Page 119 of Crossfire

“Please.” After all those self-defense and fighting classes, begging left a bitter taste in my mouth. Or maybe that was the putrid smell of heartbreak, but Grayson had the upper hand in this battle. More lethal fighting skills, knowledge of the terrain, knowledge of where he may have stashed weapons. “If you ever cared for me, if any part of what we had was real, don’t do this.”

But it was too late.

When a predator hunts down his prey, it doesn’t have a happy ending.

“You think I’m going to kill you,” he growled.

Which confused me. Why did that almost sound like a question? And a stupid one at that.

I’ll point you to evidence A: the forearm to my chest. Evidence B: the chase through the woods. Evidence C: that murderous look in his eyes that caused me to flee in the first place.

“Are you the man in the woods?” His voice had an undercurrent of rage.

“What man in the woods?” I choked.

Were his eyes…shimmering?

That’s when I realized what he was talking about. His own version of a big bad wolf—the man he had seen in the woods outside of his home the night his father was murdered. The man he had metaphorically chased his entire life, had metaphorically ended repeatedly. A man responsible for death and pain and heartbreak, who destroyed families and killed the souls of children like him. The man in the woods, his metaphorical Moby Dick, if you will.

And the glassiness in his eyes told me that he’d let me much farther into his heart than I realized.

Which could either be the biggest threat to my life. Or my only hope…

“Look into my eyes.” My voice trembled. “I know loss. I know pain. I lost my dad, too, and I’d never wish that on anyone, Grayson.”

Our breaths were the only sound in the silence that stretched endlessly between us.

I could see that he believed me—or at least part of him did—and I could see the struggle ravaging his features. If he really, truly believed I was a bad guy, I’d be dead already.

Yet here he was, holding me, staring into the depth of my gaze, desperate for an explanation.

“Someone is setting me up,” I realized. “And they might be setting you up, too.”

He scrutinized me, his breathing slowing down as his grip loosened.

I reached down and placed his hand on my chest.

“You know what’s in my heart,” I said. “If you really think I’m capable of murdering innocent people,” I continued in a shaky voice, “then kill me right now.”

Grayson’s chest heaved as he searched my face, my soul. Seconds stretched into eternity as I panted, praying that he would see the truth in my face. Every heartbeat felt like forever, with my body in the vulnerable clutches of a deadly operative.

And then, slowly, the hardness in Grayson’s expression began to soften. The crease between his brows smoothed, his shoulders sagging as his grip on my chest loosened even more.

Until finally, he dropped his arms.

Releasing me.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice rough with emotion.

I should have just felt grateful, relieved that he believed me. Honored, even, that he chose to believe me despite whatever was on his laptop screen.

But my heart. It was too busy burning to death.

I couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

After what we had shared together, baring our deepest fears and vulnerabilities, how could he have thought that little of me for even a split second?

What could be on that screen that had the power to erase everything we had been through? My gaze swept back to the cabin, where those images had changed everything.

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