The Blonde Identity: A Novel

It wasn’t Alex.

Sawyer believed her. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because no one—not even Alex—was that good an actress. Maybe because Alex had no reason to lie. Except no. That wasn’t true. If the last few days had taught him anything, it was that he’d never known Alex at all.

“Excuse me, Mr. . . .” The woman started then trailed off, as if she was running through a long list of options in her head. “Gun Guy . . . Alex’s Boyfriend Guy—”

But that made him laugh. Hell, that made him howl. He hadn’t thought he was still capable of it, so he felt as surprised as she looked.

“I only mean . . . you have a gun. And you just shot a lot of people with it—not that I’m not grateful. I realize it was devolving into a me-or-them situation, and I’m very happy you chose me. So thank you. I’m sure you must be disappointed that I’m not the love of your life—”

“The what?”

“Alex,” she said, like maybe he was the one who’d recently been unconscious. “I was talking about Alex.”

“I know,” he snapped. “But why the h—” She gave him a warning look. “—heck would you think Alex is the . . .”

“Love of your life,” she reminded him.

“Yeah. You can stop calling her that.”

“But—”

“Don’t call her that. Ever.”

“Okay. Um . . . partner? Significant other? How would you define your relationship?”

“Thorn in my side,” he ground out then turned and started down the street.

“Ohhhhh,” she said, falling into step beside him. “So you’re in the early stages of . . . what? Friends to lovers? Enemies to lovers?” She looked a little concerned at that second one, but he had no idea what she was talking about.

“I don’t have a lot of experience with head wounds, but you should probably get that checked out,” he said, but then she darted out in front of him, surprisingly quick.

“It’s clear that you’re in love with Alex, and Alex is no doubt in love with you, but you’re both fighting your obvious attraction, and—Hey!”

He was picking her up and pressing her against the side of a building, pinning her a foot off the ground so that they could see eye to eye. He couldn’t take the risk that she would miss this. “Stop. Talking.”

“But you clearly—”

He raised an eyebrow and she shut up.

“I’m only going to say this once. Alex isn’t my girlfriend. She has never been my girlfriend. She will never be my girlfriend. She sure as hell isn’t the love of my life.” He didn’t bother explaining that he didn’t have one of those. Never had. Never would. There were some things that people with big Disney eyes would never understand, and the fact that love and covert operations don’t mix was one of them. “And we are not”—he dropped her and made a gesture—“anything to lovers, whatever that means.”

“There’s no need to use finger quotes sarcastically here. Sarcastic finger quotes are not necessary.”

“Alex is . . .” But that made him trail off. That made him think. And he didn’t like what he thought about. At all. “Someone I thought I could trust. I was wrong.”

All around them, streetlights were flickering off as the sky grew brighter, and he suddenly felt vulnerable there. Exposed. He needed to find cover, because the sun was rising and word was spreading and, soon, some people would come looking for vengeance and some would come looking for justice, but they were all going to bring a whole lot of trouble with them, and he wanted to be gone before they got there.

So he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned down another street, away from the sirens that were blaring in the distance.

“Yes . . . um . . .” He heard her running along behind him, stumbling in the snow and sliding on the ice.

“Are you sure you and Alex share the same DNA?” he tossed over his shoulder.

“No! Evil Twin is your theory. I did not throw out the option of Evil Twin.”

“Stop saying Evil Twin.”

“You’re the one who said it!”

“But you’re the one who keeps . . .” He trailed off and shook his head, longing for a small dose of amnesia of his own.

He looked back at where she stood in the snow, the horizon growing bright behind her as she stared at him like she wasn’t quite sure whether he was a blessing or a curse. Which was okay. He didn’t know either.

“Who are you? Who is she?” Her eyes were wet and her voice broke. “Who am I?”

Yeah. Alex never looked like that. Which was a shame. Doe eyes make for good cover. They were even working on him, and, just briefly, he wanted to take pity on her, put an arm around her—get her someplace warm and safe and off the grid. But he wasn’t that guy. It wasn’t his fault that she was that girl.

“Go home, Not So Evil Twin.”

“I’d love to.”

Well, that was easy. “Great!”

“How do I do that, exactly?”

“I don’t know.” He threw out his hands and spun on her, frustration seeping out of his pores. “I’ve been chasing your sister for six days across five countries. I’ve been shot at. Kicked. Punched. Run off the road. Thrown out of a boat. Poisoned—but that was an innocent mistake. Never eat shellfish in Austria. In other words, I’m having a shit week, princess. And today’s not looking any better. So—” He released his empty clip and slid in a fresh one. Click. “The Atlantic Ocean is that way.” He pointed into the distance. “Start swimming for all I care.”

He slid the gun into his waistband, pulled a bright orange cap from a pocket and tugged it on. Time to disappear.

“Not very covert, is it?” she said, and he almost laughed.

“That’s the point, lady. Looking like you don’t care if you stand out is a great way to blend in.” He turned and started down the street, but she lunged out in front of him again, blocking the way.

“Are you going to find my sister?” she asked, and it was all he could do not to laugh. Or maybe cry.

“No.” Sawyer shook his head. It was a relief to finally admit, “If Alex doesn’t want to be found, I probably won’t.”

“But—”

“Look,” he cut her off, too cold and too tired to pretend. “I’ve had one lead in the last week and she’s right in front of me. You were my big break. But, lady, you were nothing but a waste of time and ammunition, so if you’ll excuse me . . .”

He was almost free—he was almost gone—when a small voice came floating to him on the wind. “What’s the drive?” He froze. “Those men . . . they said something about a drive, but I don’t have it. I don’t even know what it is. So . . . What is it?”

Sawyer took a deep breath. He really didn’t have time for this. But for some reason he turned around anyway. “It’s a flash drive.”

“They want it. They think my sister has it. Why?”

“Because she has it!” On the other side of the street a man started shoveling the sidewalk, so Sawyer lowered his voice and pulled her into a darkened doorway. “Listen. Alex was a very bad girl.”

“So you say.”

“So everyone says. You know your friends from a while ago? The ones whose . . .” He trailed off as he looked down, noticing . . . “Oh hey. Their blood is literally on my hands. They work for Kozlov.”

“Who’s that?”

“Who’s that?” He’d honestly forgotten there were people who didn’t know. “You ever heard of the Russian mob? Evil oligarchs? How about gunrunners? Drug smugglers? Maybe a little human traffic—”

“I get the picture.”

“Oh, I don’t think you do. And I don’t think you want to, but that’s fine. Because he’s not your job. He’s mine. And up until a few days ago he was Alex’s. She and I were this close to taking him down, but then your precious sister went rogue and decided to download his little black book onto a flash drive—blow up the original—and disappear.” He let out a frustrated breath. “Alone.”

“What’s on it . . . this book?”

“Everything. Names. Contacts. Bank accounts. A veritable who’s who of evil. The holy f—” Glare. “—freaking grail.”

“What’s it worth?”

He looked at her, cold. Impatient. And so fucking tired he could cry. “Her head.” She gulped. “And I mean that literally. There’s a whole John the Baptist component going on here.”

“So a head that looks like . . .” She pointed to herself.

“Yup. That’ll do.”

He must have looked like he was trying to decide if it would be easier to transport her head on or off her body because she started slowly backing away, and with every dainty step he wanted to laugh.

“You just realized I can claim the prize and not kill your sister, didn’t you?”

“I did indeed.” Her voice cracked. “So, thanks for your help, but . . .”

“Stay right where you are, lady. I haven’t told you the bad part yet.”

Her throat worked while she gulped down a breath of icy air. “What’s . . . the bad part?”

“Your sister was supposed to steal the black book and give it to her other bosses.” It went against his training and his orders and about a dozen laws, so he couldn’t actually tell her . . . Then he told her anyway. “At the CIA.”

Something like triumph crossed her face, like she was on a game show and had just won a brand-new car. “So she is a spy!”

“No shit.” He was running out of patience. And time. “But Alex didn’t turn the drive over to the good guys, so now they’re after her. And she pissed off the bad guys. Who are also after her. Basically, everyone with a gun in Western Europe is after her.”

He took a deep breath and a long look at Alex’s face and Alex’s mouth and Alex’s eyes, and he knew what the world would see: a fugitive. A target. A sitting-fucking-duck. So he had to admit, “And, I guess, you.”

He watched her thinking, worrying, calculating until she realized: “So if I can’t trust the good guys . . . And I can’t trust the bad guys . . . Who else is there?”

He thought about it and huffed out a laugh, knowing he was going to regret the word long before he said it: “Me.”