Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

2. IVY

2

IVY

After checking the red pin on my map for the third time to confirm I was in the right location, my focus drilled into the dark space of the four-story parking garage before me.

Seriously? “Secluded,” my ass.

This place—a concrete monster with colorful graffiti and shadows pooling in every corner—looked like a scene from one of those horror movies, where a pig rides out on a tricycle. And while you’re so wigged out, thinking, What is that creepy pig doing on such a suboptimal transportation vehicle, and how do his little hoofs push those pedals? , someone drives a screwdriver into your frontal lobe and you become instantly lobotomized. I liked my frontal lobe—it was my favorite lobe of the brain. What a shame it would be to have a screwdriver sticking out of it.

Or…or it could be a one-way entrance to some sort of sex dungeon.

What this place did NOT look like was a legitimate meeting location to retrieve what I needed so desperately that I had shown up to meet a man I’d met online.

As a huge fan of murder mystery podcasts, I had taken a lot of convincing before trusting someone enough to meet them for the first time, let alone at a secluded location. Bob managed to convince me to do both, but I could already see the yellow crime tape in my mind’s eye.

There were only three reasons a man would lure me to a place like this: for unsavory acts, outright murder, or robbery. Surely, anyone who’d gone to this much trouble to set up his murder site would have stalked my social media, seeing my wardrobe was pure Walmart chic. So, no robbery motive.

Which left the murder and sex options, I guess.

Motherfucker.

I couldn’t believe this whole thing had been a sham.

This guy picked the wrong freaking girl, I’ll tell you that. This ass clown didn’t realize that as a black belt (top of my class, thank you very much), who was also advanced in various martial arts, I could snap his every bone. Not to brag, but my frail frame had taken down men three times my size. Repeatedly.

If anyone had to fear the yellow police tape, it was him, not me.

And you know what? If Bob had lied to me this entire time, maybe I’d lure him out here and teach him a lesson so he wouldn’t try this again on another woman—one who might not be capable of defending herself like I could.

God, that would be satisfying. And he would deserve it, but I wasn’t the Windy City Vigilante, and there was absolutely no chance I was going inside.

What really pissed me off was how trustworthy Bob had seemed. I mean, sure, he’d supposedly been close to my father so I’d let my guard down a bit, but the guy had been beyond convincing with why we needed to meet “off the grid.”

But now, all those explanations for why we couldn’t meet in a public location seemed like breadcrumbs to lure an unsuspecting victim to their demise.

I couldn’t believe I’d been this stupid; I knew better.

A cold fury settled in my chest, my heartbeat thundering like war drums as I swiped open the text exchange I’d been having with him. Being here felt like a betrayal of every self-defense class I’d ever taken, and I wanted to go off on this guy.

Yet the image of Grams, vulnerable and reliant, propelled me to at least try to give Bob the benefit of the doubt here. After all, she’d made a lot of sacrifices for me when I was growing up. Like the time my parents were strapped for cash, and she showed up with a brand-new bike for me, after paying my sports fees that same year. I later learned she’d skipped a small vacation to do it.

Hopefully, this was a misunderstanding.

Me: I think I’m at the wrong location. This looks like…

A place that probably had plastic tarps and duct tape inside.

Me: An abandoned parking garage.

Bob: You’re in the right place. I’m downstairs.

I blinked.

Me: On the subfloor level of a parking garage?

Bob: That’s the one.

My molars ground. The nerve. Not just an abandoned parking garage, not just secluded, but the underground level at that? How insulting that he’d think I’d be all, Okay, be right down. Oh my, what big eyes you have, Grandma.

My fingers typed on my screen so hard, I had to loosen the pressure for the letters to actually appear.

Me: You said private. Not abandoned. I’m not coming down there, Bob.

You freaking asshole.

Bob: I understand your concern. You’re smart to be cautious, but we have to find somewhere to meet without security cameras.

Yeah, well, those seemingly understandable reasons were now sounding more like a carefully crafted trap.

Come here, little one. I won’t bite.

I will, asshole. And I won’t stop until you’re a whimpering pile of tears, begging me to let you live.

Me: Great. So come up to the first floor.

Bob: Street cameras nearby might pick us up.

I wanted to replay every conversation I’d had with him to look for clues about his true motivations through this new lens, but right now, I needed to focus on not getting myself lobotomized.

Me: Seems we’re at a stalemate then, Bob.

Bob: I’m sorry. This location was the best idea I had, but I’m open to others. How about you choose the location?

My guard went down a couple of inches, but I reread his text, looking for the trick. I glanced around, searching for a screwdriver-wielding lunatic, but there was nothing but pothole-infested asphalt. There was, however, the distant hum of an engine, so maybe this place wasn’t as abandoned as I thought?

If Bob was willing to change the location to somewhere that would make me more comfortable, was there still a chance he was legit? Idiotic, to think I’d meet him here, but perhaps legit?

He knew things. Intimate things that only Dad and I had talked about.

He had been paranoid in all of his correspondence, so maybe a dark parking garage tracked. In fairness, men didn’t always see things through the lens of a woman. When we walked through the jungle of life, we were much more aware of dangerous predators that might lurk around any corner, so locations often took on sinister settings.

Bob: You pick the place. My schedule opens up again next week.

Next week?

My stomach dropped. Bob didn’t know how urgent this was for me. I had left that part out because:

A) It was none of his business.

B) I was uninterested in giving a man who held the most important thing in my life, the thing I needed the most, more power than he already had.

The screen on my phone had multiple apps that were one click away from answering almost any question in the world, except this one: Should I walk away?

Leaving might mean abandoning my last chance to save Grams from a dire fate. I mean, what if Bob didn’t follow through again to meet? What if his paranoia would make him change his mind?

Or should I stay and pray that Bob was, in fact, legit?

I chewed on my lip.

Leave , I decided.

Definitely leave.

As I turned to step away, though, fate popped an email alert onto my screen with a subject line that made me stop in my tracks.

Subject: Final notice.

My heart crashed against my ribs as I opened the letter and skimmed the words.

Final notice…

Settle the outstanding balance by…

…force us to consider the discontinuation of services and the removal from our facility…

…as per the terms outlined in our agreement.

Oh god.

I was officially out of time. My mind raced as I weighed my options. If I didn’t go through with this, Grams would lose her spot at the medical facility, and she couldn’t afford to be without 24/7 care after her stroke.

Still. Was I willing to risk my safety to save her?

I bit my nail, replaying all my failed attempts to solve this problem. My 401(k) proved too small to pay off the balance. I had been denied a personal loan from all eight banks where I’d applied—thank you, student loan and credit card debt. And my credit card companies denied my requests for a credit limit increase.

Moving her wouldn’t solve the problem either. Turned out that even if I could afford her go-forward bills, most other facilities would not take Grams with a past-due balance at her previous facility, and the ones that would were on a massively long wait list.

Maybe there was a solution out there, but I hadn’t found it in over a year, and that still didn’t solve the go-forward payments.

I would love to have her live with me, but without money for a full-time nurse or aide, she might burn my place to the ground, too, by forgetting that she wasn’t allowed to use the stove. And forgetting to turn it off. That’s what forced us into this mess to begin with—the impaired memory and thinking, which compounded her physical limitations. At least she’d survived the fire last time; this time, she might not be as lucky.

I swiped open a photo of Grams, whose frail features and eyes that held a lifetime of love and support were now etched with vulnerability.

She has no one else to depend on, I reminded myself. The thought alone solidified my resolve, clarifying my answer.

Yes. For her, I’d take the chance and meet Bob.

A calculated risk. I’d be careful, and I was well trained, so even if this guy tried something, I could defend myself.

Hell, I would break every bone in his body if he tried anything.

The darkness before me was no longer a physical barrier, but rather a test of my courage.

“I’m doing this for you, Grams,” I whispered.

After mentally practicing the deadliest self-defense moves I knew until they became etched into my muscle memory, I slowly took one step forward.

Trying to still my trembling hands.

My heart raced as I shoved my cell phone into my back pocket and walked tentatively into the garage.

The air was thick with the musty smell of damp concrete, and the echo of my steps seemed too loud, bouncing off walls and blending into the faint hum of a car engine. The chill seeped through my hoodie, goose bumps prickling my skin, while each breath hung in a light cloud before me.

A shiver ran down my spine, not from the cold, but from the eerie stillness that seemed to cloak the garage in anticipation. It was as if the shadows themselves were holding their breaths, watching me as I walked toward the staircase.