“It’s time to come in, Alex,” the voice said, and something about the silhouette in that too-bright light made her start to sweat.
“We’re on the same side, remember?” He chuckled softly. “It’s okay, Alex. It’s over.”
“See?” Zoe tried. “About that . . . would you believe I’m not the spy you’re looking for?”
The man was close enough that she could see his eyes then. The cuts and bruises on his face—and something inside of Zoe went sideways. She actually felt the world tilt.
“I know you,” she said before she even realized it was true. Before she remembered . . . “You were on the train.”
His laugh was a cold, dry sound. “For a while.”
And she realized . . . “Ooh! I didn’t kill you!”
His smirk turned sinister as he reached behind him and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Forgive me if, this time, I’m not taking any chances. You’ve already done enough damage.”
Zoe tried to take some comfort in the fact that it was her—not Alex—who had knocked him down that mountain. It was Zoe who had hurt him. The last time the two of them had faced off, Zoe had won.
But it was hard to feel victorious when the headlights were so bright, and she was so scared. And Train Guy was so close, shouting “On your knees, Alex!” way too loudly—like he wanted all of Zurich to hear how tough he was.
But when Train Guy—no, Collins, she reminded herself; Sawyer had called him Collins—spoke again the words were softer, like they were in on a secret. “I was hoping I’d see you again.”
It was the tone of his voice that did it. Suddenly, her head began to pound and the world began to spin—way too fast and far off center. She felt like she was on a merry-go-round that was out of control. Images flying by way too quickly—
Footprints on white sidewalks.
The Eiffel Tower, hazy behind a curtain of snow.
Collins flying from the train.
Sawyer smiling at her.
Sawyer reaching for her.
Sawyer.
Sawyer. He was the one fixed point in her whole world, the only thing keeping her from tipping over. She had to find Sawyer, save Sawyer. She had to—
“We have unfinished business, don’t we?”
She felt the man’s breath on her ear and his hands on her skin. He was so close. How had he gotten so close? And Zoe knew she was going to be sick. Really, truly sick. Because the pictures in her brain were a blur now, and she was so dizzy she thought she might fall down.
“No.” She was shaking her head. “I’m not Alex. I don’t know you. I don’t . . .”
A dark shadow sliced through the too-bright wall of light. Someone shouted, “Shit!,” as an engine roared. Tires squealed. And Zoe wondered if her brain was on fire—that would explain why there was suddenly so much smoke in the air.
The lights were spinning faster, and a loud screeching sound was making her ears bleed. All she wanted to do was push that man down another mountain, but how could she do that when she couldn’t even see him for the smoke—when she could barely breathe? When her head was splitting open and her eyes were seeing double because . . . wait.
Zoe really was seeing double, she realized. She must have been. Because there was suddenly another Zoe. This one was sitting on the motorcycle that had leapt over the line of SUVs and was currently spinning around and around, tires screeching and sending up a cloud of black smoke before slamming to a stop and looking at Zoe like she was a moron. Which she was.
Because one of them really was a badass spy. One of them really was a lethal and highly trained weapon. One of them was oh so obviously Alex. And she was staring at Zoe, disgust and annoyance on her face, as she shouted, “Get on!”
Part of Zoe wanted to lecture about helmets and brain trauma and the dangers of motorcycles in winter, but she was already throwing a leg over the bike and wrapping her arms around the other woman’s waist—her sister’s waist.
And Alex was already hitting the throttle and zooming off into the night.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Her
Zoe was pretty sure she never lost consciousness—she probably couldn’t have stayed on the bike if she had. But that didn’t stop her from making a vow that she would never get on another motorcycle ever again.
Ever.
She was torn between squeezing Alex’s waist so tightly she was afraid she might pop her sister right in two and worrying that if she held on too loosely she would fly off the bike and hurtle through the sky and maybe never come down. Or come down really, really hard. Zoe knew it was the second one she had to worry about, but she managed to be afraid of both, somehow. Zoe managed to be afraid of everything.