A Thousand Pieces of You

Yet I’m turning the situation over and over in my head.

Triad kidnapped Dad. But why? For leverage over my mother? No, because then they would have told Mom what they’d done, rather than let her think her husband was dead.

Was it—for leverage over me? If Theo and I hadn’t taken off when we did, would Wyatt Conley or someone else from Triad have come to me and made it clear that if I didn’t travel for them, do whatever they said, my father would never get to come home?

Yes. They would have.

This was all about getting to me. All the anguish Mom and Josie felt, the pain they put Theo and me through . . . it was all so Triad could control me.

My mind still can’t wrap itself around the fact that I’m at the center of all this, after years of half listening across the room while Mom, Dad, Theo, and Paul brainstormed their phenomenal technology. Yet that’s where I seem to be. I also have no idea how I’m going to stop Triad from hurting the people I love, or trying to control me.

But if I have a power Triad wants—that means I have power. And I intend to use it.

By the time I stagger to bed, I’m utterly exhausted. Yet I’m not so tired that I don’t notice the blinking light that means I’ve received a message. I dive for it, instantly rejuvenated. Communications must have cleared for a few minutes, long enough for Paul to get something through.

The message is from Paul, but it’s not video, not even audio. Probably I should have known not to expect a love letter from a guy who expresses himself through actions rather than words. He sent only three words, but they’re the only words I need: On my way.

“Put on your waterproofs,” Mom calls to me as I grope for my alarm the next morning. “There’s a break in the storm, but not much.”

Yes, even in hellacious weather conditions, the morning maintenance has to get done. My waterproofs turn out to be a neon orange parka and pants made out of plastic, so I look super hot. As I head out through our kitchen, Dad walks right past me in the front room with only a groggy smile, no acknowledgment of the night before. He’s this Henry Caine again, and my dad is merely a flicker inside him, watching without knowing.

I can get him back, I remind myself as I touch the outline of the Firebird against my chest. Anytime I want, and soon, for good.

“This is what she calls a break in the storm?” I call to Josie as we walk out onto the platform.

“C’mon, you’ve seen it worse than this!” Josie laughs.

Seriously, have I? Because this weather is dire. Gusts of wind, sharpened by salt and sea, beat against me. My baggy waterproofs flap and snap in the gales, and my hood blows back almost instantly. A little wet hair never hurt anybody, but the wind and water have made it cold, even though it’s midsummer here. Overhead the sky is low and gray with clouds in a specific rippled pattern that must mean trouble.

So I whip through the maintenance, doubly glad for my safety harness. Within minutes I’m back down and headed for the door, when I hear Josie shout, “We’ve got refugees!”

I look in her direction and see the helicopter approaching from a distance.

Josie joins a handful of other people to ready the helipad. I don’t. This is one situation I don’t intend to bluff my way through; those people need help, not me screwing things up. But I watch the others prepare to tether the chopper to the deck as soon as it lands.

The rotor blades churn the air up even more as I stand there, squinting against the rain. All around us the ocean has darkened to the color of steel. As soon as the helicopter has landed, people spring into action, attaching cables even before the rotor stops spinning. I go for the pilot’s side door to help him out. The moment I open it, the pilot holds up his hands and says, “Don’t blame me, all right? This guy insisted he’d pay me triple. Which he’d better.”

“I’m good for it, buddy. Relax.” Theo leans across him and smiles at me. “You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.”

Ten minutes later, even though my belly is growling for breakfast, I’m still in the landing bay with Theo, bubbling over with everything I’ve learned. Theo, meanwhile, is still arguing.

“You’re imagining things. Anybody would, by this point. It’s been the craziest month of your life,” he says as we sit on one of the low plastic benches that stretches between the equipment lockers. “I would know, because it’s been the craziest month of my life, too, and as much as I loved Henry, he wasn’t my father.”

“Love.” I can’t stop grinning. “Present tense love. Dad’s right here.”

Theo sighs into the towel he’s using to mop his damp hair and face. “Do you not see that everything Paul’s told you is exactly what you want to hear?”

I cock my head as I study him. “I never realized before just how cynical you are.”

He’d like to argue with me, but that’s the moment when my father walks in, fixing Theo with his most piercing stare. “I hear we have some refugees from the storm,” Dad says. “But I’m most interested in exactly how it is that one of these refugees knows my daughter.”

“Sorry about this,” I say to Dad as I rise to my feet and slip the Firebird over his neck. A few clicks, one reminder that makes Dad curse in pain, and—

“Theo!” Dad laughs out loud, then immediately touches the chain of Theo’s Firebird, visible beneath his flight suit. “My God, Theo. I’m going to bloody well kill you for bringing Marguerite along. Whatever were you thinking? But first, come here, son.”