Page 36 of Crossover

As I drew closer, the water abruptly shut off, and Daniel’s warning echoed through my mind.No scuffle—don’t make it look like murder.

Inhaling deeply, I raised my weapon with both hands and spun around the corner.

Alistair Wainwright stood alone, drying his hands on his kitchen towel. His eyes widened, and his body stiffened, as his focus immediately locked on to the gun in my hand. Instead of panicking or pleading for his life, Alistair merely sighed, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

“You’re early,” he said. “I need more time.”

What the hell?I couldn’t decide which part of his statement was stranger—the calm, unsurprised tone of his voice when speaking with an armed intruder or the notion that he wasexpectingme.

I thought he and his organization didn’t know the CIA was onto them. And even if they did know, even if they somehow suspected we’d come for them, criminals didn’t take that lying down. They maneuvered to avoid their fate.

He might be just trying to distract you, Grayson. Focus. Get this done and get out.

“Walk into the bedroom,” I ordered, my grip tightening on the gun.

Alistair complied with another sigh, and I pressed the muzzle of the gun against his back as we made our way to the bedroom—a more appropriate location for what was about to happen.

“Sit on the bed,” I commanded.As if you’re pondering all the mistakes you’ve made in your life.

He walked to the edge, hands in the air. “Please, if you could just give me one more week?—”

“Sit,” I demanded.

“But this should bemycall.” His tone turned angry.

“You’re not calling the shots. Now, sit!”

He glared at me.

“This can be easy or painful. I suggest you take the easy route.” It was a bluff; I couldn’t make this painful for him, not as a suicide, but he didn’t need to know that.

The guy stared at the ground, his hands balling into fists, while, outside, a dog began barking.

“I’d like to be shot in the heart.” He sat down in a defeated plop. “I read it’s instantaneous.”

“The people you killed didn’t get to choose how they died,” I snarled. Daniel hadn’t told me how many people had died because of this guy, but the CIA only went after deadly threats.

Alistair’s head snapped back. “What?”

I drew my weapon closer.

“Wait.” He threw his palms out in front of him. “What are you talking about?” Look at those wide eyes, the feigned confusion in his voice. “I’ve never—wait!” he cried.

I pressed my pistol to his temple.

“No,” he pleaded, his focus darting between the gun and my face. “If you do that, they’ll think I?—”

Bam.One loud sound, one quiet hole to the side of his head, and the man’s lifeless body thumped to the ground.

Neighbors would have heard that shot. A silencer was out of the question with a suicide, so now, the hardest part of my job started—not getting caught.

I staged the suicide quickly. I gently pushed the gun into the right hand—the one Daniel had told me was his dominant—wrapped his finger around the trigger, and holding it firmly enough to leave his, and only his, fingerprints, raised his hand and let it fall naturally, the gun landing just beside him.

Thankfully, the gun didn’t discharge in the process.

I studied him, trying to place myself in the mind of a skeptical detective. The bullet wound was in the right location, gun registered in his name lying next to him, his body at the right angle.

After feeling confident the stage was set, I peered out the front window. People were emerging from their houses, looking up and down the block, trying to place the sound.

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