The Blonde Identity: A Novel

“How sick is she?”

Sawyer didn’t realize how much the question had been weighing on him until he’d said the words aloud. “Zoe,” he clarified, as if he could have been asking about anyone else. “Her heart. Is it . . .” Broken? “How sick is she?”

Alex looked at him across the dim back seat of one of Kozlov’s SUVs. The two thugs in front were singing along with some Russian pop star, and for a moment he wondered if she’d actually heard him.

But then Alex said, “She’s not.” Her voice was soft, and her face was full of shadows. “Not technically. Not anymore. She hasn’t needed surgery since we were kids. Now she’s just weak. Fragile. Frail. Always has been.”

But Alex was wrong. She was so wrong he wanted to laugh.

“What?” she asked, but all Sawyer could do was shake his head and bite his lip. All he could do was remember—

“The woman I met in Paris didn’t know that.”

Sawyer felt the SUV turn as the Bentley followed them higher and higher into the Alps. Once they slowed and stopped, he crawled out and looked around a parking lot teeming with tourists and skiers, backpackers and families. But there were no guards and no metal detectors. Nothing but honor and the fear of collateral damage to keep Kozlov and his guys from killing everyone on that mountain which meant—Shit. Kozlov was going to kill everyone on that mountain.

Sawyer looked down at the burner phone, praying that he’d misunderstood. Surely Zoe had a different plan—a better plan. Surely—

Ding. Sawyer read the newest text.

Take the gondola to the first station.

That’s when Sawyer noticed the wires that rose to the top of the peak, the line of people waiting to get onto the red cable car that was gliding toward them. “We’re going up.”

“If you are lying . . .” Kozlov’s voice was low. It was the only thing scarier than when Kozlov shouted. “If she is lying . . .”

“She wants her sister back,” Sawyer told him. “She’ll be there.”

So they joined the line and boarded the car and, five minutes later, they were flying over snow and rocks and jagged cliffs to the midpoint of the mountain.

Her instructions had been simple: he was supposed to bring Alex and Kozlov and no more than two guards, and they were supposed to follow her texts to Zoe and the flash drive. They’d make the exchange, then go on their merry way, or so Zoe thought. Because Zoe was good and kind and generous. She probably didn’t realize that Kozlov was going to kill her. And her sister. And probably Sawyer for good measure.

So Sawyer just stood there, staring out at the tall peaks and sweeping vistas, trying not to think of all the ways this could go horribly wrong.

“Relax,” Alex whispered as she leaned against the frosty glass. “If there’s one thing my sister knows, it’s how a plot comes together.” A smirk teased at the corner of her lips and Sawyer wanted to ask a million questions, but the cable car was already sliding into the station.

The doors opened and, immediately, he shivered. It had to be at least ten degrees colder at this altitude, but that wasn’t why his blood froze.

He looked around. There were signs for restaurants and restrooms, a small lake where people could ice-skate in winter or use paddleboats come spring. There were nature hikes and scenic outlooks—tourists eating at picnic tables and taking selfies. But there was absolutely no Zoe.

“She is not here.” Kozlov scowled, and Sawyer knew there was a chance the old man was getting ready to shoot him where he stood.

“She wants her sister back. She’ll be here.” Sawyer sounded like a broken record, but he turned, still scanning, still searching, until he saw the poster that covered the gondola station’s longest wall. It was an artist’s rendering of two massive buildings carved into the sides of nearly identical peaks—a long crystal-like structure spanning between them.

COMING SOON! the sign read. THE WORLD’S LONGEST HIGH-ALTITUDE GLASS-BOTTOMED BRIDGE!

For a moment, Sawyer just stood there, thinking about perfectly cooked steaks and chocolate mousse and the way Zoe had wriggled into Mrs. Michaelson’s tightest dress. And he knew. He knew, and he didn’t know whether to be terrified or impressed.

“Why in the world are you smiling?” Alex whispered, but all Sawyer could do was shake his head. The phone dinged again. But Sawyer already knew what it was going to say.

Go to the restricted section. The cable car will take you up.

Everyone was watching, staring. “She’s waiting for us.”

Kozlov raised an eyebrow, as if to say waiting where?

So Sawyer pointed to the top of the mountain—to the place so high it was hidden in the clouds. “Up there.”