Page 58 of The Blonde Identity

“It wasn’t just about the card, was it? You needed... me?”

“Zoe...”

“You were going tostealme?Useme? That was why you helped me. That was why...”

It was all a lie. A lie and a fraud and a con. In that moment, she felt like just another knife or Go Bag or gun. She could imagine him telling someoneOh, that’s Zoe. She’s my second favorite sister...

“No, Zoe, listen. Please—”

But Zoe was already up and climbing over him. She was already walking away.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Him

He was an asshole. He knew the words in a half-dozen languages, but in every one it was absolutely true. He should let her walk away, cool down. Have her space. Only an asshole would bolt out of his seat and dart down the center aisle, saying, “It’s not what you think.”

“So it’smyfault”—Zoe spun on him—“that I heard the words that you said in the order that you said them? It’smyfault that you’re regretting the words thatyouused. That’smyfault?”

“No,” Sawyer said, but her face seemed to get a little more murder-y, so he tried, “Yes? Yes. And no. Maybe. What’s the right answer here?”

Then she groaned, whipped back around, and kept walking, out of that car and into the next. And Sawyer did the only thing that he could: he followed.

Sooner or later, she was going to have to listen to him. After all, sooner or later she was going to run out of train. But as she stepped into the small vestibule at the end of the car she stopped and turned.

“Why are you even here? I thought you were leaving me. Isn’t that why you took the...” But she trailed off, pieces coming together in her mind. “Oh. Of course. You’re following me so you can get this back.” She pulled the bank card out of her pocket, holding it like a magician who was getting ready to make it disappear. “Come to steal it from me? Again? Or did you come to stealme?”

The fact that she was willing to flash that card around showed just how little she understood the danger she was in, so he gently eased it back into her pocket and closed the door behind them.

But that meant they were closer than they had been, and she looked up at him, fire in her eyes.

“Get. Off.”

He took a step back, giving her space, but she didn’t move. “Get off the train,” she clarified before wheeling and heading toward the narrow door in the corner of the alcove. “I appreciate your assistance, but I can make it the rest of the way on my own.”

The words were strong and her eyes were cold, but there was an uncharacteristic lilt to her voice, a more-defiant-than-usual set to her chin as she said it, like she was bracing for a laugh, for a mock, for some kind of cruelty to be determined later.

“Go ahead,” she even told him. “Laugh. I can take it.”

He had to make her see—make her know—“I’m not laughing.”

It must have been the speeding train, why he felt unsteady on his feet. When Zoe pulled open the tiny door and stepped inside the even tinier compartment, it must have been temporary insanity that made Sawyer push in after her.

“Get out!”

“Not until you listen.” He slammed the door. He hadn’t even registered that it was the lavatory until she had to back up against the sink to make room for his big body.

“If you think I’m joining whatever the train version of the mile-high club is with you— Ouch!”

She banged her head against a small cabinet, so he used one hand to cup her head and the other to circle her waist and lift, setting her atop the counter and stepping in between her spread thighs.

“You were right,” he admitted. “I thought about using you. And then I thought about leaving you.”

“Uh...I know!”

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He let his eyes take her in, from her wild hair to the bruise to the—damn, was she bleeding again?It proved his point, though. He cursed silently to himself then grabbed a tissue and pressed it against her temple. He hated the way her eyes closed when he touched her—was it because her head hurt? Or something else?Because touching her hurt him, too, but he wasn’t anywhere near brave enough to say it.

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