Page 86 of Crossfire

Or was she, as I’d come to believe originally, truly innocent?

My steps on the wooden floor echoed through my penthouse as I walked to the kitchen, replaying everything again in my mind’s eye. Everything she had said, the proof on her phone, her behavior, all of it.

I retrieved a glass from the cabinet, then thought better. Knowing my luck, Ivy would hurl the glass at me or use the fragments to cut her bindings. Or slice my neck if given the chance.

Not that I blame her.

Swapping the glass for a plastic sports bottle, I stood at the fridge and filled it with ice-cold water as her words echoed inside my head.

“I’m not a criminal.”

And when I’d pressed if she’d been funding any, her response was firm.

“You think I can afford to donate money when I’m behind on Grams’s bills?”

And as for potentially getting help paying those bills by earning money with illegal activity, Ivy had nothing of value that I had seen to provide criminals. No weapons or secrets of the government.

I’m not saying it was impossible, it just…didn’t fit. All of my instincts were screaming alarm bells, and in this moment, everything Ivy told me only cemented something into stone.

I believe her.

I believe that Ivy is telling the truth, that she is an innocent civilian.

Jesus.

This realization might have dulled the ache in my heart—the one that had been clenching with her possible betrayal. But it brought a new set of challenges and questions.

How did the CIA get this so terribly wrong? How could their thorough vetting process have proven Ivy posed a threat to civilians? A threat severe enough and certain enough to put a target on her back?

How did this all relate to Vosch?

The CIA had Ivy’s name, address, and photo, but there couldn’t be evidence against her that didn’t exist. Right? But then how did this colossal fuckup happen?

I had no idea, nor would I until Daniel got his hands on that supposed evidence.

Rubbing my temples, I tried to stay focused, because something unrelated to the CIA was winding its poisonous rage through my veins:

Who in Ivy’s past had tried to hurt her? What had they done?

And of more interest, were they still alive to be dealt with?

I’d come back to that one—that was for damn sure. But back to the criminal questions…

Was it possible Ivy was wrong, that her father was an arms dealer or in bed with them? The last name, Jackson, didn’t ring any bells from prior missions I was on, but that didn’t mean he was clean.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

How long would Daniel take to deliver this supposed evidence to me? Maybe it would tell us what was going on here.

Either way, how could I convince him—and more importantly, the CIA—that she was innocent and shouldn’t be killed?

How am I going to save Ivy?

I’d have to keep a constant watch on her until I could untangle this mess. If she managed to slip away, there would be no way for me to keep her safe…

The sudden sound of footsteps jolted me from my thoughts, the realization hitting me a moment before I saw the source.

Ivy had somehow freed herself from her binding and was now making a desperate dash for the elevator.