Page 114 of Crossfire

His silence stretched on, the anxiety inside me growing with each passing second.

“I’d rather talk in person,” he said. “When can you meet?”

I stared out the front window, at the endless stretch of trees. It would take hours to get back to the city, and that didn’t even include the time it would take to convince Grayson to abandon our post.

And you know what? I really didn’t want to leave right now, not when there was a CIA-sanctioned assassination out on me. Powering on my cell was already bad enough, but I thought it would only be on for a few seconds.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Please, just tell me what’s going on?”And hurry.

“I’d rather do this in person. It’s important.”

“Does this have something to do with my dad’s death?” I pressed. “Because I read a passage in his journal that made it sound like he was running out of time?—”

“Ivy, what do you know about Steven?” he interrupted.

I stilled, my heart skipping a beat. “My mom’s ex-boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

Uh…

“Not much, to be honest. I really had no interest in learning much about him. Why? Is my mom okay?”

“Yes, but…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “I need you and your mother to come down here as soon as possible.”

“Did he do something?” My voice cracked slightly from a fear gripping my thoughts at the tone of his voice.

“Ivy…”

“Just say it. Please.”

Several seconds passed, the silence deafening.

“Ivy, I don’t think Steve is who he says he is.”

The floor seemed to tilt slightly, confusion and disbelief warring within me. “What do you mean?”

“I’m starting to doubt thatStevenis his real name.”

My mind reeled. My mom’s ex was using a fake name? Why would he do that? Was Mom in danger? A thousand questions swirled in my head, each more unsettling than the last.

“What makes you say that?”

“Look, I can explain everything, but the point is, if he lied about who he is and he and your mother broke up recently…” His unspoken conclusion trailed off.

Realization dawned on me like a cold, hard truth. “You think he might have tried to kill me.”

He took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding, “We need to consider all possibilities at this stage of the investigation.”

I had a million questions firing all at once. What made him doubt Steven’s identity? Why was he looking into him? And if he wasn’t who he said he was, who was my mother’s ex-boyfriend, exactly?

Could he be “Bob,” the man who had been terrorizing me?

“But you said human traffickers likely hacked me,” I reminded him, trying to make sense of the situation. “And that’s how this Bob person supposedly knew so much.”

“That’s still a viable theory,” he acknowledged, choosing his words carefully. “However, my analyst provided a preliminary report on the texts you shared, and the language analysis suggests a higher probability that this person might have a more direct connection to you. The level of personal knowledge and interaction goes beyond what we’d typically see from a hacker who simply gained access to your accounts.”

I should feel nothing but grateful in this moment—to be one step closer to the truth. But I wanted the evidence to prove that no one in my life was responsible for what happened. Not even someone as insignificant to me as my mom’s ex-boyfriend.

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