Page 93 of Crossfire

Would be.

I would be sure of it.

“Which option will it be, Ivy?” His gaze roamed over my face. “Last chance before I make the decision for you.”

41

IVY

I didn’t fight him when he ushered me down an elevator, holding my hand as he put me inside a vehicle, its door parked so close to a cement wall that there was no way I could open it and try to escape. I didn’t try to jump out of the moving car as he drove until the towering skyscrapers of the city faded to nothing and the stretch of undeveloped property expanded before us.

But only because I was trying to be smart here, searching for an optimal time to make a move, because the more I thought about that “truce,” the less comfortable I felt with it. I mean, if I were some psycho, I’d prefer my hostage to not fight back, and to do that, I’d try to convince her that I was on her side.

Grayson isn’t on my side.He might be the Grim Reaper himself, and so help me, I’ll find a way to run.

But when we arrived at a remote cabin, defeat settled its way into my blood.

How will I ever escape this place?

Surrounded by towering trees, the one-story log cabin—and I mean, literal logs—sported a wraparound wooden porch, a stone chimney, and an assortment of natural plants that softened the facade. The thing looked like a postcard from a guy who would say,Gone fishing. Luxury edition.

The scent of pine and earthy dirt wafted through the chilly October air, and the wind rustled through the orange, yellow, and red leaves, creating a symphony of nature that would have been beautiful under different circumstances.

But as I stood there, taking in the remote location and the absolute lack of any signs of civilization, all I could think was,Great, I’m stuck in this picture-perfect prison with no hope of getting out.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“Somewhere safe.”

“My boss might’ve swallowed the story of me being sick today, but he probably won’t tomorrow,” I warned. “He knows I never miss work.”

“One step at a time.”

Grayson stocked the refrigerator and cabinet with the items he had taken from his penthouse while I sat in the living room, debating my options.

Plan A: Somehow retrieve the keys from his pocket and speed off in his car.

Plan B: Run through the woods. I mean sure, the temperature was dropping, particularly in the October nights, but surely, I would come across a road sooner rather than later with a car on it.

Plan C: Distract Grayson long enough to steal his cell phone or fish mine out of his bag and then somehow call 911.

“I’m going to make you food, and you’re going to eat it.” Grayson’s voice popped my fantasy bubble as he appeared before me, unaware his muscles were magnetic forces against my eyeballs.

“Sounds great.” I even smiled, being the good little hostage that I was.

Grayson tilted his head slightly. “What are you plotting?”

“I’m not plotting anything.”

“You’re being too agreeable. And you bite your lip when you’re lost in thought, so I’ll ask again. What are you plotting?”

Damn him all to hell.

“You won’t escape this cabin, Ivy. You need to accept that you’re here and allow me to protect you.”

Protect me.

“And then what?” I challenged with the defiant squaring of my shoulders. “When this mysterious boss hands you a file on me, what then?”

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