Page 13 of Crossfire

He appeared to struggle to find the right words, probably wanting to sound compassionate rather than worried about my mental state.

News flash: he was failing.

“I believeyoubelieve there was some secret reason your father took his own life, but, Ivy”—he sat forward and clasped his hands on the table in front of him like he was about to deliver bad news—“I say this with compassion because I can see the dark circles under your eyes. You look even thinner than the lasttime we spoke, and now you almost got killed.” He sighed. “You need to find a way to move forward.”

I can’t.

“I can get you the names of those?—”

“I don’t need a therapist,” I interrupted. Well, maybe I did if you spoke from a purely psychological perspective. Or if you looked at my choices today, but whatever. I was fine.

“Suicide is a difficult thing to accept,” Detective Mitchell said. “His wife?—”

“He forgave her,” I said. “And cheating doesn’t make people suddenly suicidal, and even if it did, he was the sole caregiver of his mother.” Even if my dad would leave me, “He’d never leave her behind. Something else must have happened that made him end it all.”

The detective looked at his watch and thinned his lips.

He probably had a huge caseload waiting for him, but hopefully, he’d review all the information I’d given in my police reports. Police needed to uncover the real name of the man who’d tried to kill me since Bob was probably a fake and find out why “Bob” had targeted me, specifically.

Not only to prevent another unexplained trauma in my life, but also so another woman wouldn’t become a target if Bob tried with someone else.

As for this conversation, however, it looked like Detective Mitchell had run out of time.

Maybe patience, too.

He stood up with a sigh.

“All right, look.” This time, when he spoke, his words were tense. “I can’t give you closure on why your dad took his life, but”—he pointed his finger at the table—“this? Let me dig deeper into the texts you sent me. See if our IT team can help me find the guy that lured you there. No matter who he is, he needs to be stopped before he hurts someone else.”

I softened and stared into his eyes for several seconds.

“Thank you,” I said.

His lips curled down with empathy. He could be hard at times, but I also sensed his frustration, that he couldn’t help more. Cases were often imperfect, and police couldn’t always answer everything.

“I’ll be in touch if we have any other questions about the incident today, but as for what happened to you…” He ran a frustrated hand over his face, then put his hands on his hips, looking down at me sternly. “I’m sorry to be blunt, Ivy, but you need to be more careful. If you’re not, you’ll fall prey to some other psycho. And next time, you could get killed.”

6

GRAYSON

“We have a problem,” I said.

My handler was likely already in the loop, but this was our first conversation since the botched job. As I wore a path in the Chicago concrete, it felt like the world had gone sideways, and I was scrambling to find my footing.

The chaotic symphony of traffic and distant sirens wasn’t just a backdrop; it was a mirror to the turmoil raging inside me. Each wail felt like it was echoing my frustration, the buzz of the city a reminder of the constant danger lurking in plain sight.

“Before we get into that,” Daniel said, warmth radiating from every word as he continued, “are you okay, Grayson?”

“I’m fine.”

His relieved sigh was so loud, I could even hear it over the surrounding noise.

“Are you sure?”

“It was close.”

“They said you made it out.” Daniel’s voice crackled through the phone, each syllable laced with tension. “But I was worried you might’ve been injured by the blast. The explosion took out a chunk of the building next to it.”

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