The Blonde Identity: A Novel

Zoe wanted to look out the window and watch the little town slip away as the train pulled out of the station and headed into the Alps, but she knew to keep her head down and the collar of Mr. Michaelson’s coat turned up. She didn’t want to be seen. But she didn’t want to admit who she was hiding from, either—not until a figure appeared in the corner of her eye and a deep voice said, “Can we talk about this?”

When Sawyer dropped into the seat beside her, she wished it came with an ejector feature. All she wanted to do was kick him out—of that seat . . . of the train . . . of her life. She had no choice but to reach for the safety information pamphlet in the seatback in front of her. It was riveting stuff. Plus, knowing her luck, she was probably going to need the emergency protocols sooner or later.

“Zoe . . .”

“I’m reading.”

“Zo.”

“Don’t call me Zo. My friends call me Zo. Or they would if I could remember having friends. Which I don’t.”

“And that’s not my fault!”

But she just huffed and turned the page of her safety card so that she could read it again. In German this time. Because safety was important.

He looked up and down the nearly empty train car. “Where are we going? Please tell me you didn’t ask for a train to Zurich? Please tell me . . .”

“Of course not. I bought a ticket for the first train out of town. I didn’t even ask where it was heading.”

He blew out a relieved breath. “Good. I guess that’s . . .” But then he trailed off. He seemed to remember. “How’d you buy a ticket?”

She was still holding up her safety card. (It was just as riveting in French.) Her left hand was right there, practically at eye level, and she heard it in his voice the moment he realized . . . “You sold your wedding ring.”

There was real heartbreak on her fake husband’s face, and it shouldn’t have given her such satisfaction, the wave of shock and disappointment that filled his eyes. But it did. And she didn’t try to hide her self-satisfied grin. She was tired of hiding, period.

“We aren’t actually married, remember?” Did she sound childish? Yup. Did she care? Not even a little.

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Where are you even going? What are you going to do when you get there?”

“I’m going to save my sister.”

“Alex can save herself,” he said and she scoffed. “She can. All she has to do is come in from the cold. Pick up the phone. Walk into any embassy. Get on a plane to Langley. Sure, she’d have to answer some questions from some extremely unpleasant people, but Alex can save herself.”

The train was at full speed then, the trees nothing but a snowy blur outside the window as Zoe turned to face the glass. But what she saw was him, a reflection on the window, a ghost behind her back.

“I get it. I do. You think I don’t know Alex because I can’t remember my address or Social Security number or the name of my second-grade teacher. But I know how to breathe and tie my shoes. I know the words to at least thirty Taylor Swift songs and that if I sit in that backward-facing seat over there I’ll want to throw up in fifteen minutes. I may not remember Alex. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t know her. And I’m telling you, she’s not a traitor. And I’m going to prove it.”

For a moment, Sawyer just stared at her like maybe he should have left her at the bottom of the river, tied up on the dirt floor, stuck in that snowbank in Paris, making angels out of snow and blood.

He drew a deep breath. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but how, exactly, are you planning on saving your sister?”

Zoe had been under the impression that Sawyer was smart. Zoe was evidently mistaken. “With this!” She held up the bank card. “You think the drive is there, don’t you?”

“I don’t know that—”

“Well, I’m going to get it.” She felt so proud of herself with her train ticket and her plan and her mission. But then he had to go and paste a smug look on his smug face.

“Really? What’s the plan? Walk in and pretend like you’re your own twin sister?”

“Why not? The Parent Trap is a classic—”

“No!”

“No what?”

“No, I’m not going to let you risk your life because of some movie you can’t even remember.”

“I remember The Parent Trap.”

“How—”

“I don’t know! Okay? Maybe that’s stored in a part of my brain that isn’t broken.” She hated how her voice cracked, how her eyes burned. “Maybe there’s a part of me that isn’t broken, believe it or not.”

It was either the best thing to say or the worst—Zoe couldn’t tell because everything about Sawyer changed in that moment. “I believe it,” he said. “I do. But, Zoe, it won’t work.”

“How do you—”

“Because I already thought of it! I’ve thought about it a million times and . . .” Oh, he was regretting those words. She could see it in his eyes. And she knew.

“It wasn’t just about the card, was it? You needed . . . me?”

“Zoe . . .”

“You were going to steal me? Use me? That was why you helped me. That was why . . .”

It was all a lie. A lie and a fraud and a con. In that moment, she felt like just another knife or Go Bag or gun. She could imagine him telling someone Oh, that’s Zoe. She’s my second favorite sister . . .

“No, Zoe, listen. Please—”

But Zoe was already up and climbing over him. She was already walking away.