Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

57. GRAYSON

57

GRAYSON

“Jesus, Grayson.” Hunter ran a hand through his hair. “I knew you were into something, but this…”

As we stood in Hunter’s office, the clink of ice against glass echoed through the room as we sipped our scotch, the orange liquid burning my throat and doing little to calm my frayed nerves. Hunter’s large desk anchored the space near the floor-to-ceiling window. Beyond the glass, the meticulously landscaped grounds stretched out before us, the once-vibrant greens now muted in the fading light—pastel oranges whispering its warnings of the impending darkness.

The beauty of the twilight hour felt like a cruel mockery, a fleeting moment of peace before the inevitable storm.

“And how does this all connect to that criminal kingpin, Dillon McPherson?” Hunter asked. “The guy you met in that bar when you’d basically said goodbye to me?”

“I’d crossed paths with Dillon a while back on a job I’d done. Guy had his ear to the ground, knew all sorts of people and knew of Vosch. I didn’t disclose my assignment,” I clarified, though I suspected Dillon knew the reason I was asking. “But I did fish for info on Vosch. The kind of stuff you hear in back alleys, stuff that might not make it to the CIA. I’m not an intelligence officer, but I knew how dangerous the mission was going to be and was trying to do everything in my power to stack the odds in my favor. Every scrap of intel could’ve meant the difference between walking away or…well, not leaving at all.”

Not that it helped. Turned out, Dillon didn’t have any useful nuggets aside from the obvious—Vosch was dangerous and powerful.

I looked at my watch again, my heartbeat accelerating with each passing minute. When I told Ivy I might know someone who could help, that someone was a man by the name of Barry Mansfield—the most-sought-after private investigator in this country, who also happened to have a CIA background. Hunter had used him recently in an effort to save Luna’s life, and I was grateful Hunter asked him to help me with whatever I needed and meet me here, at Hunter’s home.

Soon, he’d arrive and hopefully have some preliminary information on what I’d sent to him to research.

But what if he had nothing? What if I had to go to my meeting tonight with Daniel empty-handed and tell him I had no proof Ivy was innocent, yet hadn’t taken care of Ivy yet?

Hunter scrubbed his face, sighing deeply before steering the conversation to the main topic.

“What if you’re wrong, Grayson?” My brother’s tone dropped. “What if she’s guilty?”

I shot a glower at him. “Did you listen to anything I just said?”

Hunter held his palm up, in apparent surrender. “I’m just asking if it’s…possible.”

“No. I trust her.”

Hunter considered this. “And if Barry can’t prove the evidence is manufactured?” His voice was low and serious. “What then?”

I clenched my free hand into a ball, the uncertainty gnawing at my insides.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice strangled with fear. “Maybe Daniel will have other ideas on how to investigate this evidence.”

“So, you’ll tell him you handed the evidence over to a private investigator?”

Shit.

This entire situation was spiraling, but I couldn’t think about that right now. Time was running out, and the gravity of Ivy’s fate hung heavy on my shoulders.

Sometimes, reality could be an asshole, its icy grip squeezing the hope from my heart. I knew Ivy was innocent—I could feel it in my soul—but Hunter’s question echoed the ones slamming around in my skull like a relentless thunderstorm.

What if I couldn’t prove it?

What if I couldn’t save her?