Page 57 of Crossover

Grayson stuck to my side like a golden retriever/captor as we walked toward the restroom, which was located on the side of the building. On the way, we passed three flyers for missing women taped to a window.Comforting.

“Don’t take long,” Grayson warned.

I shot him a venomous look, my eyes narrowing as they landed on that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. But I couldn’t hold the stare for long; the urgent pressure in my bladder forced me to hurry into the ladies’ room.

The restroom was a dismal sight with three stalls that had seen better days. I made a beeline for the furthest one, praying it would minimize my chances of contracting some horrible disease.

Holy mother of relief, emptying my bladder was so intense, it was almost euphoric. But that relief lasted all of ten seconds before an eerie chill frosted my skin.

That rustling sound was probably just a giant rat, right? Not that a rat didn’t come with its own wave of panic. I’d lived nearly three decades without contracting the bubonic plague, and I certainly didn’t want to get it now.

It wasn’t until this moment that I appreciated just how dark it was in this bathroom. A single overhead light was down to onebulb, barely providing illumination, so I couldn’t be sure if that was a shadow beneath the stall door.

My mind raced. There was no way a CIA agent could’ve tracked us down so quickly after the call to Detective Mitchell, right? We’d only just arrived, which meant if someone was in here, they’d been herebeforeus.

I yanked my pants up—if I was going to get bitten by a giant rat, let it not be on the ass—and my fingers fumbled on the stall lock as I sucked in a shaky breath. Slowly, I eased the door open, peeking out with one eye?—

The stall door slammed into my forehead, and stars exploded across my vision.

31

GRAYSON

“Any updates?”

The phone felt like a lead block in my hand as I waited outside this grungy gas station bathroom for Barry’s update, my muscles tense with fatigue and frustration.

“I’m making progress,” Barry’s voice rumbled over the phone, as slow as molasses. “My IT guy is untangling the web of digital fingerprints on these documents—every keystroke, every time stamp, every breadcrumb. And I’ve got a finance bloodhound sniffing out the money trail.”

“But no smoking gun yet?”

“Smoking guns are hard to come by, but like I said, we’re making progress.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, my gaze darting between the ladies’ room door and our car that desperately needed gas.

“I don’t know how long I can realistically keep her out of Daniel’s crosshairs,” I admitted.

“We’re working around the clock on this one,” Barry assured.

I sighed. “And what about the other thing?”

There was a beat of hesitation on the line. “You sure you want me to prioritize a resource to find him?”

“I don’t want anything prioritized over this current investigation. But at some point, I would like to find the guy, yes.”

“With a rap sheet like his, it won’t be too difficult to smoke him out of whatever hole he’s crawled into.”

Good.

“What are you going to do with him when you find him?” Barry asked.

I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn’t going to answer that one, but suddenly, a thump from inside the ladies’ room made my spine stiffen.

“Ivy?” I called out.

Silence.

I ended the call, shoved my phone into my pocket, and reached for the gun in my waistband, quickly attaching the silencer hidden in the hoodie I’d thrown on when we got here.

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