Page 141 of Crossover

When she pulled back, she traced the small bandage on my cheek from where a bullet grazed me.

“I’m fine. And there’s something else you should know,” I declared.

I wiped a fresh stream of tears from her cheeks, looking into her bloodshot eyes, swiping my thumb across her quivering lip. I knew her tears were tears of joy and relief, but they were hard to see all the same.

“Vosch is the one that tried to kidnap you when you were thirteen.”

Her mouth fell open slightly, her eyes darting between my left and right.

“What?”

“I figured Vosch would’ve had other people to do his dirty work for him, but he was the one that tried to kidnap you. He’s the one that got away and drove off and was never caught.”

Hating that look of horror and frustration on her face, I cupped her cheek, my thumb tracing her skin.

“Did Detective Mitchell know that?”

“No,” I assured. “I spoke to him as well as the head of the CIA. It turns out, the police didn’t even know your father was an FBI informant. The entire case was classified, so the FBI had never shared that with the Chicago PD.”

I could see the relief in her eyes that the detective had not betrayed her.

“Vosch can never hurt you again, Kitten.”

She took a deep breath and raised her chin slightly. “Or anyone else.”

My heart swelled at her words. Even after everything she’d been through, here she was, thinking of others. Of all the potential victims who’d now be spared. I felt a lump form in my throat, overwhelmed by her strength, her compassion.

“God, I love you.” I rested my forehead against hers, feeling her warmth, her steady breath.

Her small hand found mine, fingers intertwining.

“Grayson?” she said softly, a hint of vulnerability in her tone. “Can we go home now?”

In those simple words, I heard everything she wasn’t saying. The need for safety, for comfort, for a chance to start healing. For us to begin the next chapter of our lives together, away from all this darkness.

I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, Kitten. Let’s go home.”

81

GRAYSON

Hunter’s eyes widened as he stepped into the nursery, his hand still entwined with Luna’s. The room was a pastel wonderland, filled with plush toys and gleaming furniture. His gaze settled on an enormous stuffed elephant in the corner, its purple trunk curled in a welcoming gesture.

“Jesus.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And I thoughtwewere spoiled, growing up.”

Ivy’s lips quirked into a smile as she gently rubbed her swollen belly. “Grayson has a…let’s call it anenthusiasmfor online shopping.”

I shot her a playful glare. “I prefer to think of it as proactive and thoughtful organization.”

“Never thought I’d see you go all soft and gooey, bro.” Jace mused.

Neither did I. The irony wasn’t lost on me that a hardened CIA assassin, who used to slit throats and put bullets in skulls, now fretted over soft nursery decor.

“The baby needs a proper place to sleep,” I argued, feeling defensive.

Bryson snorted. “This isn’t a place; it’s a miniature palace.”

“This place came with big rooms.” I threw my palms up in the air. “What was I supposed to do, give my future child the closet?”

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