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Instead of any of that, he wrote:Running is not living.
Gareth’s gaze dropped to the note, and his lips compressed into a tight line. “Better than being a puppet.”
Something about his story wasn’t ringing true, but Pierce couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was.
He studied Gareth, trying to read the truth in his gaze, in his posture. There was something deeply guarded there, something he was holding back. But there was also desperation. Fear. And that made him want to—not trust. No, he couldn’t let himself trust just yet. But it made him want to listen, at least.
His gaze fell on the last thing he’d written. Running is not living. Ha. The hypocrisy of it wasn’t lost on him. He wasn’t living either, not really. He’d merely existed in a perpetual state of fear and unease.
He shook his head, rubbing a hand over the scruff on his chin, then flipped to another new page.
Why should I trust you?
Gareth didn’t answer immediately. He seemed to mull over the question, weighing his response with a certain carefulness that was intriguing.
“You shouldn’t,” he said at last. “You shouldn’t trust anyone, Pierce. But here’s the truth— I need your help as much as you need mine.”
Rising to his feet, he held the notepad in front of Gareth’s face one last time.
Does anyone else know where I am?
Gareth stared at the message, then met his gaze. “If I found you, they’re not far behind. Maybe they’re already here.”
Pierce’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tight with apprehension. His fingers curled around the edges of the notepad, his knuckles turning white with the strain.
Gareth’s words ping-ponged around inside his head—had that been a threat or a warning? He wasn’t sure.
He glanced toward the rest of the group, clustered by the registers. They were relying on him to get them through this, but he’d spent the last several years hiding from the world, interacting with only a handful of people and dogs. He wasn’t a leader. He was a survivor, and, up until this moment, he had only needed to survive alone.
But these people were counting on him. They didn’t know the full extent of the danger they were in, but he did. The exits were blocked, the building was unstable, and he had one of the most powerful private militaries in the world looking for him. And he had no backup. He couldn’t afford to panic, couldn’t afford to let the pressure get to him…
He needed a plan.
Fast.
Without another word, he shoved the notepad into his pocket and left Gareth sitting against the wall. As he rounded thecorner and spotted Rhiannon speaking quietly with Dot, a surge of protectiveness swelled in his chest. He had to make sure she made it out of here alive.
He wouldn’t let her become another casualty of his past.
chapter
eight
What was taking so long?
Rhiannon tried to keep herself busy, checking in with everyone and making sure they were as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Still, her gaze kept drifting to the corner where Pierce spoke with Gareth. The two of them had been in an intense conversation for what felt like hours, and she desperately wanted to eavesdrop. She told herself it was wrong. She told herself she’d respect their privacy, even if it gnawed at her patience.
Wasn’t her fault that the Japanese family was sitting apart from the rest of the group, close enough to Pierce and Gareth that she was able to read Gareth’s lips when she checked on them.
“I don’t know why you ran, Pierce. I don’t know anything about Project Iron Horizon beyond its name, and I don’t want to know. But I’ll tell you this—when Halston thinks they own you, they don’t let go.”
Gareth’s gaze met hers as he spoke, and Pierce turned to look at her.
Crap. She didn’t want him to think she was spying. Okay, so maybe she had been—a little—but she didn’t want him to know it. His hard hazel eyes locked onto hers, and her breath hitched.Then he snapped his fingers at Gareth and scribbled something on the pad. Gareth’s face was almost as unreliable as Pierce’s as he read the note.
She signed “Sorry” and quickly looked away, focusing all of her attention back on the Japanese family, who were nervously huddled together. Despite the two years she’d lived in Japan, she only had a rudimentary grasp of the spoken language since she’d lived in the deaf community there. She was more fluent in JSL—Japanese Sign Language—but nobody in the family knew it. Still, she managed to convey they were safe and that help was on the way.
She just hoped she wasn’t lying to them.
