Page 12 of Crossover

“If you say so.”

This man had snuffed out Dad’s life, and now he had the audacity to stand before me and attempt to tarnish the memory of the honorable, life-saving man who’d raised me. Rage and grief battled within me, each fighting for dominance. I wanted toscream, to lash out, but shock held me in place, my mind reeling as it tried to reconcile what the hell was happening.

If the CIA had a hand in my father’s death, then they must’ve thought my father was a dangerous criminal, too. Why?

“You’re just like him,” he snarled. “Hewouldn’t shut his mouth, either, and look where it got him.”

A cold shiver raced through me, settling like ice in my gut. Dad wouldn’tshut his mouth?

That didn’t sound like a reason the CIA would eliminate someone. It sounded more like…like Daniel was trying to cover someone’s ass. Based on his creepy behavior, probably his own.

Which meant Dad’s death wasn’t a CIA operation; it was cold-blooded murder. I pushed aside the nausea that extra revelation created and wondered,Why?Why would Daniel, a CIA leader who would undoubtedly be expected to follow the law, participate in something like that?

“What happened, Daniel? Did he stumble onto you kidnapping another woman like this? Had to eliminate the witness?”

“I’m in the CIA. I’m not a lowlife criminal.”

“The CIA doesn’t eliminate people for running their mouth.”

His shoulders pulled back, making him look as if he was bracing for a fight.

“Your father,” he spat, “was warned. When he stumbled onto those weapons, he was warned to keep his mouth shut.”

Weapons? “What the hell are you talking about?”

And what did he mean,keep his mouth shut? If Dad was killed fortalking, that was proof to me that his death was dirty. And it was becoming clear that the man at the center of it was Daniel.

“How do you think they’re getting all those guns into the city undetected?” he asked.

The condescension in his tone pissed me off. This was my father’s killer, and he was chiding me for not knowing how the logistics behind a weapon smuggling ring worked.

“What vehicles can move around the city without being stopped? Ever? What can race through the city, from one location to the next, without risk of police interference? See, I’m not sure if you know this.” He stood, glancing at his watch—again—while his steps echoed in the cold concrete tomb. “But there are certain neighborhoods where it is quite difficult to move weapons in and out. They’re closely watched, and standard vehicles often fall prey to being searched. But you know what doesn’t get searched?” He paused his steps. “A fire truck.”

“Dad found weapons hidden,” I whispered in shock, more to myself than to him.

The truth settled over me like a shroud, thick and suffocating, while my mind reeled, trying to process the implications. A dull ache spread through my chest, radiating outward as the pieces fell into place. Dad had uncovered something he was never meant to see—a dangerous secret that must’ve cost him everything.

“And again, he was warned. But did he listen? No. He went to police. As you can imagine, that created quite a wrinkle for the leader of that weapons ring. In retaliation, they attempted to abduct the one person they knew he’d do anything to protect.”

My lungs clenched as if the air had been sucked from the room. A memory from when I was thirteen years old. A car screeching to a stop. Screaming and shoving. A red scar on a forearm.

“They tried to take me.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

“That shut him up,” Daniel said. “For a while, at least. But wouldn’t you know it? Eventually, the trucks stopped getting searched. Police moved on to other cases, and the guys came back. Moving more weapons, and now, they added drugs to themix. Your father and his damn morality…” Daniel shook his head. “If he’d have just kept his mouth shut, he’d still be alive. But what does he go and do?”

Daniel looked down at me, probably the same way he looked down on my father.

“Becomes an informant to the FBI,” Daniel said.

If that was true, wouldn’t the Feds have shared that information with local police? Especially when I kept bugging Detective Mitchell? He would have told me ifheknew, right? Yes. I was fairly confident he would have, so maybe the FBI withheld it, thinking that kind of intelligence could endanger an informant’s family. Or endanger their case.

Jesus. I thought back to how stressed my father had been in the time leading up to his death. No wonder. He uncovered a massive weapons and drug ring running through his city, with no way out.

“Is that why you dated my mother? To keep an eye on my father?”

Daniel looked at his watch again. “Did he honestly think Vosch wouldn’t keep a close eye on him?”

“That’s a yes,” I said. That’s why he love-bombed my mom so strongly, she thought he was her soulmate when, in reality, he was a spy for Vosch. And then, “You killed him.”

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