Page 13 of The Blonde Identity

He was always cautious, but he was practically pulsing with awareness as he pulled out his gun. “Here. Hold this.”

“I don’t know what to do with that!”

“I didn’t saydosomething with it.Geez!No! The last thing I want is for you todosomething. Just”—his tone was especially gentle, like he was handing her a newborn baby—“hold it.”

So she took it. The gun was heavier than it looked and warm from his hand and she was so focused on not accidentally shooting them both that it took her a moment to notice—

“Are you making a snowball?”

“Yup.” He pressed the snow together, packing it tight; then he rose and tossed it at a third-floor window. But the alley was narrow and the window was high, and the snowball landed against the underside of the sill with a splat.

“Shit,” he said, then he bent down and made another one, aiming for the tall window like they were at some kind of carnival and he was trying to win her a prize.

“Um, just out of curiosity, why are we throwing snowballs at a window?”

“The paint on the door was chipped. I just need to check on something,” he said as the third snowball crashed into the glass.

The sound was so loud it almost echoed, and she worried someone might come investigate and find her holding a gun that had recently shot a very large number of very large men.

But he just stood there for a long time, quietly staring up, until—“Hey!” He sounded almost hopeful and more than a little bit relieved. “I guess we’re clear.” He gave her a smile that could fire the sun.

And then the apartment exploded.

Chapter Nine

Him

“Shit. Shit. Double shit. Shit.”

“Language,” the woman beside him said, sounding far too prim for someone who still had a Glock in her hand and—Oh shit, he realized. She still had his Glock in her hand.

“I’ll take that.” Sawyer grabbed the gun with his right hand and reached for her with his left, felt her delicate fingers interlace with his even though that had to be sloppy tradecraft. Hand-holding. It served no purpose whatsoever and slowed reaction times by at least a second. But her fingers were like ice and her eyes were huge, and she was shaking despite the orange-red flames that were breaking through the—

Oh right.Flames. Windows. Explosion.That’s what made Sawyer pull his gaze from hers and drag her to the end of the alley.

“Uh... what just happened?” It was a fair question, but he was still too mad to answer.

“Shit! That was my second favorite safe house.”

And that seemed to be the thing that threw her because she blurted, “You havetwosafe houses?”

“Oh, don’t kid yourself, lady, I have way more than two. That was just my second favorite.”

Black smoke billowed behind them, and sirens blared in the distance, coming this way fast, so Sawyer let go of her hand and tugged off his cap—crammed it in his pocket—and threw an arm around her shoulders because thatwasactual tradecraft.

Covers come in all shapes and sizes, and right then the best placeto hide was in the middle of the sidewalk. Head down. Beautiful woman beside him. Looking to all the world like two lovers taking a stroll through falling snow.

“Just try to look natural,” he told her.

“None of this is natural!” she shouted, then gave the quietest scream he’d ever heard.

“Okay. Maybe try a little harder than that.”

He pulled her tighter against him and felt her sink into his side. Maybe because she understood the cover but more than likely because she was simply exhausted. Hell, even he was tired and he wasn’t walking around on stilts and with a concussion.

He wouldn’t have blamed her for complaining or arguing or just lying down in the street and giving up, but she kept walking on those impossible heels, and he knew, suddenly, that Alex wasn’t the only tough one in the family. With every icy step his respect for her grew a little more.

“So what was that back there?” she asked when they reached the end of the block.

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