Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

39. IVY

39

IVY

I’d just defied a deadly assassin. If I had escaped, it would have been brave, but here I was, alone with him, at the mercy of whatever wrath he might unleash on to me for having disobeyed him.

“This is going to be more challenging than I thought, isn’t it?” Grayson murmured.

“What is?” I asked, trying to ignore the heat radiating from his proximity.

His fingers trailed down my arm as he pulled me up from the floor. The slow, deliberate movement sent an electric current up my spine, no matter how much I wished it didn’t.

“Keeping you confined.”

“I think the term you’re actually looking for is hostage ,” I said. “And yes. If you want a girl who will sit quietly and listen to your orders, I suggest you go out on the street and find another woman to kidnap.”

He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down to my hip. “I can see that.”

His expression softened, and he stared at me for several silent heartbeats, something unspoken passing between us.

See, this was one of those things where your feelings were evidently not in sync with reality.

Reality check: this man tried to kill me. His disarming warmth should not be eliciting butterflies in my stomach.

“You’re both wrapped into one—you know that?” he mused. “A lion and a kitten. Small and fragile, but when you’re threatened, you turn into a lion.”

My cheeks heated beneath what I was fairly certain was a compliment. One that I enjoyed far too much.

“Come on.”

He wrapped his arm around my waist. Surely, it was just a form of control, to prevent me from running off, but his touch…my skin still reacted to it as if he hadn’t turned out to be the villain in my story.

Maybe it was the way he gently cupped my hip with his fingers or the way he seemed to watch my face for any sign that I was in pain, but whatever the reason, my heart joined the party and launched into applause.

“You know I am trying to help you,” Grayson said. “Whether you accept it or not.”

Every muscle in my body tensed with his touch, but not in the appropriate way—in the way that my hormones cheered.

Dammit.

“Your version of help is twisted as hell.”

Grayson’s lips curled up on one side.

The guy was devilishly handsome. He might’ve had the face of an angel with green eyes that reminded me of the Caribbean Sea, but I needed to remember that he had the soul of a demon. And those sculpted muscles encasing his tall frame were lethally trained.

Grayson guided me slowly into the hallway bathroom, where he paused and looked at me before gripping me under my armpits and sitting me on the countertop.

He held out his hands waist high, palms up.

“Let me see your wrists,” he commanded.

I clenched my jaw and raised my chin in defiance. “I don’t want to be tied up again.”

To my complete and utter irritation, Grayson looked amused that someone half his size who’d just lost the battle would try to maintain control.

“I won’t run,” I claimed.

Grayson locked his knowing eyes onto mine, as if seeing through all of my false bravado.

“Yes, you will.”

Yes, I will.

But if he tied my wrists again, running or fighting him off would be impossible. Let’s face it; running and fighting had already failed without bindings. Keeping my wrists free was my only shot of escaping.

“Please don’t tie me,” I whispered.

I hated how weak I sounded. Begging left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I could not let my ego get me killed.

“Wrists,” he repeated firmly.

I swear, even my DNA deflated when I held my arms out in defeat.

I assumed Grayson was going to whip out zip ties or something, but instead, he gently took my hands in his, inciting an unwelcome spark that flared through my body as he studied my skin. More specifically, the red marks where the bindings chafed my wrists.

His lips thinned.

“I’m sorry for this,” he claimed.

And then, because the situation wasn’t bizarre enough, Grayson dropped my hands and retrieved a first aid kit from the bathroom’s mega closet. Speaking of mega closet, based on the size and opulence of this penthouse, being a CIA agent appeared to pay quite well.

Who knew murder was such a lucrative business?

As he pulled a handful of items out of the little red box, I stared at the bathroom door, calculating my odds of running past him this time. When I had pushed the elevator button, it had opened almost instantly. That was vital information that could help me in escape attempt number two?—

“Ahhh…” I hissed.

“Sorry.” Grayson pressed a wet gauze pad against my skin that was evidently laced with acid.

Okay, fine, some kind of antiseptic, but the evil kind that no one uses because the sting was worse than the injury itself.

“I don’t know how this happened,” he admitted.

I shot him a vicious glare. “You tied me up.”

“Not that.”

Did he just roll his eyes at me?

“The target on your back, Ivy. We need to figure out what’s going on. I’m hoping to get some information from my handler, but there’s been two separate attempts on your life, and we need to figure out why.”

I had to admit, he seemed genuine in his concern in trying to figure this out. Maybe…

“Do CIA agents have access to tech people?” I asked.

Grayson furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“I can’t answer why the CIA thinks I’m a criminal. But maybe the clue to all this has something to do with this guy supposedly named Bob.”

Grayson chewed the inside of his cheek.

“It’s an intriguing thought,” he admitted. “He lured you to where a CIA target was going to be, and the next thing you know, the CIA suspects you’re involved, too.”

Maybe if Grayson wasn’t so busy murdering people, he would’ve given this a little more thought.

Murdering people. Let that sink in, Ivy.

“How, exactly, did you meet this guy who called himself Bob?”

I couldn’t fall for Grayson’s supposed warmth. Who knew what his long game was here? Maybe the real reason he was holding me captive wasn’t to supposedly protect me, but to probe me for intel that the CIA wanted. Maybe Bob was on their list, and once Grayson got all the information out of me that he could, he would put a bullet in my skull.

After all, if Grayson really wanted to help me, he could take me to the police station or something.

I needed to slaughter the butterflies in my stomach and focus. Answer his questions and wait for the right opportunity to make a run for it. Again.

“Three months ago,” I started. “He sent me a DM on Instagram, saying he heard what happened to my dad and he was sorry for my loss.”

“How long ago did your dad die?”

“Just over a year,” I said. Long enough to accumulate a massive amount of assisted living facility bills for Grandma.

“He apologized for taking so long to send his condolences, but he said he had been traveling and had just gotten back.”

“And then what happened?”

I shrugged. “We started chatting through direct messages for a while. He was telling me stories about what he and my dad used to do together.”

“And you kept talking to him?”

“It was nice to hear stories about my dad again,” I admitted with a pang in my chest. “It brought my dad back to life in a way. Mom and Grams were still in too much pain to reminisce, and I missed my father so much, I started looking forward to Bob’s stories. He and my dad went way back, according to him.”

Grayson dabbed ointment on my wrists.

“And this guy knew about your father’s financial situation?”

Grayson’s hands lingered a moment longer than necessary, and his eyes met mine with an intensity that resuscitated the gullible butterflies.

“My grandma’s medical bills were piling up at the time, so it didn’t surprise me he’d confided in friends about it.”

“And he told you where you could find the money?”

I explained the entire thing to Grayson. About how my dad had given Bob a box to hold and he’d later found the safety-deposit key. How he’d been paranoid he’d get in trouble for having it, thus insisted on meeting off the grid after convincing me he’d known my father for years and was trying to do right by him.

When I was done, Grayson announced, “I’d like to get a closer look at those messages. I know someone who might be able to get to the bottom of who sent them. But first, it seems you and I need to negotiate something.”