Page 102 of Crossfire

I stilled. He looked furious now, this time at himself. Repulsed even that he’d brought me back to that dark place.

“I didn’t know, Ivy. I’m sorry.”

Once again, I was struck by how sincere he was, tormented for having hurt me.

I wasn’t sure what to say.It’s okay? Don’t worry about it, man? Kidnapping is under the bridge?The truth was far more confusing—the two incidents felt worlds apart to me.

“Three to seven years.” He kept his tone calm, but I could hear the rage simmering through it. “That would put him out of prison today.”

I said nothing.

“What was his name?” Grayson asked.

I blinked. “Why do you want to know his name?”

“Why do you think?”

Was he seriously saying what I thought he was saying?

“I’m not a good guy, Ivy, but this…” Grayson tapped his finger on the table. “This is something I can do.”

He waited for understanding to wash over me.

“Give me your nightmares, Ivy. So you can finally sleep.”

I swallowed, my heart thundering because somehow, in that moment, I knew that if I gave Grayson my assailant’s name, that man would turn up dead.

A wave of goose bumps washed over my skin with a strange mixture of fear and exhilaration. There was an intimacy to hisprofession, a shared secret that we’d both take to our grave, should I let him go through with it.

Spoiler alert: I’d never do that, but the unexpected closeness between us in this moment was both thrilling and terrifying, and I found myself fighting against the sudden rush of affection I felt for him, knowing that I couldn’t allow myself to be drawn in by his intense devotion. Nor his intoxicating blend of allure and danger.

How could someone so kind become a violent hit man?

“I’m not giving you his name,” I declared.

The muscles along Grayson’s jaw tightened, and he studied me, looking for any sign that I might change my mind.

“But now that I’ve answered your questions,” I started, “I have one of my own.”

Grayson took a deep breath.

“What made you become an assassin?”

45

GRAYSON

Now that I had Ivy’s name, uncovering her birth date shouldn’t be too difficult. From there, I could back into the year that she would’ve been the age of thirteen. She said she’d lived on the outskirts of Chicago at the time, so any arrest should have been handled in the Cook County court system. I could look for any arrests for attempted kidnapping and narrow that list down to cases that got convictions. Then, I could narrow it down even further with those that had a sentencing of three to seven years.

In theory, that should spit out a short list of names to go hunting.

Even so, I’d have to call in a favor from Hunter to help with this one. As a criminal prosecutor, he would have access to things that I wouldn’t. At least this favor didn’t require him babysitting a hostage in my bedroom.

Then again, it could involve him in a violent crime because when I got my hands on this asshole, I’d torture him until he gave up the name of his accomplice—the man with the red scar who got away.Thatman—who’d slammed Ivy to the pavement, punched her, and dragged her to the car—would suffer a fate worse than death.

Ivy studied me, her beautiful face warming every cell in my body, and when she spoke, her voice was an intoxicating melody of compassion and determination.

“What made you become an assassin?”

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