Page 106 of Crossover

He held his gun at his side, the barrel pointed at the floor.

“You can put your weapon down.” His tone was flat, his movements casual, as he walked into the center of the room as if we were two old buddies rather than trained killers on opposing sides of what would undoubtedly be a violent end.

“Who are you here with?” I stared down the barrel of my weapon, keeping it trained on his skull as my focus ping-ponged between the open doorway and Daniel.

“I’m alone.”

“Bullshit.”

Daniel pulled a folding chair that had been resting up against the wall into the center of the room, opened it, and sat beneath the overhead light facing me, placing his firearm on his lap, pointed to his right.

“Feel free to look for yourself.” Daniel motioned toward the only door in the room.

“Is that how you wanted it to end? Watching me get ambushed?”

“This isn’t an ambush, Grayson.”

“If you say so.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Then, put down your gun.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said. “It would be unwise to be unarmed with my lead agent, don’t you think?”

“If you just want to talk, you don’t need it.”

“Don’t I?”

My eyes swept the space, trying to figure out his game. It pissed me off that I was coming up empty. Why hadn’t he tried to kill me already?

“Fine,” I said. “You want to talk? Start by explaining something to me.”

I took two steps forward.

“Why did you do it all?” I demanded.

60

GRAYSON

Everything about him seemed different today, a stark contrast to his usual polished demeanor. His once-dignified silver hair now hung limp and unkempt, and those eyes that used to radiate strength and determination now appeared sunken and weary. It was like the facade had crumbled away, revealing the coward hiding beneath his veneer of confidence.

How many deep lines on his face were from guilt over killing innocent people or from helping mass murderers evade persecution—leaving them free to slaughter more? And how many were from fear of being caught himself?

To think, when I was younger, he’d become my idol. A real-life walking hero, who risked his life to help people. I remember thinking how it didn’t get more noble than that.

My stomach twisted at the memory of the impressionable teenager who’d stumbled into Daniel’s line of sight. An angry, bitter clay of pain, vulnerable to be shaped.

Other kids my age, they idolized rock stars, actors, or athletes. But not me. You could have put the biggest names in music, Hollywood, and sports in a room, and I would have pushed past all of them to get to Daniel.

He became something bigger than all of them combined.

He became my God. And I was his willing servant, who would have gone to war had he whispered the command. I’d have run into battle, unarmed, if only to protect him. But all of that was predicated on him being the most honorable person I’d met. Even more honorable than my father.

And that, I think, was the most repulsive part of it all. That I’d put him on a pedestal higher than the man who’d given me life. While I cherished the wonderful family man my father was, whenever I thought of him, I suppose I saw his career choice as impressive—a company he’d built alongside my grandfather and, with it, a legacy and fortune so great that it would be passed down for generations. An impressive accomplishment.

But noble?

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