Page 95 of The Blonde Identity

***

Sawyer was almost to the water before he found a place quiet enough to pull out a burner phone and try the number again. The call connected, but he wasn’t actually expecting to hear—

“You have two new messages.”

He was holding his breath when her voice came through the line a moment later.

“Hi. Hello. It’s me. Zoe. This message is for Sawyer. Or whatever his name is. If he gets this. If this is even a real number, which... nothing else was real, so...” Her voice cracked then trailed off and he heard the muffled words, “Shoot. Delete. Delete. Dele—”BEEP.

When the second message began it was still Zoe’s voice but everything about the tone was different, like she’d spent an hour on YouTube watching videos calledHow to Be a Badass.

“If this is Sawyer, listen up. There’s an outdoor ice rink just outside of Zurich. Meet me there at noon tomorrow. Come alone or you’ll be sorry.” The line was silent for a long time before she added, “This is Zoe, by the way. Uh. Bye.”

Sawyer noted the time and the place, but when the service askedif he wanted to delete the messages or hear them again, he deleted the second and saved the first. Kept his phone to his ear and listened to her voice again.

And again.

And again.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Him

The next day, Sawyer came to the ice rink alone, and he got there early.

He’d replayed Zoe’s message a dozen times, always listening for something in her voice that would tell him if she’d gotten hurt in the fall, trying to hear some noise in the background—a clue where she might be. Was she warm enough? Safe enough? Did she have money for food and shelter and slightly-more-comfortable shoes? He needed to know. He neededher.

Kozlov’s guys were looking for her again. The agencies were no doubt still after Alex. So Sawyer had to find her before someone else did. The only question was, what was he going to do with her then? Kidnap her for real this time? Lock her up inside another cruise ship? Force her to wear even more leather pants? But would that be torturing her or torturing him? Really, it was a toss-up.

So he sipped his coffee and scanned the outdoor skating rink that was just outside the city. The scratchy sound system was playing music, and the crowd was getting thicker with people lacing up their skates, kids calling outwatch me, watch me!But he wasn’t worried that he’d miss her. No. Zoe was never going to be invisible to him ever again. The only question was had she changed her hair? Would she still be dressed like Alex? Or would she look like the woman from the snowbank? Maybe like Mrs.—

“Michaelson!” At first he thought he’d willed the name into existence—that he’d dreamed it. “Paging Mr. Michaelson to the concession area. Paging Mr.—”

“I’m Michaelson,” he told the girl in the booth. “You paged—”

“Your wife left something for you.” The girl scanned him up and down, as if trying to decide if he was worthy, then she held out a small padded envelope and popped a bubble with the gum he hadn’t even realized she was chewing.

“Where’s my wife...” He was looking around. “Where is Mrs. Michaelson?”

“Oh”—the girl’s mouth curved into a curious grin, like sitting behind that desk was an interesting job all of a sudden—“she’s already gone.”

The words hit Sawyer so hard that he was turning—he was already walking away before he remembered the package. He ignored every bit of his training as he ripped it open and tipped it out and a small silver ring landed on the palm of his hand.

Even though he knew it couldn’t still be warm from her skin, it burned him, searing into his flesh like a brand, a mark that only he could see and feel but would last for the rest of his life.

Whatever sliver of hope he’d held on to died in that instant. He was a guy who did bad things for good reasons and that was never going to change. Someday soon, he’d get Alex back and take Kozlov down. But there would always be another Kozlov and another cover and another mission until the man he’d been with Zoe faded away forever.

Good. Let him die, Sawyer thought just as a phone began to ring. He dug back into the envelope and pulled out a burner.

“Zoe!” Sawyer’s pulse was in his ears as he answered. “Are you okay?”

“Is my sister alive?”

“Are you okay?” he asked again because how was he supposed to say anything else? That mountain she’d fallen down was eight hundred meters high. He knew. He’d looked it up. And now her voice was on the other end of the line—he could even hear her breathing. “Are you hurt?”

Someone must have fallen on the ice because an ambulance wasapproaching, the sirens so loud he heard them in stereo. Here. And also through the phone. Which meant that Zoe was close. Zoe was there.

It was like diving into freezing water, looking through the dark. He hadn’t been able to see her that night in the river. He’dfelther, sensed her. Known her. So he took off at a run, following the sound of the sirens. Through the people and around the buildings then into the trees at the edge of the—

---