Page 68 of Crossfire

“Who do you work for?” I growled.

Ivy looked unsure what to believe in this moment, but while she tried to figure it out, she opted tonotkeep the man with a blade to her jugular waiting.

“The hospital,” she managed. “I’m a nurse.”

“The arms dealer,” I demanded. I was 90% sure it was Vosch, but maybe it was one of his enemies.

“I. Am. Not. An arms dealer. And I don’t associate with them.” Each word was punctuated with anger and frustration.

“The CIA disagrees.”

“I am NOT a criminal! I’m a nurse, for God’s sake. But clearly, nothing I say will convince you otherwise.”

“If that was true, you wouldn’t have lied about your name.”

“Ivy is my middle name. I’ve gone by Ivy since I was little. If you were really the CIA, you would know that, as it’s public information available on my birth certificate.”

She had to be lying. The CIA didn’t target people without rock-solid proof they were violent criminals. The right thing to do, the honorable thing to do, would be to kill her before she could slaughter innocent civilians.

That was my duty, the sacred vow I’d taken when I joined the CIA. It was the foundation upon which I’d built my entire career.

But now, my head and my instincts were locked in a fierce battle, each vying for control over my actions. Duty demanded that I end her life right here and now. Instinct, however, whispered that she was telling the truth, no matter how little sense it made, no matter how inconceivable it seemed that the CIA could have made such a colossal mistake.

I found myself at a crossroads, forced to choose sides in a deadly game where one wrong move could lead to unimaginable suffering.

Questions remained: How could I unravel the truth? How could I prove or disprove her story? If she were a skilled operative, she’d likely have fake identification to cover her tracks, but would she actually have a string of texts, dated with time stamps, for a backstory she might never get audited on?

“We’re going to have a little walk to your bedroom, and you’re going to show me those texts between you and Bob.”

The blood drained from Ivy’s face. I couldn’t be sure if it was because she was about to get caught empty-handed or if she feared what a man with a knife might do in a room with a bed…

I gripped her arm, my fingers encircling her soft skin as I pressed the cold blade to her neck. Guiding her into the bedroom, I walked behind her with her back pressed against my chest, the heat of her body seeping through the thin fabric of my shirt. The curve of her spine against me stirred memories I fought to suppress—of her face in my hand, her lips pressed to mine.

Her breath quickened, each exhale a warm whisper. The vanilla scent of her shampoo filled my nostrils, a stark contrast to the tension crackling between us. For a heartbeat, everything narrowed to just this—her body against mine, the sound of our synced breathing the only thing bridging the chasm of distrust.

“Flip the light on,” I demanded, my voice hoarse with an emotion I refused to name.

She complied.

There, on the nightstand, was her phone.

I brought her close, but before she picked it up, I warned her, “You do anything stupid, like try to call 911, you will bleed out before anyone has a chance to save you.”

Ivy’s shoulders tensed, and she licked her lips before nodding.

She picked up the phone, activated the facial recognition, and opened up her messages.

More specifically, a string of messages between her and the sender identified as Bob. She scrolled through them slowly, allowing me to read them in reverse order.

This woman was either a dangerously skilled operative or she was telling the truth and was innocent. These texts lined up with the other evidence supporting her claim of innocence.

So, how could I explain the CIA giving me her name and address for the hit? Or the elimination order itself?

I couldn’t actually kill her when I suspected she might be innocent, could I? Not before completing some due diligence? But I couldn’t leave her alive either. Not after getting direct orders. I’d hesitated once with Vosch, and look where that got me. If I didn’t eliminate her…and she turned out to be guilty, got away even…

I couldn’t live with myself if she killed innocent people.

But I couldn’t live with myself if I killed an innocent woman either.

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