Page 83 of The Blonde Identity

Him

Sawyer should have relaxed. They wouldn’t have put her in the elevator if they hadn’t bought the ruse, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around how anyone could ever confuse Zoe and Alex. But, more importantly, how had he?

Alex was all sharp edges and straight lines. Zoe was softness and sweetness and sass. She was quirky comebacks and knowing winks. And yet there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Zoe was the more dangerous sister.

Because she made him hope.

She made him want.

She made him wonder if maybe there might be more to life than covers and legends and lies. Zoe made him long for something real. Maybe if they found the drive... Maybe if they took Kozlov off the board... Maybe if the powers that be would let him walk away... Then maybe...

He glanced down at his watch: eight minutes until closing.

The sun was down, and darkness had fallen over Zurich. Pedestrians cut across the park. Buses started and stopped on the busy street. But Sawyer stood perfectly still in the square, his gaze never leaving the doorway.

And that was his first mistake.

Chapter Fifty-One

Her

Well, at least I’m not claustrophobic, Zoe thought as she stood beside the woman in the burgundy blazer, riding the tiny elevator deep underground. She had no idea how long it took. She didn’t think about how far they went. All she knew was that when the doors finally opened, they were in a room that was all stainless steel and glass and... wait. Were those lasers?

The woman swiped an ID badge through a reader and the red lines flickered.

Yup. Definitely lasers.

Suddenly, her leather pants seemed even tighter and Zoe couldn’t get a deep breath. She wanted Sawyer’s hand in hers, his voice in her ear. She wanted to go back to being Mrs. Michaelson or at least the person she’d been at the cabin—the woman who slept in old T-shirts and Sawyer’s arms. Yeah, Zoe thought wistfully, she’d liked being her a lot. And maybe she’d get to be her again. Just as soon as she stopped being Alex.

She followed the woman to a large alcove behind a velvet curtain. It looked like a dressing room at the world’s stuffiest department store.

“I’ll only be a moment,” the woman said then pulled the curtain behind her, leaving Zoe alone.

“I’m in,” she whispered, but all she heard back was static. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but... I miss you. Darn it. Now I hope you can’t hear me. That was—”

“Here we go!” the woman said a little too cheerfully as she slid aside the velvet curtain and placed a box on a narrow table. Shepulled the curtain. She walked away. But Zoe didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe. She just stared down at the box like it held the secrets of the universe and she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to know them anymore. Somehow, she knew that her life would be divided into two sections: before that moment and after. And she couldn’t help but worry about what was waiting on the other side.

She might have stood there forever—staring—but the clock on the wall was ticking way too loudly, echoing off the stone and steel. So Zoe took a deep breath and threw open the lid and looked down at a handful of passports, some cash, a handgun.

And there—right on top—a flash drive.

A spotlight didn’t shine and angels didn’t sing, but they could have; because it was there. That was it. She’d been right and she wanted to high-five the world—and maybe she would—just as soon as she changed clothes. She grabbed the drive and slipped it into her cleavage because, really, where else was she supposed to put it? She filled her jacket pockets with cash and was already reaching for the curtain when it slid aside again.

She half expected the woman to ask if she could get Zoe something in another size, but her arms were already full.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” The woman looked surprised. “Did you not wish to see your second box?”

Your second box.

Zoe heard the words. She saw the box. It was right there—in the woman’s arms. But she was sure she must have misunderstood. The same nerves that had been doing a dance a moment before were suddenly frozen, midkick. Like someone had hit pause on the world.

“My second box?”

The woman put the box on the table and held up the piece of paper—the one Zoe had nervously filled out while she rambled. Sure enough, the last three digits were different from the number on the little black card. So Zoe stood there for a long time, looking between hertwoboxes. And she couldn’t help but whisper, “Muscle memory.”

She hadn’t remembered that box existed, but her hand had known to write the number.

“Ma’am?” The woman was starting to sound confused—concerned. Leery.

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