The Blonde Identity: A Novel

He was lying. Definitely. Probably. He was almost certainly lying. But she was so tired she could barely stand upright. Her head hurt so badly she could hardly think. And the sun was so bright she could barely see, even though it was little more than a dot on the horizon.

“I’m a little concussion-y, so just to be clear . . . You’re saying that my identical twin sister is a rogue spy who is currently on the run from the Russian mob and the CIA?”

“And MI6. Did I mention MI6? Oh. And Interpol.”

“Is that all?” She was being facetious, but he shrugged.

“Probably Mossad.” He noticed something on the street and turned his back, blocking them both from a passing SUV. “Make that an affirmative on Mossad.”

The vehicle turned, and for a moment the street was empty. He glanced both ways, this total stranger with the bloody hands and blue eyes—and the gun . . . She couldn’t forget about the gun.

She didn’t know this guy. Heck, she didn’t even know herself. So why was she thinking she could trust him?

Then he reached behind him and pulled out another gun, and, suddenly, that felt like two guns too many. She didn’t know who she was or why she was there or how this had all come to be her problem, but she knew this wasn’t her world—her life. And she knew what she needed to do.

“So . . . uh . . . where’s the US Embassy?”

He didn’t have to look as he pointed. “Six blocks.”

She turned up her collar and shoved her hands in her pockets. “Thank you for your help. I’m sorry to have wasted your time and ammunition.”

Then she was off, stumbling down the icy street.

“Hey! Where are you going?” the deep voice called after her.

“Where do you think?” she said but didn’t slow down.

“Okay. But just so you know, they’ll shoot you on sight.”

Well, that stopped her. Slowly, she faced him and tried to sound more confident than she felt. “No, they won’t. I’m a US citizen. I think? Which means I’ll be safe there. So thank you for your help, but . . .”

“Yeah. Okay.” He shrugged. “They probably won’t kill you, but they’ll definitely assume you’re Alex and ship you off to a black ops site that doesn’t officially”—he did the finger quotes again—“exist. And that’s assuming you can get past the ring of guys with names like Vlad and Igor who’ve been watching the embassy for the last two days. But, hey.” He put his hands up in a move that screamed don’t shoot the messenger. “All I’m saying is that if the embassy were safe, your sister would be there, but what do I know? I’ve just been her partner for the past five years. Have a nice walk, princess.”

He pulled his cap lower and turned. He was leaving. He was walking away. She was almost free of him, when a little voice in the back of her mind whispered, But what if he’s right? What if the embassy wasn’t safe? What if there was nowhere safe? What if she was destined to wander those streets for hours—days? What if there was no place she could go or hide or . . . Wait, she realized. She had someplace to go.

“Do you know what hotel this is?” Suddenly she was digging in her pockets, trying to find the little plastic card.

He seemed extra annoyed when he turned back, looking at her like Alex must have stolen all the brains in the womb. “You have a hotel room? In your name? Is that where they found you? Do you have any money? What ID were you using? Have you been in touch with Alex?”

“Um, let me think . . . Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia. Four euros. Amnesia. And . . . amnesia. Any other questions?”

By that point she’d emptied her pockets and was standing on the icy sidewalk, hands cupped, everything she owned held out in front of her. She waited for his quippy reply, but he was too busy staring at the items in her palms like she hadn’t spoken at all.

The key card. The euros. The tissue and the lip balm.

“What is it?” she asked because, suddenly, everything about him changed. His features softened and his lips parted and his breath fogged in the chilly air—it was the first time he had ever felt like flesh and blood. “What?”

“Alex uses that brand.” He pointed to the balm like she’d just asked him to identify a body. “And no. I don’t know a hotel with that logo. But I know you can’t go there.”

She tried not to feel too disappointed. Really, she tried not to feel anything. So she stuffed her worldly possessions back in her pockets and turned. “Great. Awesome. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a long swim ahead of me.”

“Wait!” he called after her.

It took everything she had not to limp as she turned away and tried to climb over the big mound of snow that had been pushed to the side of the road. But she slipped because of course she did. And she ended up straddling the bank, which, it turns out, you can’t really do gracefully. In fact, the only thing more awkward than getting onto a snowbank was getting off one.

“Hey . . .” He made a frustrated sound. “Let me—”

“Oh, don’t worry about me! I’m fine!” she grumbled then just sort of . . . rolled. She staggered to her feet and winced but kept walking.

“You can’t go to the hotel! Or the embassy. You can’t go anywhere familiar!”

“Well, I have amnesia, which means nothing is familiar. So—” She gave him a double thumbs-up and wished it were a different finger.

“Hey!” He was jogging after her.

“I’m trying to make a dignified exit here!” she snapped back.

“Was that before or after you humped a snowbank?”

She turned abruptly, suddenly grateful for her anger. Really, it was the best medicine. Her body was full of adrenaline and rage.

“Hey!” he shouted. So much for the low profile. “If you want to get yourself killed, fine. You want to spend the foreseeable future being waterboarded? Be my guest. But I can help you. I am offering to help you. Come on.” When he spoke again, his voice was soft and low. “Let me help you.”

“Why?”

“So you’ll be safe.”

“What do you care if I’m safe?”

He looked up at the snowy sky and drew a deep breath. “I guess I’m just trying to be the good guy.”

“I thought the good guys were trying to kill all the people who look like me?”

“Yeah.” She started to change his name to Mr. Looks Hot When He Smirks Guy because she got a little dizzy when he said, “Well, lucky for you, I’m not all good.”