When William opened his eyes, he lay on a couch, his hands once again bound.
Through blurred vision that slowly cleared, he took in the room around him. It was a corner office, with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides that looked out on the island landscape. He stood, uneasily, and shook his head, trying to clear it.
A man rose from behind the desk, walked over, and grasped his upper arm.
“Here, old friend. Have a seat. Relax. Everything will be fine very soon.”
The man deposited William in a chair in front of the desk. Sitting up helped.
When the man’s face finally came into focus. William was unsure if he was saved or truly trapped.
Yuri stood across from him.
Chapter 120
The hurt Peyton felt in that moment nearly overwhelmed her. It was like the pain that night in London, when her mother had taken Andrew, Madison, and her away and told them that their father was dead. It was like the dark chapter of her life she had shared with Desmond. She had felt the same then: alone, confused.
But this was worse. Seeing her mother here—apparently in charge—involved in the slaughter of millions, complicit in releasing a pathogen upon a defenseless world, perpetrating an event Peyton had dedicated her life to stopping… It was the ultimate betrayal.
Peyton tried but failed to keep the emotion out of her voice.
“Mom, how could you do this?”
Lin Shaw glanced away from Peyton. “There’s more going on here than you understand.”
“Then explain it. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“We don’t have time—”
“Explain to me how killing millions of helpless people serves a purpose.”
“Peyton.”
“And what’s the cure? I know it’s not a vaccine and it’s not an antiviral—not like anything in use today.”
Lin Shaw exhaled but remained silent.
“What is it, Mom? What does the cure really do? I know you’re not growing a virus or biological material down there. It’s not a chemical agent. Tell me, please. What are you all planning?”
Lin stepped closer to Peyton. “I’ll explain, but right now, we need to go.”
“No. I’m not going anywhere with you. Not until you tell me why you’re doing this.”
“I’m not doing this. There are two factions within the Citium. We’re at war.”
The words shocked Peyton—and infused her with hope. She desperately wanted to believe that her mother was innocent. “Prove it.”
“Peyton—”
“She’s telling the truth.”
All eyes turned to the man who stood in the doorway. He wore a white coat; his hair was short, tinged gray at the temples. To Peyton’s shock and joy, her brother Andrew stood there, alive and well. Peyton wanted to cry at the sight of him, to rush to him and hug him. But the words he said next crushed her, shattered her heart.
“She didn’t do it, Peyton. I did.”
Chapter 121
Time seemed to stand still. With Avery tucked safely behind him, Desmond studied Conner’s badly burned face. A gust of wind caught the tall man’s long blond hair, pulling it back like a curtain, revealing more of the mottled flesh. Desmond now knew how Conner had gotten the hideous injuries.
At the remains of Desmond’s childhood home, he had recalled the full memory of that day in 1983 when his home had burned.
That morning when he awoke, he had rushed into the kitchen, where his mother sat in a chair, holding Desmond’s infant brother: Conner. The baby was smiling—in fact, Conner always seemed to be smiling or laughing. Their father had often remarked that the boy cried a great deal less than Desmond, and because of that, they might be getting another sibling. Desmond had hoped so. He was as taken with his younger brother as his parents were. But that morning, he had paid the infant no attention at all. He had stuffed his face full of eggs and toast spread with Vegemite and beaten a path out the door.
Later that day, when the flames were devouring the home, he had screamed Conner’s name before running into the blaze. The desire to get his mother and his baby brother out of the home drove him on as the fire burned his legs and the smoke strangled him until he could go no farther. He had failed both of them that day, and that failure had haunted Desmond his entire life.
In April of 2003, he had gone to Australia to visit his family’s grave, to lay a wreath there on the twentieth anniversary of the bushfires. He had expected to see a grave marker for Conner, but there wasn’t one. That sparked Desmond’s curiosity—and hope. He spent weeks in Adelaide, tracking down old records. He hired the best private investigator in the country, and the second best. The cost was exorbitant. He paid for endless travel, record requests, and attorney fees for court proceedings when records were withheld. Finally, he learned the truth: their mother had saved Conner in an act of breathtaking bravery and sacrifice. She had cleared the wood and ashes out of the fireplace, then set Conner inside it. She had rolled the refrigerator close, then tipped it over to cover the fireplace’s opening.
The initial search party who found Desmond saw only their mother’s burned remains. She had stayed in the house, clearing as much of the flammable material as she could away from the fireplace.
But a second group of relief workers searching the area for survivors found Conner badly burned, dehydrated, and malnourished. He was at death’s door. They flew him to Adelaide, where he spent months in a pediatric intensive care unit, then the burn unit.