Page 95 of Crossfire

Us. Did I just use that term? There was nous.

“Sitting in silence will certainly not help,” Grayson countered.

“The only thing that’ll help is finding whoever this Bob guy is. He must be the key to this.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Grayson rubbed his eyebrow bone. “My brother knows one of the best private investigators inthis country. Wonder if he could pull some strings and have him help us.”

I stood up straighter.

When a girl finds herself the target of two separate homicide attempts, she can’t help but feel a flutter of hope at the prospect of finding out why.

“You think he would?”

“Worth a shot.” Grayson shrugged. “I’ll make a call, but first, food and answers.”

See? Strings attached everywhere.

When Grayson disappeared into the kitchen, I wondered if it was a test. Was he waiting to see if I would make a dash for the front door? Surely, he knew I was in here, calculating the odds of getting away.

We had been on that dirt road for at least five minutes without seeing a vehicle. On the road before that, at least fifteen minutes. Also sans vehicles.

Let’s say I ran, and it only took me four times that amount to reach the third road, what were the chances that Grayson wouldn’t have caught up to me by then? Or left me in the woods to be eaten by wolves?

And what was my plan? Go to the cops and explain that some CIA agent had tried to kill me? Which happened shortly after another guy tried to kill me, and a bomb had exploded, and I was being accused of being a national security threat, and the CIA had a hit out on me?

Welcome to a psychiatric hold.

If I was in some psychiatric facility against my will, then what?

Someone clearly wanted me dead. While the whole thing seemed incredibly far-fetched and hard to believe, there was one fact I didn’t debate: my life was in danger.

Going it alone seemed like the riskier option. Yes, I had the fighting skills, but that didn’t help me if someone planted another bomb or put my skull in the crosshairs of a long-range sniper rifle.

My best chance of surviving this was getting answers. My best chance of getting answers was with Grayson.

I shook my head in disbelief that, after careful consideration, I came to the most ridiculous conclusion.

My best chance of surviving was in the protective arms of my assassin.

42

GRAYSON

My cell buzzed with a text, the sudden vibration sending a jolt through my already-frazzled nerves.

Daniel: You’ll have the files within the hour.

He didn’t sayyou were right, there’s been a big mistake.My chest cracked open slightly.

Files. The word seemed to pulse on the screen, each letter a dagger aimed at Ivy’s heart.

Fighting a tremble in my fingers, I typed out a response.

Me: Have you seen them yet?

I held my breath, my lungs tightening with each passing second as those three ominous bubbles pulsed across the screen, taunting me with their ambiguity.

Daniel: Not yet.

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