Page 1 of Crossfire

PROLOGUE

IVY

When a twig snaps behind me—the sound as sharp as a gunshot in the eerie silence—I don’t have to look back to know it’s him.

The assassin sent to kill me.

The man who’s been stealing my heart, one tender moment at a time.

My bare feet slam against the damp earth as I flee through the twisted forest. With each hurried breath, I inhale the rich, musky scent of decaying leaves as branches claw at my skin. But I barely feel the sting. My heartbeat drowns out every other sound, a desperate chant pounding in my ears—faster, faster, faster.

I should have known better than to trust Grayson, yet I allowed myself to be drawn in by him, a spark of hope igniting my soul after a year of unending grief. The loss of my father had left me shattered, but in Grayson’s arms, I found solace, a chance to escape the hell that had become my life. I let my guard down, and for the first time, the pain that haunted my every waking moment faded—my nightmares replaced with daydreams.

But now, he thinks I betrayed him, that I’m a threat to innocent lives that must be stopped at any cost. I’m not the monster they claim I am, though, and I’ll do whatever it takes to escape death and prove my innocence.

Another branch snaps, warning me that Grayson is close.

Too close…

Suddenly, my shoulders jerk, the world spins, and the bark of a tree slams against my back.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice unsteady. Minutes ago, those emerald eyes gazed up at me from between my bare thighs. “If you ever cared for me, if any part of what we had was real, don’t do this.”

For a heartbeat, I dare to hope. But I can see in the shadows of his features that I’ve lost him.

He’s already pulled the trigger in his mind.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop what’s coming…

1

GRAYSON

I get to kill a repulsive monster today.

As I walked toward the parking structure on Chicago’s southwest side—the chill of the October breeze carrying whispers of the city’s secrets and an earthy aroma that snaked through the desolate streets—life appeared to be business as usual.

And for me, usual was eliminating people at our government’s bidding.

This time, the bastard was none other than the notorious arms dealer, Ivan Vosch—responsible for supplying weapons to the largest criminals in the world who used them for pure evil. Based on our last count, those weapons ended fifty-three thousand innocent lives. Not including the people Vosch killed himself, of course, and now, a major deal was about to go down that would supply mass explosives for an attack planned right here in Chicago. An attack Vosch himself planned to play an active role in.

Time to call us—the elite, off-the-books CIA team who cleaned up messes the government needed to distance itself from.

If I failed today, thousands of innocent people would die, not to mention countless others who’d fall victim to future attacks.

I would not let that happen.

Days like this were the ones I’d longed for when I was a teenager, consumed by rage over my father’s murder with nowhere to direct my vengeance. It was a chance encounter that finally gave me the meaning I sought, and from that moment on, I developed one singular goal:

Eliminate as many monsters on this earth as I could, before one of them eliminated me.

As the target location drew closer, my blood pumped faster with anticipation. The abandoned parking garage was a barren wasteland, once bustling with life in this commercial district, but now, after a tornado of financial times had sucked the soul out of this four-block radius, it served no purpose. Its concrete walls were stained, a fitting setting for the life-and-death battle that would play out within the next few minutes.

Normally, a mission this large required a team of operatives to be on the ground, split up into various duties, including things like creating an armed perimeter, putting snipers on the roofs of nearby buildings, and armored trucks to help get operatives or hostages out, not to mention other folks in charge of communications and explosives.

But the CIA had tried that. Three times and all three teams had come back in body bags—along with four hundred and eight souls lost in Vosch’s subsequent attacks.

My mission was more than a duty; it was a vendetta, written in the blood of all those who’d died at the hands of this criminal.