The Blonde Identity: A Novel

Sawyer looked into the darkness at the place where Zoe used to be. In his heart he was still reaching for her, grabbing for her, pulling her close and keeping her safe. But in his head, he was hoping she fell hard and fast and was already halfway down the mountain.

It was maybe the truest thing he’d ever told her—that everyone was safer far away from him.

The wind had picked up and snow swirled through the yellow beams of the Bentley’s headlights. The whole fucking world was swirling, and he thought he was going to be sick. Because Zoe was gone, dissolved in the darkness like she’d never been there at all.

“Your woman has heart,” Kozlov muttered, almost like he approved.

And Sawyer had to remember. “She’s not my woman.”

“If she is not dead, will she make trouble?” Kozlov asked, and Sawyer tried to keep a straight face. It was harder than it should have been because . . . Oh yeah. Zoe would make trouble.

He wanted to chase after her, beg with her, plead with her. He’d make her understand and—

“You fucking bitch!” Kozlov’s favorite henchman shouted. Sawyer heard the sickening crunch of fist meeting face, and he remembered . . .

Alex was still here . . . The drive was still here . . . His job was still here . . . And if he jumped, Kozlov’s guys would follow. Kozlov’s guys would find him, and if they found him, they’d find Zoe. And the truth was Zoe was the most naturally resourceful person he’d ever undercovered with. She’d be safer without him.

If she wasn’t unconscious . . .

If she wasn’t bleeding . . .

If she wasn’t broken . . .

If . . .

“I’ll go after her. Make sure she can’t cause any more trouble.” He was starting to jump. He was starting to fly, when Kozlov gave a shrug.

“We have this.” The old man held up the drive while his thugs threw Alex into the back seat of the Bentley. “Leave the blonde. She is nothing.”

Sawyer turned back to the abyss one last time, searching for any sign—any sound.

She is everything.