Page 12 of Crossfire

My deepest fear was that this anchor would remain forever, that my father’s death would continue to haunt not only my heart, but every aspect of my existence. If I could solve this financial problem, it would offer a glimmer of hope that one day, maybe, just maybe, this pain might ease. And life could resume some semblance of normalcy.

“Look, saying it out loud, I realize how naive that sounds, but this was aftermonthsof swappingintimatestories about my father. Things this guy could only have known if he truly was my father’s friend.”

“Have you ever met this man who claimed to be your father’s friend?”

Claimed. That word felt like a bullet.

I don’t think Detective Mitchell appreciated how hard it was for me to let my guard down and trust Bob or how close I came to never walking into that garage in the first place. I didn’t appreciate him looking at me like I was a wide-eyed, eyelash-batting moron.

But then I deserved it, didn’t I? After all, that’s exactly what I had done—turned into that wide-eyed, naive fool.

It only takes a second of misplaced trust to cost you your life.

“A lot of my dad’s friends were through work, and he would meet them for activitiesoutsidethe home. He didn’t bring people around the house. And meeting him wasn’t just about the key,” I admitted. “Bob told me he had answers as to why…” As my voice trailed off, I pulled the tissue paper around my finger until blood pooled at the tip. “He said he had information that would explain why my dad did what he did.”

Look at that worried look on his face; he thinks I’m batshit crazy, that I’ve gone off the deep end.Maybe I have.I mean, hell, look what I’d just done.

After what happened when I was thirteen, I grew up really freaking fast and prided myself on my street smarts, and then I go and do this.

“It’s just,” I continued, “no one can tell us why. He had no reason to…” My words trailed off again as I tugged the tissue paper so hard, it finally tore with a pop.

The detective swirled the pen in his hand, as if moving it would swirl the right words into his mouth.

He wasn’t looking at me like a lunatic anymore, but a pathetic victim wasn’t much better.

“We’ve been over this, Ivy. The finances. Your grandmother’s health. What your mother did to him. And that’s just what we know about. That doesn’t even factor in quiet struggles with mental health. Many people don’t tell family about what’s going on in their head because they’re ashamed, embarrassed, or afraid to admit the truth.”

My eyes stung, but I bit back the tears; Dad had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Look, I know you want answers. Some explanation that’ll give you closure, but, Ivy…” He shifted in his seat and changed his tone—lowering the volumes of impatience and frustration and increasing the volume of compassion. “Whoever this guy was who lured you into that garage, that was his sole purpose.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Why?” I challenged. “Why would he do all this?”

Detective Mitchell cleared his throat. “Few months back, I investigated a case where a woman was targeted online. That case turned out to be human trafficking.”

“Human trafficking.” Seriously? “There are far easier ways to kidnap a woman than what this guy did.”

“Are there?” The detective leaned back in his seat. “Is there anything else he could have said that would have convinced you to risk your life to meet him?”

I clenched my jaw. “And the bomb? How do you explain that?” I watched enough news to know bombings were rare, especially in cities. What motive would human traffickers have to blow up a parking garage after failing to snatch a woman?

“Still working on that, too, but one thing is clear: a stranger lured you to a remote area, and when you fought back, he tried to kill you.”

I wound another band of tissue around my ring finger, focusing on the pain of my skin rather than the pain stabbing through my heart.

“If he was a trafficker, how would he know so many details about my dad’s life?”

“Traffickers are smart, Ivy. They’re professional, often backed by skills and money that rival Fortune 500s. They know how to tap into electronics and get information. How else would they lure victims?—”

I unleashed a death glare. If he used that word one more time, so help me, I might snap.

“People,” he amended with a frown. “To a remote location where they could easily abduct you?”

I draped my arms over my stomach, like it could stop the explosion of emptiness that gutted me.

“You don’t believe me.”Why am I not surprised?

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