Page 27 of The Blonde Identity

It was hard to make himself admit, “No. I don’t.”

“Do you know where we can find that flash drive?”

He was a little too quiet for a little too long before he swallowed. “No.”

“Do you have access to a nearby safe house that absolutely, positively will not blow up when we get there?”

That time, Sawyer had to think about the answer. There was a place they could go—a place that was secret. And safe. And a day’s drive away. But he hadn’t been there in decades, and he was really hoping to keep the streak going a little longer—preferably for the rest of his life.

“Well... is there?” she prompted, and slowly, he shook his head.

“No.”

“Do you have any idea how to stop this Kokopov—”

“Kozlov.”

“—person and end this thing?”

She sat there for a long time, willing to wait him out and make him say it. “No. I don’t.”

“Then where are we going to go? Huh? What are we going to do when we get there? We don’t knowanything! Except my feet hurt. And my head hurts. And right now—at this moment—one hundred percent of my memories are about running, and I can’t...” Her lips quivered and her voice cracked and, with it, his defenses, his resolve—maybe even part of his soul. “I just can’t...”

“Hey.” He dropped down on the bed, but she was still too far away and wrapped up in way too many layers.

“I don’t know who I am!”

“I know.” He inched closer but she didn’t fall into his arms, which... well... he didn’t want her to anyway.

“I don’t know what happened to me or how I got to Paris or why or... I don’t know anything except this bed is very big and these sheets are very soft and those little cheeses are very good, and I just need something good, Sawyer. I just...” She wasn’t crying. It was like she’d lost her tears when she lost her money and her memories and her name. “I don’t know who I am.”

There were several hours of daylight left, but it was suddenly dark inside the honeymoon suite. Shadows lined her face, and he’dnever felt more defenseless than when he sat there, watching her demons win.

Sawyer couldn’t tell her who she was. He couldn’t track down her memories. He might not even be able to track down her sister. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do something.

He looked around. There was a pad of paper and a pen by the phone, so he got up and grabbed them, tossed them on the bed beside her. “Do me a favor and get this pen to work, will you?”

At first, she just sat there, looking up at him like he was very much a useless man. Then she pulled the lid off with her teeth and spat it halfway across the room, ado I have to do everything?look on her face, but he leaned against the table, crossed his arms, and tried not to smile and call her a smart-ass.

“So let’s say we go with your plan, what then?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” she whined. “What were we going to do if you hadn’t blown up your second favorite safe house with a snowball?”

“The snowball didn’t actually...” He rubbed a hand across his face as he trailed off. “I don’t know. I probably would have kept checking safe houses. Called up some old friends... or enemies.” He gave an ironic laugh. “Maybe her archnemesis has heard from her.”

Her eyes went wide. It was herexcitedface and he was starting to fear it.

“Ooh! Alex has a nemesis? Are they enemies to—”

“They arenothingto lovers!” Sawyer blurted, and her face fell. “Besides. He got out of the game five years ago and Alex hates his guts.”

“But you think he might have heard from her?” she asked.

“I think she’s got to be somewhere,” he told her softly, wishing like hell he didn’t have to say the next part but knowing she needed to hear it. “But the clock’s ticking. The agencies have unlimited resources. And Kozlov? If she has a weakness, sooner or later, he’ll find it. And his guys will use it.”

“You mean sooner or later, they’ll find me.” He wanted to go to her, hold her, tell her it would be okay, but she just threw the pen and paper at him. “Here. It works. Weirdo.”

He looked down at the paper and didn’t try to hide his grin. “Watch who you’re calling a weirdo . . . Zoe.”

---