Page 92 of The Blonde Identity

He’d had to keep her isolated. He’d needed to keep her alone. It was almost embarrassing how easy that must have been. She was so gullible and desperate.

And lonely.

It would have been so easy to blame the amnesia, but Zoe knew that wasn’t it. She would have been susceptible to his charm and his smile and his muscles—to whatever gravity kept her in his orbit—no matter what, and thinking about it... Well, thinking about it didn’t change it, so Zoe tried not to think about it at all.

Instead, she used a little of the cash she’d shoved in her pockets to buy some food and a sweatshirt that saidswitzerland is cheesy!Then she bribed a taxi driver into taking her all the way to Zurich. But, most of all, Zoe tried very, very hard not to cry.

Because even though she hadn’t gotten her entire memory back yet, she’d remembered enough to know that while Alex had spenttheir childhood learning how to kill a man with crayons, Zoe had been busy writing fan fiction about the hot Smurf with the pencil behind his ear.

Alex was the strong one. Alex was the tough one. Alex was the one who was made to take on international villains and lying hot guys, and Zoe was... not.

There was no way Zoe could write her way out of this one, so she’d go to the embassy. She’d turn herself in. She’d tell her story and get some help. The CIA could get Alex back. The intelligence services of the world could deal with Kozlov.

Maybe if she was lucky, they’d let her enter the witness protection program—get a whole new life because, the truth was, she wasn’t in a hurry to remember her old one.

But the closer the cab got to the embassy, the more the little voice in the back of her head began to whisper—like someone talking through your favorite movie, intent on ruining the kissy parts.

With every second, the voice got louder, asking,Then why didn’t Alex hand over the disk?AndHow did you get the bank card?AndWhat were you doing in Paris?

Zoe could see the gates on the next block, the flags. The marines. Oh, how she wanted to run toward the marines, but the voice was right there, saying,Then why doesn’t Alex trust the CIA?

And Zoe could no longer ignore the fact that, if Sawyer being bad were the answer, then she shouldn’t still have so many questions.

He’d told her not to trust him. Not to believe him. He’d called himself a liar so many times that a tiny, traitorous part of her heart had to wonder if maybe Sawyer hadn’t been lying abouteverything—just the big things. Like who he was and why he was putting up with her and whether or not she could actually pull off leather pants.

“Hey, lady,” the driver said from the front seat. “You have euro?”

Yes. Cash. Of course. She’d promised half up front and half when they got here, so she leaned forward and dug into her jacket pocket.

And that’s when she felt the envelope.

And that’s when she remembered the second box.

And that’s why Zoe sat there, staring at her name in her sister’s writing, feeling like maybe she was tempting fate. Alex had given her access to that box in case she died, after all. And Alex was alive.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

There was a small chance that Alex was still alive, and if Alex was alive, then Zoe had to keep her that way!

But how was she supposed to do that? Exactly?

In the next moment, she was ripping open the envelope and pulling out a note. Maybe Alex loved her. Maybe Alex missed her. Maybe Alex wanted Zoe to know that she would never be alone as long as she kept Alex in her heart. Maybe...

Z,

A lot of people would kill for this. It’s the only copy. Keep it safe.

—A

Well, that was anticlimactic, Zoe thought just before she tipped the envelope and something fell into her palm and she looked down at—

The flash drive.

For a moment, Zoe thought she must have hit her head again, because she distinctly remembered pulling the drive from Alex’s box. She remembered handing it to Sawyer and—her stomach soured—Sawyer handing it to Kozlov.

But what if Alex made a decoy? What if Kozlov had a fake?

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