Page 37 of The Blonde Identity

She actually thought he might have drifted off because it was a long time before she heard, “I’m always on duty.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Her

Maybe it was the jet lag or the three-hour nap or the many, many, many pink beverages, but sometime in the night Zoe had to get up and use the bathroom. Sure enough, eyes were staring back at her in the dark. She would have apologized for waking him, but as she made her way back to bed, he was smirking, a look that saidtold you so. So Zoe stayed quiet as she crawled beneath the covers.

It was her first memory of silence. There had always been shooting or running or talking. Even the sounds of the ship—room service carts, and guests passing in the halls—had gone dormant in the middle of the night. But now Zoe could hear her own thoughts. She wasn’t sure she liked them.

Because the longer she lay there, the more they piled on top of one another, a wall of questions with no answers. Likewhere was she supposed to be sleeping, andwhat was she supposed to be doing, and, most of all,who was she supposed to be doing those things with?She couldn’t stop wondering if someone was out there—missing her, needing her, wondering why she hadn’t come home? What if—at that very moment—there was someone going crazy without her?

Or, worse, a tiny, terrible part of her wondered,what if there wasn’t?

“You okay up there?” Sawyer asked because clearly the CIA had next-gen brain reading technology implanted in all their operatives.

“Yes. No.”

“Well, that’s clear.”

She didn’t turn. Didn’t look. It was enough to feel him, a calmingpresence in the night. He was four guns, three knives, and six-foot-two inches of dangerous. And he was on her side. But this wasn’t something he could kill, so she just whispered, “It’s nothing.”

“Hey.” His voice was gentle. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Her eyes were a little too wet, all of a sudden. “It is. It’s silly.”

“Then you should definitely tell me. I could use a laugh.”

But she was the one who giggled softly. “I... It’s just...” She’d been terrified the night before, stumbling through the snow and the shadows, but lying in that beautiful room, something about the darkness made her brave. That’s the only reason she had the strength to ask, “Do you think I’m in love?”

It sounded so silly when she heard it, and immediately, she wanted to take it back, roll over. Pretend like she was asleep, but it was too late. She heard the rustle of the blanket as he sat up. “What?”

“Nothing.” She turned on her side, away from him; but they were in a hall of mirrors and his gaze bore through the dark.

“Hey.” The bed dipped beneath his weight. “What did you say?”

Fingers brushed against her shoulder, faint and whisper soft, and, suddenly, her eyes felt hot again. She didn’t want to face him.

“I said... Do you think I’m in love?” Suddenly, the weight of the silence was too heavy, pressing against her, pushing out the words she should have kept inside. “I mean, do you think there’s someone in the world who makes my heart beat really fast and my fingers tingle? I remember tingly fingers. But I don’t know if I have them or if I justwantto have them? Do you think I’d know it? Because love isn’t a memory, right? It’s a feeling. So do you think I’ve forgotten being in love? Or am I just not?”

She felt fingers in her hair, a slow, gentle stroke that made her eyelids heavy. “I think...” The words were as soft as the moonlight. “...that you’ve had a shit day, lady. And you’ll feel better in the morning.”

She felt warm breath on her shoulder and the quick brush of soft lips on her skin before he pulled away and returned to his place onthe floor. But a few minutes later, she heard, “You know, most people would ask,do you think someone loves me?”

Zoe closed her eyes. She pretended to sleep. She didn’t want to admit that, deep down, she already knew the answer was no.

***

He was a liar. A lying liar who lies. She could tell because people who don’t sleep don’t dream, and people who don’t dream don’t scream “No!” as they toss and turn.

“Sawyer.”

She slid out of bed and crawled across the carpet toward the man who was a tangle of blankets and flailing limbs, sweaty skin and—

“Helena!” he shouted, and Zoe froze, knowing she shouldn’t be hearing this—seeing this. She didn’t want to be an intruder in his dreams.

But he was lashing out again, sheer anguish on his face, and, on instinct, she reached for him. As soon as she touched his bare shoulder he pounced. Like an animal—an apex predator—something strong, and territorial, and alpha—as he twisted, pressing her against the floor and—

“Sawyer!”

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