Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

3. GRAYSON

3

GRAYSON

In the dim light, as the stale scent of oil and rubber permeated the air, I closed my left eye, willing Vosch’s skull to materialize in my crosshairs before any intruder could intervene. Rarely did I miss a shot, but the SUV’s tinted windows made confirming his exact position an impossible task.

Seth’s voice cracked the three words I least wanted to hear right now.

“She went inside.”

Just. Fucking. Great.

Move. I need one point of orientation to blow your head off.

Someone inside the vehicle lit a cigarette, and the lighter’s flame was bright enough for Vosch’s crooked nose and pointed chin to illuminate in the passenger seat.

My lips curled to one side.

Finally.

This vile bastard’s weapons had killed more kids and orphaned more children than every dirtbag I’d ever put in the ground, combined. Families ripped apart, entire villages slaughtered—all because of him. And the son of a bitch wouldn’t stop arming the world’s worst scum or launching his own attacks until he was six feet under.

It was time to punch his ticket straight to hell.

My mouth went dry as my finger caressed the trigger—the weight of what was at stake heavier than the gun itself. Adrenaline surged through me as I waited, poised, for his shadowed silhouette to still, ensuring a shot that I couldn’t miss.

That’s all I needed.

One pull of the trigger.

“Hello?” a female voice echoed off the walls.

Goddammit!

Vosch ducked beneath the dashboard.

His driver, on the other hand, launched himself out of the SUV, slamming the door with a crunch. I have to be honest; the urge to blow the driver’s head off was so strong, it made my trigger finger itch, but if I did that, I’d reveal the only thing I had going for me right now—my hidden location—and with how evasive Vosch had been, I couldn’t take that chance.

I kept my eyes trained on the SUV’s windshield, waiting for Vosch’s head to pop up like a whack-a-mole, while the driver stormed toward the female voice in my periphery.

“Show yourself, Bob.” The woman’s voice was sharp and commanding, like the crack of a whip. “Bo?—”

Her words were cut short by the sickening smack of flesh against flesh, followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground.

A bloodcurdling scream tore from the woman’s throat, bouncing off the cold, unforgiving walls. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I imagined what the driver must be doing to her.

But suddenly, a man’s agonized cry ripped through the air, drowning out her screams.

What the hell? Her scream had been laced with shock, but his…his was pure, unadulterated agony.

She must have landed a devastating blow to his dick. By the sounds of it, she’d lodged it all the way to his sternum, but in a few seconds, he’d surely retaliate. Brutally.

I squinted, trying to make out Vosch’s shadowy form moving inside the SUV, while the sounds of the violent struggle continued.

Grunts and smacks punctuated the air, the rhythm of flesh striking flesh in a brutal dance until finally, a sickening crack reverberated through the chamber, like the snapping of a dry twig underfoot.

A howl of pain followed, but surprisingly, it wasn’t the woman’s high-pitched wail. It was the deep, guttural roar of a man in agony.

Had someone else come down with her?

I couldn’t scrutinize them without taking my eyes off Vosch, but in my distant periphery, only two shadowed figures were engaged in battle.

Meanwhile, the universe decided this wasn’t a big enough shit show; Vosch’s figure launched into the seat, and the SUV shot forward with a groan.

Shit.

I fired. Glass exploded from the driver’s-side window, but he spun the SUV around, clipping the side mirror against the column that hid the bomb.

I squeezed the trigger again, the gun’s recoil jolting my arms. The rear window erupted in a shower of glittering shards, the crack of shattering glass piercing the air. Tires squealed against asphalt as the vehicle wrenched into a sharp turn up the ramp. As the car straightened out with the winding of the engine, I steadied my aim and fired again, the muzzle flash briefly illuminating the darkness.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

“Shit!”

“The SUV just left the parking garage,” Seth said moments before muffled gunshots echoed outside.

Given the lack of all clear, Seth’s last-ditch efforts failed to stop Vosch, too.

Worse, the bomb lay on its side, several feet from where I left it, and as I drew closer, something sinister caught my eye:

Numbers on a small screen, flashing one at a time.

73.

72.

71.

“Seth, what the hell is going on with the explosive?”

69.

68.

“We didn’t activate the timer.” Seth’s voice flared with alarm.

Every bomb we’d used in the past had the optional timer, but something outside our control had activated this one.

66.

“Vosch’s SUV must have hit it,” I said. Which could cause a component within the bomb to shift, triggering the timer inadvertently.

It could have been worse—it could have gone off immediately.

64.

“Can you shut it off?” I asked.

62.

“It’s not responding,” Seth said. “I’ll keep trying, but get the hell out of there!”

Off to my side, movement stole my attention.

Holy shit.

The woman wasn’t just alive; she didn’t even look that injured, based on how fast she was running toward the staircase.

If she worked for Vosch, I’d tuck the explosive under my arm like a football and chase her down, but I had no idea who she was, and I had sixty seconds to bolt before my body became a jigsaw puzzle.

I charged toward the staircase, but halfway there, I nearly stopped in my tracks.

The driver lay on the ground, his agonized groans piercing the air. His arms were bent at unnatural angles, and his right shin protruded through torn, bloodied fabric. Crimson streamed from his misshapen nose, coating his chin and neck in a slick, glistening layer, while swollen, darkening flesh engulfed his eyes, rendering them mere slits.

What in the actual hell?

At the risk of sounding like a misogynist, I couldn’t help the thought, A woman did this?

I’d seen my fair share of beatdowns, but this was next level. The dude looked like he’d been put into a human blender.

The corner of my lips threatened to turn up, impressed by her handiwork, but my almost smile evaporated as I glanced at the staircase, where she’d conveniently, and suspiciously, vanished. The driver’s fate was sealed. I couldn’t save him at this point even if I wanted to—and let’s be clear; I had zero desire to—but this woman wasn’t going to lose me that easily.

If she thought she could waltz into a top-secret operation and get away scot-free, she had another think coming.

CIA operatives in nearby vehicles would have the best chance to follow Vosch, but I was on the ground, with the best shot at pursuing her—the woman who didn’t exactly help my operation.

With only seconds remaining before the bomb would detonate, I sprinted up the stairs with one mantra beating its rhythm through my head.

The hunt is on.