Pierce
My heart is still hammering. I was so close to giving in to my desire and kissing her. Then she rejected me.
This whole time I’ve been the one keeping her at arm’s length, and now…
I am not a fan of this change.
I pace the moonlit room. If Gavin is as big of a jerk as her dad says, he could be the one behind this all.
He stole someone else’s idea but can’t pass it off as his own without being caught, so he’s selling it.
He hired Henry to bring it to me, but Henry was killed.
Whoever killed Henry stole the drive, and Gavin wants it back by any means necessary.
Did he send Cooper to ensure the meeting went well?
Or was Cooper really working for Lifeline Laboratories?
I sit at the small desk, trying and failing to fold my large legs under it. I spread them out to the side then open my computer and look up SciTech.
Gavin Johnson, CEO, is about the same age as Thea’s dad. Everything about him proves pretentious. His fancy car and lake house, his fake tan and too-white teeth… Even his smug picture makes him look like a jerk.
A message from Noah pops up on my screen, and I click on it.
It’s a mile-long rap sheet of the guy we left in the hotel in Bakersfield. Facial recognition says his name is Victor Russo, a notorious henchman for the mob. He’s wanted in five countries.
Wanted by the CIA specifically. There are rumors he’s working for someone in the agency, but it’s not confirmed. Noah is looking into it, but is currently stumped. Would the CIA want this drug? If anyone knew, my grandpa would.
My shoulders slump. I’m chasing a runaway train. Someone else hired this guy. Probably Cooper when Chris failed to detain us.
I lean back, stretching my neck. What am I up against? It could be any number of people or groups. I’m no match for the mob.
Another message pings.
Noah: You need some help up there?
Me: Maybe.
Noah: Is the great Pierce Abernathy admitting he needs help?
Me: I said maybe.
Noah: That’s a yes in Pierce talk.
Me: Pierce talk?
Noah: Part caveman, part human, and a smidge of a rabid dog.
Me: I sound so pleasant.
Noah: It’s the woman, isn’t it? She’s gotten to you.
Me: What does that even mean?
Noah: She’s making you mushy. Like a vegetable.
Me: Mushy vegetables are rotten.
Noah: Or ready to eat.
Me: This has gotten ridiculous. Do you have anything else for me?
Noah: Just this *kissy emoji
Me: Hanging up because you’re a child.
Noah: We’re texting. You can’t hang up.
Me: Just did.
I drop my phone face down on the desk and lower my head into my hands. I feel stuck, like all the answers are on the other side of the wall. I can kick, but all I’m getting is a broken foot.
I could call my grandfather. He left the CIA and started his own private security firm a few years ago; he knows things most people don’t. But he’s never been my ally. I open my phone, readying my fingers over the keypad.
Old habits stop me from reaching out.
I can do this on my own.