“Wait. Is that . . .”
Hottington ran a hand through thick, wavy hair that was a little more salt than pepper, but it looked good on him because he had a Y chromosome and life was inherently unfair. He studied her confused expression and realized—“You didn’t know your last name, did you?”
She shook her head because, evidently, she’d forgotten how to speak, too.
He put his elbows on the table and leaned a little closer—a posture that screamed you didn’t hear this from me.
“Officially, our friends at Langley insist the serum Agent Collins injected you with doesn’t exist. But, unofficially, they assure me it isn’t fatal and, in time, could largely wear off.” He toyed with the edge of the photograph. “Zoe, do you mind me asking, what do you remember?”
She thought about hospital beds and Christmas mornings and Alex pushing her on the tire swing in their backyard. She could recall the smell of new books and the sound rain makes on rooftops. But, mostly, she remembered Sawyer. Dancing on the Shimmering Sea and fighting for the last piece of bacon and—
“Ms. Sterling . . .”
“Right. Yes. Uh . . . Collins brought me to Paris. He said Alex was in trouble and he needed me to Parent Trap my way into the bank.”
Hots choked back a laugh. “Excuse me?”
“Parent Trapping? It’s a classic identical twins trope that . . .” Oh, she wished people would keep up. “Anyway, I told him no one would believe I was Alex. Then he gave me the shot and said that in thirty minutes even I wouldn’t know who I was. So I grabbed his gun and got away. I woke up later. In the snow.”
“And that’s where Agent Sawyer found you?”
Agent Sawyer. Zoe tried not to think about the look in his eyes when Hottington and his swarm of commandos appeared overhead.
“Yes. That’s when Agent Sawyer found me.”
She looked around the nondescript room in the nondescript building and fought the feeling that she was once again waking up with no clue where she was or what was going on. She was once again waking up alone.
“What happens now?” Hots probably thought she was asking about Kozlov or Collins or Alex. He didn’t know she was talking about dinner. And where she was going to sleep and when she was going to go home and what was she going to do when she got there?
And Sawyer. She still hadn’t seen Sawyer. Talked to Sawyer. “Will Agent Saw—”
There was a knock on the door, and a young woman entered, rolling a large suitcase and carry-on.
“Excellent! Thank you, Sims. Right on time,” Hots said then turned to Zoe. “Agent Sawyer asked that we go ahead and retrieve your luggage from Paris. And there’s a jet standing by to take you home.”
The words sounded fine, but then she heard them. Luggage. Jet. Home. “Agent Sawyer . . . asked for that?”
“Oh yes.” Hots gave an indulgent smile. “Insisted on it. We’ll have more questions for you, eventually. But for now, you can relax. You’re safe, Zoe. You’re free. You must be eager to get back to your old life.”
Her old life.
“Now, come on. Let’s get you on the jet.”
On. The. Jet.
“But I thought . . .” Zoe trailed off, because what did she actually think was going to happen? That she and Sawyer were going to ride off into the sunset together? Covert and undercover and kiss for the rest of their lives? It was ridiculous. It was insane. It was . . .
Not a danger bang, the little voice in the back of her mind whispered. No. But that didn’t mean it was forever.
Six days after passing out in Paris Zoe was finally waking up. To the real world. And her real life. To whatever was supposed to happen next. She didn’t have to run anymore, but that didn’t mean she knew where to go. Chances were good no one was going to shoot at her tomorrow, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t scary. Her entire memory was about trying to stay alive, but Zoe was just starting to realize she had no idea how to live.
Without Sawyer.
She honestly didn’t know whether to be heartbroken or furious as she followed Hots into a hall then past a railing that looked down on a massive space teeming with people. It looked like something from the movies—a command center filled with screens and computers and people yelling things like, “Where’s my satellite?”
Was Sawyer down there? she wondered. Had the CIA dragged him back to Langley? Was he under arrest? Or did he just not care?
“We’re right out here.” As Hottington pushed open a big metal door, a cool wind blew against her face and it occurred to Zoe that she had no idea how long she’d been in that windowless room. She didn’t even know where she was, she realized as soon as she stepped outside and saw the big, nondescript building on the edge of what looked like a private airport. A jet was idling on the tarmac a hundred yards away, and it was all Zoe could do not to dig in her heels because something was wrong. Something was missing. Someone was missing.