Desmond watched the words hit Peyton like punches in a boxing ring. She took them, her teeth gritted, for as long as she could—but eventually even this strong-willed woman he had met in Palo Alto twenty years ago reeled under the weight of her emotions. She had seen her EIS team killed, had discovered she was infected with a deadly virus—and now she had learned that the Citium had destroyed her life and killed her brother—and that her parents had once been members of the group… It was too much for any person to take, no matter how strong.

A tear ran down Peyton’s cheek. Then another. He pulled her into his arms. Her body heaved as she cried. He had never seen her cry so hard, even that day in California, when he had driven away pulling the Airstream trailer. He held her tight and made a promise to himself: he would save her life, and right the wrongs that had been done to her. He would do it, because in some way, he was responsible for what was happening.

And because he loved her. He couldn’t say the words back then, and he didn’t dare say them now, but at this moment, for the first time in his life, he knew them to be true. He loved her more than anything. He had loved her for a very long time.

He was so absorbed in holding her that he didn’t hear the footsteps on the porch.

Chapter 83

Chapter 83

The door to the cottage flew open before Desmond could rise. The man moved quickly, closing the distance to the couch, a handgun pointed at Desmond. His eyes studied the back of Peyton’s head, which rested on Desmond’s shoulder.

She turned and froze, her eyes wide.

“Dad.”

Peyton stood and threw her arms around her father, either unaware of or unconcerned about the gun in his hand. She hugged him with a force that made his eyes bulge. He was tall, with short white hair neatly combed over. His face was rugged, a few days’ beard on cheeks that were red from the wind that swept the island. He was fighting back tears as Peyton held him.

But the events of this last week had confirmed to Desmond the wisdom of the advice in the pages on the table: Trust no one. With the blanket still covering his hands, he reached for his handgun.

William raised his own weapon.

“Don’t, Desmond.”

Peyton released her father, looking from him to Desmond.

“Hey, we’re all on the same team here.”

William’s eyes never left Desmond. “We’ll see about that. Take the gun, Peyton. Hand it to me.”