The Blonde Identity (48)

“It’s so good to see you again.” He closed the door that led into the next car and stepped toward her.

He was slicker than the others, Zoe couldn’t help but notice. Expensive suit and hair that didn’t even blow in the wind. One look was enough to tell her he was the kind of man who liked precision and perfection in all things, and there wasn’t a doubt in Zoe’s mind he was more dangerous than all the goons combined.

“Get away from her, Collins.” There was an edge to Sawyer’s voice as he shifted, ready to pounce.

“Oh, now, Mr. Sawyer. She’s quite the catch. Surely we can . . .” Collins looked her up and down. He all but licked his lips. “. . . share her.”

Zoe’s whole body shook. Dots grew at the corner of her vision, and she thought she was going to be sick. She was going to die. She was going to—

“Touch her, and I’ll kill you.”

Sawyer’s voice was dark and deep and Zoe finally understood all those times he’d said he was a bad guy. A villain. A threat. Because, in that moment, he was the most dangerous, beautiful, terrible, wonderful thing she’d ever laid eyes on. He looked like someone who would follow his enemies to the ends of the earth; he was a specter in the shadows, a sound on the wind. He was the thing that went bump in the night and there was no place you could run, nowhere you could hide, nothing you could ever do to keep you safe from him.

And it was all Zoe could do not to fall head over heels in love with him. The jerkface.

But that didn’t change the fact that Sawyer was unarmed, and Collins was already raising his gun and aiming it right at Zoe.

“I’ve been so looking forward to this,” the man said and Sawyer growled and started to lunge, but, for some reason, all Zoe could think about was Paris—how it had felt to lie on the cold ground watching snowflakes fall in slow motion. Like she wasn’t even a part of her own body. That was how she felt right then. Outside herself. Detached.

She was aware, faintly, of the man shifting his aim as Sawyer launched himself across the car, but something was rising up inside of Zoe, and it made her kick—hard. The blow knocked the man back a step. Shock filled his face as he grabbed for a door handle that wasn’t there, a wall that couldn’t stop him. And Zoe didn’t think—didn’t wait. She just stepped closer and shoved.

The last thing she saw was the look on the stranger’s face as he fell.

The last thing she felt was relief.

And the last thing she heard was Sawyer saying, “What came over you?”

“I don’t know.” Zoe slammed the door. “But I liked it.”

The slow smile on his face was enough to tell her that she wasn’t the only one.





Chapter Thirty-Nine





Him


There were times to celebrate life’s little victories—really cherish a job well-done. This wasn’t one of those times. Because Collins didn’t work alone. Which meant the clock was ticking and running down fast, so Sawyer pushed Zoe toward the next car but stopped suddenly.

“Sawyer!” she cried.

“I’m down a gun.” He leaned over and picked up the weapon that he’d knocked out of the first man’s hand. “And now I’m not!”

Then he pushed her into the next car, ignoring the strange stares they were getting from the other passengers. Did they look like they’d just been in a fight? Probably. But he didn’t have time to do anything about it, so he didn’t take time to worry about it. That was one of his rules for life and covert operations and, really, it had been a long time since Sawyer had been able to tell the difference.

They were pushing out of one car and into the next vestibule when Zoe looked at him. “So I guess Kozlov found us.”

Oh, how he wished she hadn’t said that. Because he didn’t want to lie to her, but he also really didn’t want to tell her the truth.

“What?” She stopped. Because the truth was going to make her do that. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh . . . more walking, less freaking out, please.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He pushed her toward the next car. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

For a second, she looked confused. “There’s good news?”

They’d reached the back of the train by then, the end of the line. It was as good a place as any to tell her, “Kozlov doesn’t know where we are.”

She was positively glowing. “Really?”

“But the CIA does.”

It took a moment for her face to dim as she slowly realized . . . “I killed a CIA agent?”

He reached for the door. “Who? Collins? No! You didn’t kill him. Probably. Maybe. There’s only like a twenty percent chance you—”

“Not helping!” But that wasn’t even the bad part, and he saw the moment she caught on. “Is there any chance he didn’t tell anyone where we were before . . .”

“You threw him off a moving train? No. They know we’re on this train. Which means they’re going to be waiting on us.”

“Is this your way of telling me we’re not going to the bank now?”

He pulled open the door and peeked outside. There were houses around the bend, a highway visible through the trees. Civilization was coming up fast, so he closed the door and went to the other side of the train—of the mountain. Nothing but hills and rocks and trees and snow.