Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

54. IVY

54

IVY

“Where are we going?”

When we left the cabin, Grayson had simply said there was someone who could help us, but he failed to say who. Or where they were. And I’d been too upset to ask. That’s what happens when a sanctioned killer almost ends your life—for a second freaking time. It takes a second for a girl to get her thoughts back in order.

“To my brother’s house.”

“Your brother ?” I choked. Was that why he’d let me take a quick shower and freshen up before we left the cabin? If so, I wish I could’ve freshened up again, so I didn’t smell like the sex we’d had after having left said cabin. “Which one?”

He arched an impressed eyebrow at me. “You remembered I have three?”

He told me this the day we had our first kiss. So, yes, of course I remembered that.

Yet…this whole meeting the family thing felt unexpectedly intimate. Especially when you consider, “I don’t even know what your last name is.”

Grayson hesitated, perhaps used to not giving out information, but I was about to meet his brother at his home . Anyone could look up public records.

“Lockwood,” Grayson allowed. “Our last name is Lockwood. We’re heading to Hunter’s place.”

“Does he work for the CIA, too?”

Grayson’s attention was glued to the road in front of us as the view of the city grew bigger.

“No.”

All righty then.

“So, he doesn’t know you’re a hit man?”

Grayson’s eyes deepened to the rich hue of twilight-cloaked pines as they raked over me once more—making my pulse skip. I swear, if he kept stealing glances at me like this, his gaze lingering just a little too long, the car would need to develop some serious autopilot skills—and fast. Otherwise, we’d end up wrapped around a tree, courtesy of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Smoldering over here.

“I prefer the term CIA operative .”

Of course you do.

“Does he know you’re a hit man in a tie?”

Based on the icy glare Grayson gave me, he didn’t find my retort amusing.

“No,” he grumbled. “And you won’t tell them.”

See? Grayson knew nothing about women or relationships; if he did, he would know that women like me did not like being told what to do.

“Wait…” My brain replayed his last word. “What do you mean, them ? Is someone other than Hunter going to be there?”

“My other brothers and Hunter’s girlfriend.”

My jaw about dislocated from shock. I was going to meet multiple members of his family? Was I comfortable with this?

“And like I said,” Grayson repeated in his bossy-ass tone, “you will not tell anyone about what I do for a living.”

“Won’t I?”

Another glare, this time with a side dish of a tightened jaw.

“You’re a smart woman, Ivy, yet you enjoy pushing my buttons. Do you find that wise?”

No. But for some reason, gently provoking you has become an intriguing prospect for a hobby.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

His stare slammed into mine, and there it was again, that primal reminder that this man killed people for a living. A strange mixture of fear and curiosity buzzed over my skin, wondering what he would do if I upset him.

“I’m trusting you, Ivy. And as a friendly reminder, we’re going there to try to save your life.”

Well, there it was again, me feeling like a royal bitch. So, I shut my mouth and watched the road fly beneath our tires.

Grayson lowered his voice as he said, “I need to tell you something.”

“Now what?”

“I don’t want to upset you.”

“That ship sailed when you tried to murder me.”

Okay, that elicited a glare from him.

“What did you do?” I demanded.

When he pursed his lips, a flash of unease surged through my body.

“I know you’re independent and you don’t want anyone’s help,” Grayson started. “It’s one of the things I admire about you, but when you were in the shower…I made a call and made arrangements to pay your grandmother’s bill.”

Grayson could’ve told me he’d trained an army of squirrel assassins, and I’d be less surprised than I was right now.

“You what?”

My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Did I hear him correctly? Grayson, the man who had been sent to kill me, was the one who was making my biggest dream in life come true?

I searched his face for any hint of deception, waiting for the punch line of a cruel joke. But all I saw was sincerity and perhaps a glimmer of something else—something that looked suspiciously like compassion.

How could he afford it? And even if he could, why would he do that for me?

Would I allow it? I never accepted handouts—ever. I was a proud woman capable of paying my bills, and yet…this wasn’t about me, was it? It was about Grams.

Grams, whose expiration date on her facility was rapidly running out. Shoving my pride out of the way, a separate tidal wave of emotions crashed over me—shock, disbelief, gratitude, and a flicker of something I couldn’t quite name. Something that made the back of my eyes sting.

“I called my accountant and told him to make it happen. And to prepay for next year as well.”

That was at least six figures.

“Where would you get the money?” I muttered, shock still slowing my words.

He didn’t answer me, though. Instead, he made a turn into what I thought was a side road, but evidently, it was the longest driveway in human history, leading to a freaking mansion.

I’m talking, sprawling estate so big, it looked like it occupied the entire planet.

“This is your brother’s house?” My jaw went slack as the vehicle continued its long-ass journey to the front.

“The food should be good. He has a chef; otherwise, it would be terrible.”

“Who lives in a house like this?” I said as Grayson shifted the car into park.

“This is the house I grew up in.”

My head snapped. “What?”

Grayson unbuckled his seat belt.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. You grew up in this house?”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re, like…rich?”

“My parents were wealthy.”

“That is such a rich thing to say.”

“When they passed, the estate went to us.”

Estate. A fancy word that rich people used, whose wealth passed through generations.

“Come on. Let’s go,” he said so casually. It was like the thought of being this wealthy wasn’t a huge deal.

It was.

“Wait a minute.” I put my hand on his arm, stopping him from opening his door. “So, you literally choose to murder people and it’s not because you are completely broke?”

“I told you what my motivation is; it has nothing to do with money. Come on. We’re going to be late.”

“Wait,” I demanded.

This time, Grayson gave an impatient sigh as he turned to me again.

“So, you don’t have to work?”

“Financially speaking, no. Now, come on.”

Grayson got out of his car, and the only reason I was still sitting in the passenger seat as he opened the door was out of pure shock.

He held his hand out to me, and in a totally distracted trance, I took it, rising to my feet. Grayson put one finger over his lips, a silent warning before pointing to something on the house.

There, positioned above the front door and other various locations around the building, were black surveillance cameras.

Conversation over.

But it couldn’t be over. I would ask more questions later, but for now, I at least needed to know the running rules.

“So, they think you’re…” What was the word for someone so wealthy that chose not to work? Couldn’t think of one, so the best I came up with was, “Retired?”

“No. They know I work.”

“Then, what do they think you do for a living?” I whispered.

He squeezed my hand, pulling me to the front door.

“I’m trying to get our story straight,” I pleaded.

“They don’t ask.”

Twenty feet and counting until we reached the door.

“They don’t ask.” My eyebrows cinched so close; they could probably high-five each other.

“My brothers and I drifted apart after my mother’s death.”

Still, how are you, what do you do for a living —those were noninvasive questions.

“We’re trying to change that now,” Grayson continued, whispering. “But they know nothing about the…organization I work for. We kind of have a don’t ask, don’t tell situation.”

“Then, what am I supposed to say?”

“Nothing.” Grayson’s voice was firm. “You say nothing.”

“Your family doesn’t know what you do for a living, but I do?”

“Cat got out of the bag.”

When you broke into my house and tried to murder me.

I shook my head. I didn’t like this. What if I said the wrong thing? What if I slipped?

“What am I supposed to talk about with them?”

“Whatever you normally talk about with people.”

“I normally talk about medical histories, dressing bandages, and if they took their medications.”

And that’s when another thought occurred to me.

If Grayson was a killer, were his brothers equally dangerous?