Page 8 of Crossover

She must be so scared. What is she going through right now? Is she hurt? Bleeding? Are they cutting her?

“I have to get her back.” My voice cracked.

Suddenly, our car swerved violently to the left, and the world outside the windshield blurred into a kaleidoscope of taillights and rain-slicked asphalt. The tires screamed against the interstate, their high-pitched squeal piercing the air and setting my teeth on edge. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of another vehicle’s headlights careening toward us, its metal frame glinting menacingly in the dim light. My heart leaped into my throat, its frantic pounding reverberating through my entire body.

As our back end fishtailed, the momentum threw me against the door, and the seat belt dug into my chest. I braced myself, my fingers digging into the supple leather of the seat.

Just when I thought we were about to meet a catastrophic end, Hunter’s skilled hands worked their magic on the steering wheel. With a deft twist and a controlled surge of acceleration, he coaxed the car back into submission. Gradually, with the car straightening out and the chaos of the near miss fading into the night behind us, I released a shaky breath.

“Fucking hell.” Jace rubbed his neck. “Your driving hasn’t gotten much better than it was in high school.”

Hunter scoffed. “Says the guy who ran over our mailbox. Twice.”

“Who puts a mailbox on the edge of the driveway?”

“Everyone,” Hunter said. “Everyone does.”

Jace rolled his eyes, their momentary banter interrupted with my cell’s ring.

“Seth,” I said. “Tell me you have something.”

“Exit 293,” he said without preamble. “They’re headed north on Maple.”

I relayed the information to Hunter, hope and adrenaline jolting through my veins.

We were at mile marker 291, so we had two more miles before we would even get to the exit.

“Do you have a location?” I asked.

“I’m watching the van now,” Seth said.

“It’s still on the move?”

“I assumed you’d need to know the exit as soon as possible.”

How…above and beyond of him. It nagged at me that he was going this far out of his way. He could’ve just given me the address when he had it, and he would’ve secured my letter of recommendation. So, what was with his vested interest all of a sudden?

Unease settled in my chest.

Daniel not returning my messages…Seth’s eagerness to help. He wasn’t luring me into a trap, was he? For going against the CIA?

“Their headed east on Main,” Seth said.

I relayed that to Hunter, who nodded in affirmation.

“Look”—I rubbed my eye—“I don’t mean to sound like a complete dick, but…are you helping me or them?”

“Them?”

“Are you feedingmyintelligence to the men that have Ivy?” Namely my whereabouts, ETA, that sort of thing. “Did Daniel order you to intervene here?” I pressed.

It took five seconds for Seth to respond…five long-ass seconds.

“No. Daniel left shortly after you did,” he explained. And there it was, that unease in his tone, that hesitation that I’d sensed when I’d first called him. “He, uh…started acting cagey right after you left. He made a call and said he wasleaving nowand wouldbe right there.”

Right where?

The last time I saw Daniel, I had shown him indisputable evidence that Ivy was innocent of being an arms dealer. One would assume he would’ve jumped on a phone call to disseminate that information as quickly as possible, to save the life of an innocent civilian.

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