The Blonde Identity: A Novel

“You want my hands where?”

“You heard me.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

“Lady, you wish you could—”

And then she hurt him. Not that she meant to. But she was stronger now that she was rested, and the kick, well, he didn’t exactly see it coming.

They were back on the top deck, but the crew had raised the sunshade and set up the folding chairs. A few people dozed while others chatted, but no one paid any attention to the honeymooners sparring at the front of the ship. The wind was stronger up there with nothing to break it, but Sawyer didn’t mind. He liked being able to see what was coming.

But as he looked at the woman in his arms, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the real danger was already there.

“What if I try this?” Zoe swung her elbow and he ducked, dragging her hands behind her back and pulling her close. It wasn’t the first time he’d shown her a type of hold. But it was the first time he didn’t want to tell her how to break it.

“How do you get out?” he whispered in her ear.

“Kick to the knee?” She tried it. “Headbutt?” He evaded.

Then he whispered, “You could flip me.”

“Noooooo.” Zoe glanced over her shoulder, wind in her hair, cheeks pink from the cold and the exertion. She didn’t look like Alex then, not even a little bit. And, suddenly, he knew that she was far more dangerous to him than her sister would ever be because, sometimes, when he looked at her, Sawyer forgot. His mission and his training and his life. She made him forget he wasn’t Mr. Michaelson and he never, ever would be which made her the most lethal twin of all.

“Show me! Show me!” She practically bounced she was so excited.

“You have to get close. Closer.” He pulled her toward him. “Grip tight.”

“Here?”

He felt her smaller hand on his arm. “Yeah. Tighter. Now step in and—”

In the next moment he was flying through the air and landing with a thud on the deck, staring up at her.

“Oh my gosh! Maybe I am good at this. Maybe I’m a professional cage fighter. Maybe—”

He swept her leg and brought her down—hard—landing on top of his body.

His hands cradled her ribs, and he could have sworn he felt her shiver. He wanted to hold her tight and keep her warm, but he just said, “You aren’t a cage fighter.”

She looked down at him from beneath the curtain of honey-colored hair. “Well, my job is definitely dangerous with a lot of authority. Like FBI agent. Or junior high school principal.”

“Yeah.” His hands itched to slide—to move. He watched her lips as she licked them. “That’s probably it.”

Slowly, she pushed away. But instead of crawling to her feet, she settled down beside him, her head on his shoulder like he was a soft place to land.

She actually nestled a little closer as she said, “Maybe tomorrow you can teach me how to kill a man with a telephone cord.”

“A telephone cord?” He forgot to bite back his laugh.

“Yeah. You could do that, right?”

He didn’t even have to think about it. “Of course, but—”

“And an ink pen. Or a shrimp fork. Do you think we can sneak one out of the dining room to—”

“No.”

“Okay. Regular fork it is. Maybe a hand towel? Can you kill a man with a hand—”

“That would be better for defense, but—”

“Right. We’ll get you a knife and me a towel and—”

“No.” He didn’t know he was rising, rolling, pinning her beneath him on the cold deck until he was staring down at the way her hair fanned out around her like a halo. “Don’t joke about that. Never joke . . .”

“I know.”

“This isn’t a game, Zoe. It’s not a joke.”

“I know,” she said, softer.

“I don’t want you to ever have to kill a man—to live with that. But, sweetheart . . .” Her eyes went wide at the word, but it was too late to take it back. It was more important to make her see. “If that ever happens . . . if it’s ever you or them and I’m not there . . . Then you need to promise me, Zoe. Don’t wound. Kill.”

Sawyer didn’t realize how cold he was until he felt her warm hand on his cheek, brushing away the tears that were never going to be there. The part of him that could cry had died a hundred years before. It was the first part to go and the last part he’d miss.

“I promise.”

The world was suddenly too cold and too quiet and too still, so he rolled away, but not far enough because he could feel the back of her hand against his—a gentle brush—and they lay sprawled on the deck for a long time, looking up at the sun that was setting in the distance. He wasn’t sure what time it was. He didn’t even know where they were. But the scariest part, Sawyer had to admit, was that he didn’t care. Which was how he knew he had to leave her. Soon. Before he got any sloppier—before they both got killed.

“Hey, Sawyer,” Zoe said, her voice breaking through the peaceful calm. “Thank you. In case I haven’t said it, thank you for saving my life and giving me the bed and letting me try to kick you where it hurts.”

Her hand slipped into his, and his throat burned a little when he said, “Any time.” Then that hand oh so gently squeezed, and he didn’t want to let her go.

He had to let her go.

Because he had to keep her safe and he had to find her sister and he had to get the drive and stop the bad guy and figure out why Alex ran—from the CIA and from him. He had so much to do but the only thing he wanted was to lie there, holding her hand, and that was the scariest thing of all. He would have stayed there forever if she hadn’t let go and climbed to her feet.

“Now if you’ll excuse me . . . It’s formal night, so I’m going to go take a very long, very hot shower and put on a very slinky, very fancy dress.”

He tried not to grin. “I’ll be down in a bit to help you zip it.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” She pulled her hair into a knot on the top of her head, exposing the long, graceful line of her neck. “This one is really stretchy. And super low cut, so . . .”

He gulped. “Uh . . . how low cut?”

“Low enough,” she tossed over her shoulder and he tried not to groan as she walked away.

After that, Sawyer took his time, walking around the perimeter and double-checking their route and trying not to think about the clock that was ticking louder and louder in the back of his mind. He needed to stay with Zoe. And he needed to let her go. He needed to hide her somewhere. And they needed to start running and not stop until they reached the other side of the world.

All Sawyer knew for sure was that, right then, he had two choices: do his job or keep Zoe safe, and never before had the smart call and the right call been so diametrically opposed.

She wasn’t his job or his mission. She wasn’t his, and Sawyer couldn’t let himself forget it.

But as he passed the shops that lined the lobby, something caught his eye, but he didn’t reach for his gun. He reached for his wallet.

Predictability is death, he always said. Well, if his new post-Zoe life was any indication, he was going to live forever.