The Blonde Identity: A Novel

There were times to celebrate life’s little victories—really cherish a job well-done. This wasn’t one of those times. Because Collins didn’t work alone. Which meant the clock was ticking and running down fast, so Sawyer pushed Zoe toward the next car but stopped suddenly.

“Sawyer!” she cried.

“I’m down a gun.” He leaned over and picked up the weapon that he’d knocked out of the first man’s hand. “And now I’m not!”

Then he pushed her into the next car, ignoring the strange stares they were getting from the other passengers. Did they look like they’d just been in a fight? Probably. But he didn’t have time to do anything about it, so he didn’t take time to worry about it. That was one of his rules for life and covert operations and, really, it had been a long time since Sawyer had been able to tell the difference.

They were pushing out of one car and into the next vestibule when Zoe looked at him. “So I guess Kozlov found us.”

Oh, how he wished she hadn’t said that. Because he didn’t want to lie to her, but he also really didn’t want to tell her the truth.

“What?” She stopped. Because the truth was going to make her do that. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh . . . more walking, less freaking out, please.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He pushed her toward the next car. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

For a second, she looked confused. “There’s good news?”

They’d reached the back of the train by then, the end of the line. It was as good a place as any to tell her, “Kozlov doesn’t know where we are.”

She was positively glowing. “Really?”

“But the CIA does.”

It took a moment for her face to dim as she slowly realized . . . “I killed a CIA agent?”

He reached for the door. “Who? Collins? No! You didn’t kill him. Probably. Maybe. There’s only like a twenty percent chance you—”

“Not helping!” But that wasn’t even the bad part, and he saw the moment she caught on. “Is there any chance he didn’t tell anyone where we were before . . .”

“You threw him off a moving train? No. They know we’re on this train. Which means they’re going to be waiting on us.”

“Is this your way of telling me we’re not going to the bank now?”

He pulled open the door and peeked outside. There were houses around the bend, a highway visible through the trees. Civilization was coming up fast, so he closed the door and went to the other side of the train—of the mountain. Nothing but hills and rocks and trees and snow.

Snow was good. The more snow the better, he thought as he threw open the door and yelled over the roar of the wind. “No! It’s my way of telling you . . .”

“Oh! We’re slowing—”

“Try to protect your head when you fall!”

And then he pushed her.

Two seconds later, Sawyer followed.