Page 90 of Crossfire

But if he tied my wrists again, running or fighting him off would be impossible. Let’s face it; running and fighting had already failed without bindings. Keeping my wrists free was my only shot of escaping.

“Please don’t tie me,” I whispered.

I hated how weak I sounded. Begging left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I could not let my ego get me killed.

“Wrists,” he repeated firmly.

I swear, even my DNA deflated when I held my arms out in defeat.

I assumed Grayson was going to whip out zip ties or something, but instead, he gently took my hands in his, inciting an unwelcome spark that flared through my body as he studied my skin. More specifically, the red marks where the bindings chafed my wrists.

His lips thinned.

“I’m sorry for this,” he claimed.

And then, because the situation wasn’t bizarre enough, Grayson dropped my hands and retrieved a first aid kit from the bathroom’s mega closet. Speaking of mega closet, based on thesize and opulence of this penthouse, being a CIA agent appeared to pay quite well.

Who knew murder was such a lucrative business?

As he pulled a handful of items out of the little red box, I stared at the bathroom door, calculating my odds of running past him this time. When I had pushed the elevator button, it had opened almost instantly. That was vital information that could help me in escape attempt number two?—

“Ahhh…” I hissed.

“Sorry.” Grayson pressed a wet gauze pad against my skin that was evidently laced with acid.

Okay, fine, some kind of antiseptic, but the evil kind that no one uses because the sting was worse than the injury itself.

“I don’t know how this happened,” he admitted.

I shot him a vicious glare. “You tied me up.”

“Not that.”

Did he just roll his eyes at me?

“The target on your back, Ivy. We need to figure out what’s going on. I’m hoping to get some information from my handler, but there’s been two separate attempts on your life, and we need to figure out why.”

I had to admit, he seemed genuine in his concern in trying to figure this out. Maybe…

“Do CIA agents have access to tech people?” I asked.

Grayson furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“I can’t answer why the CIA thinks I’m a criminal. But maybe the clue to all this has something to do with this guy supposedly named Bob.”

Grayson chewed the inside of his cheek.

“It’s an intriguing thought,” he admitted. “He lured you to where a CIA target was going to be, and the next thing you know, the CIA suspects you’re involved, too.”

Maybe if Grayson wasn’t so busy murdering people, he would’ve given this a little more thought.

Murdering people. Let that sink in, Ivy.

“How, exactly, did you meet this guy who called himself Bob?”

I couldn’t fall for Grayson’s supposed warmth. Who knew what his long game was here? Maybe the real reason he was holding me captive wasn’t to supposedly protect me, but to probe me for intel that the CIA wanted. Maybe Bob was on their list, and once Grayson got all the information out of me that he could, he would put a bullet in my skull.

After all, if Grayson really wanted to help me, he could take me to the police station or something.

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