looking for her again. The agencies were no doubt still after Alex. So Sawyer had to find her before someone else did. The only question was, what was he going to do with her then? Kidnap her for real this time? Lock her up inside another cruise ship? Force her to wear even more leather pants? But would that be torturing her or torturing him? Really, it was a toss-up.

So he sipped his coffee and scanned the outdoor skating rink that was just outside the city. The scratchy sound system was playing music, and the crowd was getting thicker with people lacing up their skates, kids calling out watch me, watch me! But he wasn’t worried that he’d miss her. No. Zoe was never going to be invisible to him ever again. The only question was had she changed her hair? Would she still be dressed like Alex? Or would she look like the woman from the snowbank? Maybe like Mrs.—

“Michaelson!” At first he thought he’d willed the name into existence—that he’d dreamed it. “Paging Mr. Michaelson to the concession area. Paging Mr.—”

“I’m Michaelson,” he told the girl in the booth. “You paged—”

“Your wife left something for you.” The girl scanned him up and down, as if trying to decide if he was worthy, then she held out a small padded envelope and popped a bubble with the gum he hadn’t even realized she was chewing.

“Where’s my wife . . .” He was looking around. “Where is Mrs. Michaelson?”

“Oh”—the girl’s mouth curved into a curious grin, like sitting behind that desk was an interesting job all of a sudden—“she’s already gone.”

The words hit Sawyer so hard that he was turning—he was already walking away before he remembered the package. He ignored every bit of his training as he ripped it open and tipped it out and a small silver ring landed on the palm of his hand.

Even though he knew it couldn’t still be warm from her skin, it burned him, searing into his flesh like a brand, a mark that only he could see and feel but would last for the rest of his life.

Whatever sliver of hope he’d held on to died in that instant. He was a guy who did bad things for good reasons and that was never going to change. Someday soon, he’d get Alex back and take Kozlov down. But there would always be another Kozlov and another cover and another mission until the man he’d been with Zoe faded away forever.

Good. Let him die, Sawyer thought just as a phone began to ring. He dug back into the envelope and pulled out a burner.

“Zoe!” Sawyer’s pulse was in his ears as he answered. “Are you okay?”

“Is my sister alive?”

“Are you okay?” he asked again because how was he supposed to say anything else? That mountain she’d fallen down was eight hundred meters high. He knew. He’d looked it up. And now her voice was on the other end of the line—he could even hear her breathing. “Are you hurt?”

Someone must have fallen on the ice because an ambulance was approaching, the sirens so loud he heard them in stereo. Here. And also through the phone. Which meant that Zoe was close. Zoe was there.

It was like diving into freezing water, looking through the dark. He hadn’t been able to see her that night in the river. He’d felt her, sensed her. Known her. So he took off at a run, following the sound of the sirens. Through the people and around the buildings then into the trees at the edge of the—

“Zoe?”

The sound must have scared her because she whirled and tried to step back but there was no place to go and she banged into a tree.

“Sweetheart?” Sawyer tried to keep his voice low as he dropped the phone and held up his hands. “I’m gonna give you something, okay?” Slowly—very slowly—he pulled out his Glock and tossed it on the ground in front of her. “That’s for you.”

But Zoe just stood there, staring and confused. “That’s your favorite gun.”

“I know.” He laughed softly—something he hadn’t even known he could do until he met her. “It’s yours now. Shoot me with it if you need to, okay?”

She didn’t stoop to pick it up, but she kept it between them, like it could protect her, there on the ground.

“Are you okay?” he asked again because nothing else mattered.

“I’m fine.” She sounded tired and annoyed and he wanted to kiss the little crease between her eyes until it smoothed away. “Is my sister okay?”

“She’s alive. She sent me to find you. Those were her exact words: find her. So I’m here. And, for the record, I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.” He heard pain in her voice. Not fear. Fear he could have handled. But he thought about a baby no bigger than the palm of his hand. He thought about a four-year-old in a hospital gown. She was fearless. Of course she was. She was never going to be afraid of him. He was nothing in comparison.

“Zoe, please . . .”

“Listen,” she snapped. “The drive Kozlov has is a fake.”

And for a second, the whole world seemed to freeze. The music went away and the crowd stopped milling. “I . . . I know. But how did you . . .”

“Alex had two boxes at the bank, and I accessed both. The real drive was in box number two. So—” She threw her shoulders back and stood a little straighter. “I’ve got a message for your boss.”

“He’s not my boss, sweetheart. He’s my mission.”

“Funny. Because that’s not how it looked when you gave him the flash drive.”

“I gave up the flash drive to keep you safe!”

“You kept yourself safe. I had to jump off a mountain!”

“Because I gave you the idea!”

They were inching closer and closer because they always did—they always would. He couldn’t stay away from her any more than a compass could stop pointing north.

“You did not give me the idea!” Oh, she was annoyed. And indignant. And glorious. Right up until she realized—“Wait. Did you give me the idea? No. You just wanted me out of the way for your mission—”

“I wanted you safe because I’m in love with you!”

Sawyer couldn’t hear the sirens anymore. Not the sound of the wind or the cries of the crowd. There was nothing but those words, floating in the frigid air. He wanted to pull them back. And he wanted to shout them louder. Because Alex was right. He was in love with Zoe. He was in love with Zoe. Zoe, who was just standing there, gaping. Stammering. “You . . . You . . .”

“I know, sweetheart—”

“I’m not your sweetheart!”

He shook his head. He had to make her see. Did she really not see? “You’re my everything.”

A tsunami of emotion washed across her face. Anger and fatigue and hope? Fury and rage and longing. It was like she was experiencing a lifetime of feelings in those five seconds, running the gamut, the spectrum, trying every single emotion on for size before settling on—

“What gives you the right to give certifiable movie kisses and say certifiable hero lines and stand there with your certifiable hot guy smirks while telling me you just wanted to save my life? What gives you the right . . . you absolute jerkface!”

Sawyer gave it a second then shouted, “I don’t know what that means!”

“It means I’m in love with you, too!” she shouted even louder and the wall of ice inside of Sawyer slowly began to crack. And then he was reaching for her. Because he needed to hold her and kiss her and tell her again. He was never going to stop telling her—showing her. He was never going to stop.

But Zoe stepped away. Just one step. Just a few inches. And yet it was like watching her fly down another mountain she went so far so quickly. She was instantly out of reach.

“I love you.” Her voice was softer and her eyes were closed. “But I don’t trust you anymore.”

It was the most pain he’d ever known. Real and physical and deep until all that was left were broken bones and split skin. He was bloody and mangled and never coming clean. They were just words. And they were going to leave a scar.

“Zoe . . .” he said because it was easier than arguing. “You have to trust me.”

“No.” She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t.”

“Then why . . . Why call me if you don’t trust me?”

She looked at him like he really must be a moron—like the answer was so clear and just right there.

“Because you want the drive. That’s the one thing I can count on. Ever since Paris . . . I was always looking for my sister, but you . . . You were always looking for the drive, weren’t you?” Her voice cracked and her hand shook as she rubbed her runny nose, but he didn’t bother to answer. “It’s the one thing I can count on.”

“You can count on me,” he told her, but she didn’t say a thing. And then a new worry grew inside of him. “Do you have it now?” He couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice, and she couldn’t keep the irony out of hers.

“Of course that’s what you’d say.”

“That drive is poison, Zoe. It’s a target on your back and you need to give it to me.”

“Why?” She gave a quick, cold laugh. “So you can give it to Kozlov? Maybe hand it over to the CIA or MI6. Or Mossad. Or—”

“Of course I’m going to hand it over! That drive is how we get rid of Kozlov. It’s the only way we . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. He could have told her a hundred lies in a half dozen languages, but, right then, the truth was the only thing that mattered. “It’s how we get free. It’s how we get safe. That drive is everything.”

I love you. But I don’t trust you anymore.

“Listen up, Mr. Spy Guy, that drive might be your freedom, but it’s my sister’s life. So forgive me if I don’t tell you where it is.”

He didn’t even try to hide how much that hurt him. “You know me, Zoe.”

“Do I?” she bit back, stronger now. It was like she was still rolling down that mountain, momentum taking over and picking up speed. “Who are you, Sawyer? Really? Are you the guy who said I was just a waste of time and ammunition or the newlywed who dipped me on the dance floor or the man who held me in his arms and told me that I was beautiful? Or are you the thug who works for Kozlov? Huh? Who are you? Because I watched you turn into that guy right before my eyes, and I realized I . . . I love you.” Her voice trembled but her eyes were like steel. “But I don’t know the real you at all.”

There were birds in the trees and children shouting in the distance, but the world was suddenly quiet and still and achingly empty.

“No, sweetheart. You’re the only one who does.”

Zoe closed her eyes and Sawyer couldn’t stop himself from inching closer—from reaching for her—from needing her skin against his.

“I know Alex didn’t trust me for a while there; and I get why you’re hesitant to trust me now. But I’m not the villain here, lady. I’m just a guy who saw twelve pissed-off Russians and had to play it by ear.” He blew out a frosty breath. “I get that it probably looks like I didn’t choose you. But I watched you almost die a dozen times, Zoe. And I wasn’t gonna do it again. I can’t. I won’t. So I’m going to keep you safe, sweetheart. And then I’m going to earn your trust.”

She was just right there. He had to make her see . . . “There’s no place I won’t go and there’s nothing I won’t do to prove myself to you.”

It was like she couldn’t hold his gaze. Like it was too hot. She had to put it down. And she seemed almost nervous to admit, “I was going to go to the embassy . . .”

“Good! Okay. Let’s do—”

“But then I realized that Alex didn’t trust the CIA. And she didn’t trust you. But you know who she did trust?” She gave a laugh that was part hiccup and part giggle and wholly, completely lovable. “Me. She trusted me. So I’m going to trust myself.” He watched her straighten her spine and summon her courage, and he loved her so much it hurt. “So I need you to listen very, very carefully and do exactly what I say.”

Her

He said he loved her.

She said it back.

Zoe honestly didn’t know if anyone had ever said those words to her before. She definitely didn’t know if she’d ever hear them again. But as she sat in the back seat of a taxi fifteen minutes later, her fingers were on her lips, like the words might still be there—like she could touch them. And she was amazed to realize she was smiling.

She tried to stop. She really did. Because it wasn’t the I love you she would have written. But, somehow, that made it better. Somehow, in spite of everything, it was really, really good and that made it really, really scary and she started freaking out for whole new reasons.

Because from the moment she woke up on that snowy street in Paris, she’d known Sawyer could hurt her. But that was the first time she realized he could break her—not her heart. Her. He could break her into a million pieces and then she wouldn’t just lose her sister. She’d lose everything. And she realized that to save Alex . . . to get Kozlov . . . to get off this awful ride . . . She’d do anything.

The sun was bright through the window as the taxi turned. They were almost back to the city and her mediocre hotel room and her plans. The day was getting away.

So she pulled out a fresh burner phone and dialed the number she hadn’t thought she’d ever use. When she heard a deep (and somewhat confused) voice, say, “Hello?” Zoe couldn’t help herself. She became spontaneously southern.

“Hi there! I get that y’all probably have a million questions—which I am more than happy to answer—but . . .” She took a deep breath. “This is Mrs. Michaelson. And I need something of a favor.”