The Blonde Identity

by Ally Carter

he said like she was a kindergartner, which wasn’t fair at all. Most kindergartners know their own names.

“Uh . . . can I ask you a question?” “Yes. That is a gun in my pocket.”

She thought about giving him a little more space but didn’t. Because when cuddling with a hot guy is a matter of life and death, you just go with it.

Alex always looked like she was in on a secret. But Zoe looked like she was in on a joke—like at any moment she was going to say knock, knock and the whole world was going to lean close enough to whisper who’s there?

“You won. And nothing on this earth is sexier than a woman who told death to fuck off.”

She actually nestled a little closer as she said, “Maybe tomorrow you can teach me how to kill a man with a telephone cord.” “A telephone cord?” He forgot to bite back his laugh. “Yeah. You could do that, right?” He didn’t even have to think about it. “Of course, but—” “And an ink pen. Or a shrimp fork. Do you think we can sneak one out of the dining room to—” “No.” “Okay. Regular fork it is. Maybe a hand towel? Can you kill a man with a hand—”

“I don’t want you to ever have to kill a man—to live with that. But, sweetheart . . .” Her eyes went wide at the word, but it was too late to take it back. It was more important to make her see. “If that ever happens . . . if it’s ever you or them and I’m not there . . . Then you need to promise me, Zoe. Don’t wound. Kill.”

“Don’t call me Zo. My friends call me Zo. Or they would if I could remember having friends. Which I don’t.”