Page 37 of Crossfire

If all goes well, I’ll learn your full name or somehow snap a picture of you without you noticing that I can use for facial recognition.

The prospect of having her sacred coffee shop space back seemed to flash across her features.

“It feels hypocritical,” she reasoned. But the tone of her voice was teetering.

It did feel hypocritical, but not for her; for me. Was this not a game of my own, a ruse to find out her name?

Strange, this pang of guilt. You’d think ending lives would elicit far more remorse than lying to her.

The thing was, I actually wanted to talk to her—and not just to uncover her last name. I found Ivy alluring, and I hoped that in the process, I’d learn more about her. Likewhyshe became so advanced in her fighting skills that she was able toturn that violent arms dealer into a human pile of bones. How could someone so tiny be so lethal? And where did she go each morning after she left her favorite coffee shop?

Maybe I should have just asked her to have coffee without the pretense, but it was too late to turn back now; she was on the brink of accepting my invitation, and I could tell she just needed a slight nudge.

“If you don’t, how long do you think it will be before he stops?” I challenged.

When her shoulders deflated, I got her answer—never. People like Pete would probably never stop unless or until he found someone else to play with.

“Ivy?” the barista called out, holding a to-go cup while I waited for Ivy’s verdict.

Out of all the ways I could uncover her identity, this was suddenly the path I yearned for the most. Not because it was the most efficient or the quickest, but because it allowed me to spend time with her, and maybe even to unravel her enigma one layer at a time.

The question was…

Would she agree to sit with me?

16

IVY

Fine. Maybe I was being petty, stooping to this level, but I was tired of Pete’s games. This was why I’d broken up with him.

In the beginning of our relationship, he was nice—there for me physically and emotionally after my dad died—but the more time passed, the more his checkers moves came into play. Like interrogating me if I took too long to answer his call or text or how, if he was upset with me, he’d show up an hour late to our dates.

Lost in my grief over my father, it took me a while to finally recognize the relationship wasn’t healthy. So, I ended it.

And thought, based on how nice he’d been over the last few weeks, that he’d matured past this crap—that we could be friends. And I figured all the bad behavior was linked to us trying to be a couple.

Wrong.

Every day, he’d come in here, supposedly accepting thelet’s be friendsboundary we’d agreed to, but every day, I’d feared it might be a ploy to win me back. Little things he’d done had nagged at me, like asking about my plans for an upcoming weekend, as if he might ask me to dinner. Or check if I was dating anyone, but when nothing more came of it, I once againconvinced myself he was simply being a friend, that his games were behind him.

Until now. Now, I could see he had either been trying to win me back or keep tabs on my dating life. But after his violent outburst yesterday shattered any hope of friendship or reconciliation, he found himself at a crossroads. He could either retreat in shame or lash out, desperate to inflict the same pain he imagined I’d caused him. Predictably, he chose the latter, his bruised ego driving him to new lows of pettiness.

So, here I was, stooping to Pete’s level because Grayson was right; Pete wouldn’t stop unless I sent him an indisputable signal that everything had changed.

Because it had. Yesterday, in that parking garage, I walked in with questions and left with a bigscrew youon my shoulder.

Screw that guy for tricking me into coming there. Was it the smartest move in the world to meet him? Nope. But that man who’d called himself Bob had tugged on my heartstrings, too, knowing the one thing—the one—he could say to make me walk into a dark murder scene willingly.

Whatever.

Maybe this guy, Grayson, was onto something. It was worth a shot, to make conversation with him while my ex and his new girlfriend sat eight tables away.

“Smile,” Grayson reminded me.

A flush crept up my neck under the heat of Grayson’s smoldering gaze and how it lingered on me as he sipped his drink.

Sexiest sip ever.

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