Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

15. GRAYSON

15

GRAYSON

“I have news.”

Never thought I’d be so damn thrilled to hear from Seth, but after sitting on my ass in this freaking coffee cult for two hours with no sign of Ivy, I was about to start putting bullets through laptop screens.

The place was a morning zoo full of stiff shirts and ties, grabbing their fix before clocking into cubicle hell. I couldn’t imagine taking continuing education courses on spreadsheet tricks. Learning new techniques to kill people—now, that was interesting.

My attention flicked to the door with every opening, searching for her among the flood of caffeine seekers while I pretended to respond to emails on my tablet—a prop to make me look like a patron rather than a loitering stalker.

But that’s what I was. A stalker. Waiting for my target to show.

The regular who’d given me her name glanced over his laptop, his eyebrows knitting together as he leered at me, sitting in the same spot I’d been in for so long that the air between us charged with his suspicion.

I glimpsed at my watch.

Goddammit, how was it possible that only six minutes had passed since I last checked the time? Would she even show up today?

My gaze swept the coffee shop again, piercing through the veil of normalcy that shrouded the unsuspecting people who had no idea that among them sat a lethal operative. To them, this was just an ordinary location to grab food or drinks, but to a trained asset, it was a battlefield of potentialities.

The solid countertops and heavy tables could fracture a skull with a well-aimed shove. The milk steamers—which hissed and spat, filling the air with a scalding mist that smelled of burned sugar and bitter coffee beans—offered the potential of hot, scalding jets that could sear skin and disorient a target long enough for a decisive blow to the head. Strangulation was a tried-and-true method, but the crowded space was infested with too many witnesses who might try to be a hero and stop an attack. On the other hand, a sea of bodies would make it easier to disappear within seconds.

And then there was the coffee itself, where a simple drop of poison could silently stop a beating heart, long after the person’s killer slipped through that front door and blended into pedestrian traffic.

In this seemingly mundane setting, death was one decision away.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I ran the first name Ivy through all known databases of suspected criminals.”

“I thought you were busy scanning surveillance footage.”

“One of my guys was in a holding pattern, waiting for data to download, so I had him cross-reference the name while he waited.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense. I’m aging here.”

“Nothing. No hits. He also ran alternatives to Ivy, in case it’s shortened for something. Ivanna, Ivette, Ivoria, Ivylene—that kind of thing.”

“If you tell me you found a hit after all this buildup…”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“She’s clean?”

“First name is. Unless it’s an alias.”

I thought back to my interaction with her yesterday. Both the ex and a coffee shop regular knew her as Ivy. I suppose it was possible she came here regularly to build up an alternative identity, but that was next level, and so far, nothing about her screamed next-level criminal.

Then again, maybe I was underestimating her.

“What about facial recognition?” I pressed. “For a last name.”

“Haven’t gotten to that.”

The front door of the coffee shop opened, and finally, the guest of honor walked inside.

“Gotta go.” I cut the call.

I waited for her to stand in line for a solid minute before I stood up and claimed the position behind her, pretending to be engrossed in my tablet while the line moved slowly toward the counter.

As the door swung open once again, a crisp morning breeze swept through the coffee shop, along with a boisterous laugh—emanating from a woman who’d just strolled in. Beside the blonde stood a man, his arm draped casually over her shoulders, who surveyed the room with an air of expectation.

Not just any guy. That was the guy who’d grabbed Ivy yesterday. Today, he tried to disguise his repulsive personality with a three-piece suit, but I could tell by the smug curl to his lips when he spotted Ivy that seeing her here was no accident.

Of course it wasn’t; according to the regular, this was Ivy’s normal time, and based on the smug look on his ugly-ass face, he was here to provoke her.

Into what, I had no idea, but the protective flare to step between her and this douchebag came back with a vengeance.

Especially when I turned and witnessed Ivy’s reaction.

A shadow fell over her face, erasing the light that had flickered there moments before, and her smile wilted.

He’s hurting her.

On purpose.

Ivy ripped her focus away from him and glued it to the barista. Over the next few minutes, it became apparent to me that the guy was putting on a show, laughing loudly at the blonde, complimenting her, and even kissing loud enough that we could hear it over the hiss of milk steamers. Their voices carried over the static of conversations around us, and every so often, Ivy’s body would tense, as if it had just been dealt a fresh blow.

“Next!” a different barista from yesterday called out.

Ivy ordered a hot mocha with whipped cream, and after I ordered a black coffee, I joined her in the designated waiting area, hoping I could convince her to talk to me before our drinks were ready.

Years of shadows and silence had honed me into a weapon, but now, I needed to dust off my social skills.

“You’re Iva, right?” I said, tilting my head slightly. “We met yesterday.”

As she turned to face me, I saw a flicker of recognition on her face, followed by a subtle sparkle that hinted at excitement. For a brief moment, her frustrated facade melted away, revealing a ghost of a smile that reached her enchanting eyes. It was as if the mere sight of me had brought a touch of unexpected joy to her day, and that…

That brought me more joy than it should have.

“Ivy,” she corrected softly, her voice carrying a warmth that hadn’t been there before. “Grayson, right?”

She quickly tried to compose herself, but the slight flush in her cheeks and the way she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear told me that our encounter had affected her more than she wanted to let on. The knowledge sent a small thrill through me, and I couldn’t help but feel a swell of satisfaction at the idea that I had made an impression on her.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, trying to appear nonchalant despite the sudden quickening of my heartbeat. Who knew watching a woman tuck a piece of hair behind her ear could be so…fascinating? I found myself staring, transfixed by the simple gesture.

“Thank you again for what you did.” Her eyes were warm.

“Tell me something.” I motioned toward the guy with my chin, pretending not to know the answer. “That’s the man who grabbed your arm yesterday, right?”

Her smile fell, and she glanced down at her feet. “The one and only.”

What a loser. Guys like him thought excessive weight lifting and wearing shirts two sizes too small made him look like a tough guy, but chances were, he’d be the type to piss himself should anyone put a pistol to his temple.

“He keeps staring at you.”

“I know,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

I didn’t like the defeat in her tone.

When an unfamiliar pang of worry invaded my thoughts, I leaned closer, my voice softening. “Are you okay?”

I searched her face for any signs of distress, noting a faint scar on her forehead, right above her left eyebrow. She covered it well with makeup; if I hadn’t been searching, I would never have seen it, but now, I wondered, Had that Neanderthal given that to her?

“Is he hurting you or something?”

Ivy’s chuckle danced across my skin, and she shook her head, her hair swaying with the movement. “God, no. I could take him down with one hand tied behind my back.”

I know. I wish you had.

“Really?” I raised an eyebrow, letting a mix of skepticism and genuine intrigue play across my face.

Her resilience was a sharp contrast to the vulnerability she’d shown yesterday, piquing my interest further.

She shrugged. “Tae kwon do, black belt, among other things.”

My focus flickered to her hands, trying to imagine them as lethal weapons. Noticing my gaping, she flexed her fingers slightly, as if acknowledging their hidden strength.

“So, you’re not a damsel in distress, needing to be saved?”

“No.” She smiled. “But it was sweet of you to try nonetheless.”

“So, he must be really stupid to provoke you.”

Her chuckle bordered on a beautiful laugh, the sound enchanting. “He’s not as smart as I thought he was when I first met him.” She rolled her eyes.

“Please tell me you didn’t date him long.”

She winced slightly, her shoulders tensing for a moment before she forced them to relax. “Longer than I should have.”

“Seems to me he’s trying to make you jealous.”

Her focus ping-ponged from me to him, then back to me. She bit her lower lip, a fleeting expression of frustration crossing her face.

“I know.”

“Does he think you want him back or something?” My question was brazen, but I couldn’t figure this woman out. If she could turn a violent criminal into a puddle of bones, why did this loser appear to get under her skin?

“He wants me to want him back.”

“But you don’t?”

“No. I thought he was past this.” She rubbed her temples. “I should have known that upsetting him yesterday would set him off again.”

Again. I didn’t like that word; it elicited visions of my knuckles relocating his teeth.

“Are you safe, Ivy?” What an ironic question for a CIA executioner turned stalker to be asking his target, but I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d needed to learn to fight because of him. Was he abusive?

Her beautiful, big eyes met mine again, and she waved her hand. “Oh, yes. I didn’t mean that he’d…” She trailed off, her line of sight dropping to the floor.

I felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and gently lift her chin, to make her look at me and see the sincerity in my expression. My hand twitched at my side, almost acting of its own accord, but I caught myself before making contact. I couldn’t believe I had nearly crossed that line, but the sight of her defeated expression stirred something deep within me—a fierce desire to wipe away her pain and replace it with the warmth of comfort.

Forcing my hand to remain steady, I spoke firmly. “He grabbed you yesterday.”

The air seemed to thicken with the apprehension, and I found myself drawn to the depths of her eyes, captivated by the emotions swirling within them.

Her eyes told me she felt it, too—this pulsing warmth that seemed to originate from the space between us, radiating throughout my body and awakening a sense of longing and curiosity I had never experienced before. It took every ounce of my self-control to maintain the distance, to not reach out and bridge the gap between us.

“I thought we could stay friends,” she explained. “But it looks like he’s back to his old ritual of playing games.”

Games.

“Why today?”

“Probably because I didn’t listen to his advice.”

Advice. The way she said that word implied a different meaning, more like an order.

“He used to do stuff like this when we were dating,” she admitted. “It’s why I broke up with him.”

Bingo. She ended it. She was not listening to him anymore, so Three-Piece Suit’s ego came out swinging, wanting to knock her down.

Asshole.

“I wish there was something I could do to show him these theatrics won’t work,” she mused to herself.

“Maybe it’s time to find a new coffee shop?”

“This was my coffee shop first.” For such a tiny woman, she looked damn adorable, jutting her chin out like that. “I’m not going to let him run me out of here because if I do that, he wins. Besides.” Her shoulders sank a few inches. “My morning routine is my favorite part of my day. Waking up earlier than I need to so I can stop in and get my favorite coffee. My mom even got me a gift card for my birthday because she knows how much I love it. Pete knows it, too, and him doing stuff like this…” She bit her lip. “It’s like trying to enjoy your favorite nature walk when a storm has rolled in over it.”

I raised a brow, trying not to puke when the blonde gave the loser an Eskimo kiss.

“So, he’s just being an asshole then,” I deduced.

She shrugged. “I think he wants me to see what I missed out on.”

I licked my teeth, glaring at the ex. What a prick. The guy needed to be taught some manners.

“Don’t give him the satisfaction,” I said. “A bully is looking to get a rise out of someone. If they get the reaction they seek, they continue the behavior. Change the behavior, they lose interest.”

“Meaning?”

“Starve the bully. Give him the opposite of what he’s looking for.”

She tilted her head. “And what do you think he’s looking for?” Her eyes grew larger, making me notice how long her lashes were for the first time.

“To make you miserable.”

She blinked. “Well, he’s not.”

“No offense, but the hurt is written all over your face.”

She frowned. “I’m not hurt; I’m frustrated.”

I could hear her lie; she was hurt. Who wouldn’t be when someone you cared about goes this out of their way to burn you?

“It looks the same,” I warned. “Smile.”

“What?”

“Smile. Pretend I’m flirting with you and you find me intriguing.”

Ivy’s attention swept over to the ex-boyfriend, who was hanging all over the blonde, before returning to me.

“I hated when he played games with me; I refuse to stoop to his level.”

“Sometimes, you have to speak someone’s language for them to listen.”

She seemed to consider this but shook her head. “It’s manipulative.”

“And what would you call what he’s trying to do to you?”

She took a frustrated breath. “Maybe he doesn’t realize it’s hurting me.”

I could tell by her tone, by the slight tightening of her jaw, that she didn’t believe that for a second.

“He knows this is when you come to your favorite coffee shop?” I challenged her with a raised eyebrow.

Her lips fell into a scowl.

“I rest my case. Starve the bully.”

Drawn to the plump, inviting curve of her mouth, I couldn’t stop myself from tracking the movement of her tongue as it slowly swept over her lower lip, leaving a glistening sheen in its wake.

“How?” she asked.

To this, I smirked.

“Stay. Have coffee with me. My bet is, he’ll stay, too.” He was here to make her jealous after all. “You’ll smile, and we’ll look lost in each other’s eyes. We’ll put on a show that makes the point that you’ve moved on and that any of his manipulative tactics will be wasted energy. If all goes well, he won’t return tomorrow.”

If all goes well, I’ll learn your full name or somehow snap a picture of you without you noticing that I can use for facial recognition.

The prospect of having her sacred coffee shop space back seemed to flash across her features.

“It feels hypocritical,” she reasoned. But the tone of her voice was teetering.

It did feel hypocritical, but not for her; for me. Was this not a game of my own, a ruse to find out her name?

Strange, this pang of guilt. You’d think ending lives would elicit far more remorse than lying to her.

The thing was, I actually wanted to talk to her—and not just to uncover her last name. I found Ivy alluring, and I hoped that in the process, I’d learn more about her. Like why she became so advanced in her fighting skills that she was able to turn that violent arms dealer into a human pile of bones. How could someone so tiny be so lethal? And where did she go each morning after she left her favorite coffee shop?

Maybe I should have just asked her to have coffee without the pretense, but it was too late to turn back now; she was on the brink of accepting my invitation, and I could tell she just needed a slight nudge.

“If you don’t, how long do you think it will be before he stops?” I challenged.

When her shoulders deflated, I got her answer—never. People like Pete would probably never stop unless or until he found someone else to play with.

“Ivy?” the barista called out, holding a to-go cup while I waited for Ivy’s verdict.

Out of all the ways I could uncover her identity, this was suddenly the path I yearned for the most. Not because it was the most efficient or the quickest, but because it allowed me to spend time with her, and maybe even to unravel her enigma one layer at a time.

The question was…

Would she agree to sit with me?