Page 140 of Crossover

“Were any civilians hurt?” It was the question I’d been waiting to ask the one person who should know for sure—Cleveland Trace.

After Vosch and his men were all dead, I had gone up and down the train cars myself, looking for any other henchmen that might’ve been hiding on board, while also looking for anyone who might need help.

I hadn’t found any injuries or civilian deaths, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any, and my heart had been a drum in my chest ever since, echoingwhat if, what ifI hadn’t protected them.

Cleveland put his hands on his hips as I sat in the back of an ambulance while some EMT treated my superficial wounds.

As I studied the leader of the CIA’s face, my anxiety wound a knot into my chest, waiting for his verdict. All around us, the scene was alive. The train was stopped in the middle of the field, of all things, on the outskirts of two subdivisions, where people were gathered along their fences, gawking at the police officers and canine dogs. Overhead, the light hum of a helicopter told me the news agencies had caught wind of this.

“No one was hurt,” Cleveland said.

I let out a deep breath, my shoulders sagging so much that the EMT had to adjust his hold. I had been so damn worried that a stray bullet could’ve hit one of them.

“Are you sure?” I pressed.

Cleveland’s mouth lifted slightly. “All passengers are accounted for.”

“What about the “L” train? They had been planning something for today.” What if we managed to save everybody on this train, but the main attack had still happened?

Cleveland put his hands in his pockets and offered a nod. “Canines found a bomb on the blue line. It was on a timer, set to go off within the hour.”

“How did canines find it so fast?” I asked.

“We set up teams throughout the city. As soon as you walked into Union Station, we deployed them. Train was evacuated. The squad was called in and deactivated the device.”

“Vosch and his men…”

“Probably would’ve caught wind of it, but were, evidently, engaged in a battle of their own. With you.”

It took several seconds for my mind to digest this all. I guess when a nightmare finally ends, when the love of your life and unborn child, along with everyone you care about, is finally safe, it takes a minute for relief to wash through your rigid muscles.

“We’ll be needing your statement,” Cleveland said.

“Of course.” My gaze swept the lives that had been spared today.

“You’ve been an incredible agent, Grayson. You should be proud of all the lives that you’ve saved in your time here. You can also rest assured that the entire case against Samantha Ivy Jackson has been closed.”

80

GRAYSON

The sky was illuminated with brilliant shades of pastel pinks and oranges as the private jet finished its leisurely descent, as if Mother Nature herself were rejoicing as much as I was that Ivy, my family and hers, had survived the battle. The hum of the jet’s engine and the soft screech of its tires as it landed were like mechanical cheers.

Minutes later, with my hands shoved into my pockets, I smiled, witnessing the miracle of all of them coming off the plane. One by one. Carried off the plane by Hunter and Jace, Ivy’s grandmother had a mischievous glint in her eyes, like she’d very much enjoyed being on a private jet, swept away to Costa Rica. The fact that she didn’t get a vacation out of it and had turned back around, well, that didn’t seem to bother her in the least. Not when two handsome Lockwood brothers were carrying her down the private steps to the jetway.

Next came Ivy’s mother, whose appreciative smile threatened to spread across her face that I had kept not only Ivy, but also those dearest to Ivy safe. Luna stepped out next, locking hands with Hunter.

Finally, a delicate figure that I feared I would never see again emerged in the doorway. None of us seemed to registerhow cold it was outside, our breaths coming out in foggy bursts, the landscape around the tarmac covered in snow and ice. If anything, it felt warm outside, peacefully so, as Ivy’s gaze found mine.

I stepped closer, but once she descended the stairs, we both launched into a jog, closing the distance between us in a matter of seconds. The heat of her body pressing against me, the weight of her arms around my neck, and the softness of her cheek pressed to mine—as her shoulders shook in a relieved sob—were almost magical. Heaven, after enduring the hell we’d been through.

“I was so scared something happened to you and they weren’t telling me until we got home,” she admitted.

“We talked on the phone,” I reminded her.

“I was scared you might be lying in a hospital bed, dying or something, and you weren’t telling me.”

I held her tighter, but immediately loosened my grip, reminding myself I needed to be delicate with her.