Page 41 of Crossfire

I swallowed, trying to regain my composure.

“How long ago?” I asked.

Grayson took a few more seconds to shake off the effect of our touch before finally taking a sip of his coffee. “I was eleven,” he cleared his throat. “But I prefer you continue telling me what happened yesterday.”

If it hadn’t been for his caring voice, I might’ve been a little hurt by that, but somehow, he managed to make me feel like the center of his attention—the only thing worthy of his time at this coffee shop being my life story.

“Um,” I continued, “well, shortly before my dad died, he said he’d finally come up with the money to take care of his mom. My Grams had a stroke a couple of years ago, and she needs to live in an assisted living facility. It’s…rather expensive.” To put it mildly. “But after his death, my mom and I went through his bank accounts, and there was nothing in them.”

Grayson’s head tilted. “Do you think he might have exaggerated about the money?”

Lord, the deep rumble of his voice seemed to echo through my ears.

“My dad wasn’t a liar. I mean, I guess he could’ve been saying that to make me worry less, but it wouldn’t take long before Grams would’ve been kicked out of the facility and I would’ve realized he was still broke,” I reasoned.

“And this guy said he knew where the money was?” Grayson deduced.

I nodded. “When I got there and saw just how remote it was, I was about to walk away, but…” I blew out a breath so deep, my shoulders sank. “Sometimes, you need something so badly that you’ll walk blindly into a fire to get it,” I said. “I know how toprotect myself physically—better than most men, actually. And I guess I let it get to my head that I could protect myself if anything happened.”

When the latest hiss of the milk foamer finally fell silent, Grayson spoke, his voice gentle and filled with admiration. “Seeing as you’re alive and well, it seems to me that youdidprotect yourself.”

As I met his eyes, a mosaic of forest shadows and sunlit glades, I willingly surrendered to the depths of his nonjudgmental stare, drowning, not in water, but in the warmth and understanding.

“Who do you think it was that lured you there?” he prodded gently.

The police had asked this question, of course, but I still didn’t know.

“Some psycho, deranged killer who gets his kicks from luring women to abandoned garages.” My heart quickened, stomach clenched, thinking how close it had come. “Police think it was human trafficking.”

“But this person knew about your father, about the money, and knew it was to pay for your grandmother’s medical care?”

“Police said he might have hacked into my computer and found personal information.”

Skepticism, bordering on anger, flashed across Grayson’s face, his jaw tightening.

“Or it’s someone who knows private details about you and your father. Someone with motive to hurt you.”

A frost slithered down my spine.

“I didn’t recognize the guy in the garage.”

“I’m talking about who delivered you to him.”

I blinked. “What would anyone gain by having me attacked?”

Grayson’s eyebrows creased together. “What happened when you got there?”

“I…some man attacked me.”

“Did he try to rob you or…”

Or rape me.

“No. He just…I think he intended to kill me.”

That asshole had charged me with a gun, and it almost fired before I’d kicked it from his grip.

“So, whoever lured you to this garage knew extremely personal information about you and wanted you dead.”

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