Page 62 of Crossfire
I sank down onto the edge of my couch, feeling the weight of my grief and the weight of the choice pressing down on me. Should I keep going and dig into this more? Or was it time to stop searching for answers and find a way to move forward without him?
29
GRAYSON
The woman inside this first-floor townhouse was about to die.
Dressed in my camouflage attire—a nylon mesh covering my head, a long-sleeved black shirt, black pants, black combat boots, and leather gloves—I’d taken precautions in case anyone on this block had surveillance cameras I hadn’t picked up on during my reconnaissance. Ring doorbells and video cameras were everywhere these days; a covert agent could never be too careful.
At 2:30 in the morning, the place was almost desolate. Only a lone car would rumble down this side street every couple of minutes, and only three townhouses still had interior lights on.
But not this one.
A solitary exterior bulb cast a dim pool of light over the three-step staircase ascending to the front door. The compact, uniform unit was one in a precise sequence of identical dwellings—a testament to suburban uniformity just outside the hustle of Chicago. The cool night air carried the lingering scent of a distant bonfire, hints of autumn and smoldering wood weaving into the silence—the tranquility a stark contrast to the constant noise of the city, only a short drive away.
In an assassination like this, I preferred more background noise, not less. Something to drown out potential screams.
I crept quietly around back, conducting one final visual scan of the secluded alley, and as I did, a black cat sauntered across the pavement—its luminous eyes locking on to mine, before walking off.
Making quick work out of my lockpick, I snuck inside—carefully, on alert for any possible complication—and quietly latched the door behind me.
The shadows of cabinets loomed around me, confirming I was in a kitchen—a cramped, narrow space flanked by two walls with barely a hallway’s width between the countertops. At least the refrigerator’s low hum provided a welcome cover for my movements.
With measured steps, I crept slowly across the linoleum floor, ensuring my boots remained silent, and thankfully, as I exited the kitchen, the soft embrace of carpet beneath my feet absorbed the sound of my footsteps even more. A small living room lay directly ahead, its shadowy figures hinting at a sofa and bookshelf, but my object was most certainly around the corner and down the hallway.
At the end of the passage, I paused in front of the ajar door, straining my ears for any hint of movement inside before stepping into the bedroom. The faint outlines of nightstands flanked a bed, upon which a figure lay motionless at its center.
My gut dropped. As selfish as it was, I’d been hoping that I’d find the place empty. Killing a woman…I still wasn’t sure I could go through with it.
The bile in my gut seemed to agree.
Her slow and steady breathing confirmed she was still asleep, oblivious to what was about to happen to her.
I flexed my fingers at my sides and slowly approached the front of her bed. I had killed many people in many differentways, but there was something particularly intimate about strangulation. Face-to-face, looking into the eyes of the person for four to five minutes, as you waited for their life to drain out of them.
Raising my gloved hands, I reached for her neck, my movements deliberate and precise. But as I leaned down, I hesitated, gritting my teeth as I dropped my hands to my sides, clenching them into fists.
Goddammit, Grayson, you have to do this.
The stakes were too high to fail. Daniel’s career hung in the balance, yes, but most importantly, if I didn’t succeed, innocent lives would be lost at the hands of this woman.
It had to be done—and done right. Clean, no complications.
I studied the dark outline of the woman’s sleeping form, trying to imagine her as a man, hoping it would make the task easier. When that failed, I conjured up an image of a room filled with innocent people pleading with me to save them.
Do it now. Before you lose your nerve. Just do it.
Once she was dead, I would stage the burglary. If everything went according to plan, I’d be out of here in less than seven minutes.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what had to be done. There was no turning back now.
At least the darkness of the room obscured her features, so I wouldn’t be able to see the fear in her eyes as the life drained from her body.
I grabbed her throat with both hands before she could even let out a scream. The woman jerked, instinctively grabbing my wrists and trying to pry them off her neck.
When that didn’t work, she tried to kick me, but I twisted my body, blocking her blows.
Her knees rammed into my sides, one after the other, each impact sending jolts of pain through my body. When that didn’t stop me, her nails clawed at my wrists, leaving burning trails on my skin. I gritted my teeth, my grip on her neck remaining resolute despite the searing agony.