Wait, she realized. She hadn’t moved.
But, suddenly, she could see the sky. The falling snow. And the look on Mr. Hot Guy’s face as he stood over her, a smoking gun in his hand and bleeding bodies all around them as he said, “Damn it, Alex. I should kill you myself.”
Chapter Four
Him
Sawyer had a hold of her arm and he wasn’t letting go. Not yet. Maybe not ever. They’d been walking for five minutes, but Alex still had that strange look in her eye—like she was going to turn around and bolt. Like there was anywhere she could go that he wouldn’t find her. Like he didn’t know all her usual haunts. Like they hadn’t been his haunts first.
But she hadn’t gone to any of their usual places this time, had she? From the looks of her, she must have been roaming the streets for hours. Which wasn’t the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. Predictability was death, after all. And nothing about Alex had been predictable tonight. At all.
He took another look at her. Blonde wig. Plaid dress. A too-thin jacket and boots with a flimsy heel. Could she even run in that getup?
“Cool cover, Alex. Did you really think the sexy librarian look was going to keep the goon squad from recognizing you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She looked like someone who couldn’t decide whether or not to be offended.
“It means what the fuck are you wearing?”
She gasped. “Don’t use that language with me!”
He stopped. He stared. “Who the fuck are you to comment on my f—”
“Language!”
“—reaking language?”
“I-I-I-” She stammered. Her lip even quivered just a little. If it was an act, it was a good one. “I don’t remember.”
“What the hell . . .”—he started, but she glared— “heck was that back there?”
“Muscle memory.”
“Oh yeah?” he scoffed but she just looked annoyed.
“You know, when your body remembers actions because of years of intense training and repetition,” she said calmly—slowly—like he was the one who was off his game. So he flicked her on the end of her nose. “Ow!”
“You remember this?” he said, and then he flicked again. Not hard. But not teasing.
“Stop that.” She smacked him on the arm—so weak it wouldn’t kill a fly.
It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t also terrifying. “Come on, muscles. Remember.”
He flicked her ear. She slapped his hand. And that’s when he realized that Alex would have had his nuts in a vise by now, but this woman . . . girl . . . person . . . She narrowed her eyes and bit her lip and looked up at him like she’d been drawn by Walt Disney. Like she was innocent and pure and good. Between the blonde hair and the big eyes it was like he was looking at a stranger.
“Will you take off the wig at least? I can’t take you seriously in that . . .”
He reached up and tugged, but the hair didn’t pull free. Instead, the woman shouted, “Ow!”
And then he knew. He just knew.
When he spoke again, his words were a whisper that echoed in the night.
“You’re not Alex.”
Chapter Five
Her
You’re not Alex.
The words were still out there, floating like the snow and twice as cold. She looked at him—Mr. Hot Guy. And she thought about changing his name to Mr. Annoying Guy. Or Mr. Just Shot a Dozen Men in the Street Guy. She briefly considered Mr. Just Saved My Life Guy, but she didn’t like that one as much for obvious reasons.
Because he was looking at her like he’d just remembered the gun was in his hand. And he was glad to have it there. Like it might be useful.
The hand flexed. The gun shifted. And his grip on her arm tightened. She thought she might bruise.
“Let me go.”
She was definitely going to bruise.
“Who are you?”
“Let me go!”
In the next moment, a wall was at her back and the man was in her face. Chest against chest. Him breathing out while she breathed in, surrounded by a fog of warm breath and cold terror as his voice dropped lower.
“Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?”
Her lip quivered as she admitted, “I don’t know.”
He let go of her arm. （Good!） But then he moved his hand （as in the gun-free hand . . . as in the best-case-scenario hand） to her throat. （Not good!）
And he brought his mouth closer to her ear and whispered, “Try again.”
He was so much taller than she was. Even in her uncomfortable boots. Broader too. Not bulky. Not like the kind of guy who thinks all his troubles will be over as soon as his neck and his biceps are the same circumference as his thighs. More like the kind of guy who owns a truck and everyone hints around whenever they need something moved.