Page 28 of The Blonde Identity

Maybe it was the adrenaline crash or just the aftermath of her quiet, indignant rage, but it seemed to take her a moment to hear it—to realize what he’d said.

He tossed the paper back onto the bed, watched her scramble for it then look down at the pretty writing in wonder.

Zoe.

“How...”

He didn’t want to smirk but that didn’t mean he was able to stop it. “Ask someone to test a pen and nine times out of ten they’ll write their own name.”

“I don’t remember my name.”

“Your muscles do.”

He thought he heard her mumble something aboutbutt kickingbut he was too busy watching the smile bloom on her face to ask.

“I’m Zoe.” She looked younger than she had five minutes before, and the light was back in her eyes, and Jake Sawyer, a man who had spent the past decade doing very bad things to very bad people, couldn’t bear the thought of putting it out.

“No, you’re not.” He looked from the banks of the Seine to the woman on the bed and resigned himself to what he had to do. “Until you’re rested up and we have some kind of game plan... You’re Mrs. Michaelson.”

Chapter Nineteen

Him

Sawyer let her sleep. At some point in his training he’d been lectured about head wounds and concussion protocols, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open and between her full stomach and the gentle swaying of the ship and the knowledge that she had a name—Zoe, he reminded himself; Zoe had a name—she must have felt safe enough to roll back up in her blanket burrito and drift into the deepest sleep he’d ever seen.

He hated her for it.

Sawyer couldn’t remember the last time he had slept—had dreamed.Sleep with one eye openwas a cliché but it was also a way of life. And his way of life was killing him. Probably sooner than he hoped.

So he sat on the world’s most uncomfortable chair and watched her sleep because he couldn’t stand the thought of letting her out of his sight, and he didn’t dare stop to wonder why.

After a while, there was a knock on the door and Sawyer bolted across the suite before the sound could wake her.

Peering through the fish-eye lens he saw a man dressed in the uniform of theShimmering Sea. He looked like he belonged, but the good ones always did, and Sawyer wasn’t in the mood to take chances. The man was raising a fist to knock again when Sawyer opened the door and realized a little too late that he still had a gun in his hand.

“Shi— Hi.” He leaned against the door.Nothing to see here. Nope. Just your regular honeymoon dude who is worn out from all the enthusiastic boat and airplane sex.

“Mr. Michaelson?” the man asked like he didn’t already know the answer.

“Yes.”

“I’m Ramon, your butler. I have your luggage, sir. My apologies that it wasn’t waiting in your room, but we were told you wouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, storm messed up our flights,” Sawyer said easily because that’s what happens when your whole life was a lie. Eventually, it’s the truth that you can’t tell with a straight face.

“So sorry about the confusion, sir. Shall I bring it in and unpack?”

“What?”These people unpack for you?“No. I mean, my... uh...wifeis sleeping.”

He glanced back at Zoe: bare foot sticking out from under the blankets, hair fanned around her. She looked well and truly debauched and a knowing grin spread across Ramon’s face. “Yes, sir.”

Sawyer wanted to defend Zoe’s honor, but he didn’t know why. And the cover meant letting Ramon think it. If anything, the cover meant raising an eyebrow in a way that saidyeah, I’m a stud but don’t make me knock your teeth out for leering at my woman.

But Sawyer didn’t have a woman—and he never would—so he just said, “I’ll take those bags now.”

He never moved away from the door. He never took his eyes off the man. And it wasn’t until the corridor was empty that he realized he’d clicked off the Glock’s safety.

“Who was that and did they want to kill me?” Zoe’s voice was soft from sleep and the words sounded like they were coming from a mile away, but he could see her face in ten million reflective surfaces because, evidently, honeymooners on theShimmering Seaare really into mirrors. Kinky bastards. The whole room looked like the inside of a disco ball.

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