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Sawyer clicked a button on his keyboard, and another photo appeared, this one a hospital ID. The stark contrast between the vibrant soldier in the first image and the haunted man in thesecond was jarring. His hair was longer and messier, his face gaunt and drawn. The scars on his neck looked fresh, still angry and reddened, standing out starkly against the pallor of his skin. His eyes, now hardened with pain, were the only recognizable feature.
Rylan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at the two images on the screen—Jameson Pierce and Pierce St. James. The two faces seemed worlds apart, yet it was the same man.
And, still, neither of them was the Pierce they knew.
“Why would he lie to us? We’re his teammates.” The edge of anger in Donovan’s voice had Rylan glancing over. Donovan always had a quicksilver temper, and he tended to take things too personally.
Rylan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Pierce—Jameson,” he corrected himself, “isn’t one for sharing. He has a damn fortress built around himself, and even I haven’t managed to break past those walls. I’ve tried to engage him in counseling, but he always deflected, always kept things surface level. I respected that and figured he’d talk when he was ready. Dammit, I should have pushed harder. I should have known he was carrying more than he was letting on.”
Zak shook his head. “We all gave him space, Ry. It’s what he needed. You’re not a mind reader. None of us are.”
“But I could have helped him. I know what it’s like to carry trauma like that, especially trauma tied to classified missions. You know what that’s like, too—how it feels like you can’t talk about it. Like no one will understand.”
“Yeah, well, he wasn’t ready for help. You always say that until someone’s ready, we can’t do anything but offer support.” Zak crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the edge of his desk as he studied the two photos. “And I think you’re asking the wrong question, Van. Not why did he lie to us, but why did he feel he needed to?”
“Bet he has info on Project Iron Horizon that someone high up wants,” Sawyer said.
“Or wants kept silent,” Zak added. “I did enough black ops in my time to recognize the hallmarks of one when I see it.”
Sawyer spun back to his computer and pulled his headphones over one ear so he could hear his screen reader as he typed. “I don’t think it was a black op, but—wait, hang on. Let me try something…” He trailed off and typed furiously for a moment, then smacked his hand on his desk. “Fuck. I thought that would work. I can’t access it. Not without triggering some serious alarms with all the big alphabet-soup agencies. But from what little I’ve found, it was some kind of weapons program.”
“Even better,” Donovan muttered. “So someone out there wants him either in their pocket or six feet under. That explains why he’s always been a paranoid bastard, always looking over his shoulder.”
“It was never just PTSD. It was genuine fear.” Restless, Rylan rose to pace the room. The dogs all followed him with their gazes, except for Zelda, who was still snoozing comfortably under Sawyer’s desk, with her head now resting on his foot.
Rylan paused by the window overlooking the dense forest surrounding their headquarters. Redwoods swayed in the gentle breeze. It was so calm here. As if the earthquake had never even happened.
Goddammit, why couldn’t Rhiannon have made it here before the quake hit? She would’ve been safe here. She would’ve?—
He realized his hand was shaking and curled it into a fist, pressing it against the cool glass of the window. He closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe, to calm down.
So much for a distraction.
“Rylan?” He heard Lucy’s soft voice behind him. “You okay?”
He turned around and managed a smile he didn’t truly feel. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, lying through his teeth. “Just… thinking.”
She studied him for a moment, and he felt like those fascinating bi-colored eyes could see right through him.
“Rylan…” she began, her voice trailing off when he turned his back to her.
His prosthetic arm twitched as he clenched his fist tighter, the metallic fingers creaking with the pressure. “I’m okay,” he repeated, though his voice lacked conviction.
“I know we don’t really know each other, but if you need to talk to someone about your sister?—“
“Let’s focus on the man we know isn’t dead.”
“But you don’t know that your sister is dead.”
“It’s been a week and the highway she was last seen on collapsed into the ocean. If she didn’t drown immediately, the possibility of her surviving that long, buried in the rubble, is statistically minuscule.” His voice was harsher than intended, and he regretted it immediately when he saw the hurt flashing in Lucy’s eyes.
“I’m just trying to help,” she said softly and retreated to her fiance’s side. Sawyer held out an arm, and she sat on the edge of his chair, resting her head against his shoulder.
They looked good together. Right.
Rylan closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. He knew Lucy meant well, but her words of comfort had sliced through him like a blade. The thought of Rhiannon being gone was still too raw, too fresh.
He couldn’t think about it.
