It’s not decorating, exactly. It’s triage for a different kind of wound.
I find the room with a pretty view of the marsh and a comfy armchair. The bedding is too white, though, too pristine. I pull the comforter off and fold it into a chest by the windows because white reads “hotel” and I want “home” instead.
I trade pillows for the soft-firm ones in the hall closet—no laundry smells, no coastal perfume that says vacation. I pull a spare rug out from under the bed and lay it on the bathroom floor, because tile at midnight will be cold on her feet. On her spirit. And I don’t know what kind of hell she’s been through on the boat, but I want warmth, not coldness.
Storm sticks his head in, holds up a paper bag. “Toiletries—sealed,” he says. “Extras in the hall. Clothes?”
“On it,” I say, and I’m already on the phone with the one boutique owner who owes me for turning down her ex’s “investment.” “I need something soft,” I tell her. “Tagless. Cotton, modal. Boyshorts, not lace. Sweatpants…stuff like that.’ Small sizes. Yes, now. I’ll pay triple. Yes, deliver to the security gate.”
Atticus comes in with a tablet in hand. “Perimeter is good,” he says, “but assume microphones and anything else are off the table inside. If she doesn’t want eyes, there will be no eyes. Whatever helps her heal.”
“Good,” Storm says. “Food?”
“I’ll cook for us,” I tell him.
He gives me a look that saysyou burn water,and I hold up a hand. “I’ve been watchingFood Network! And anyone can make toast and eggs. I’ve got this.”
He shakes his head. “If it’s nasty, I’m DoorDashing. Should we make it smell girly for her? Light a candle or something?”
“Cinnamon and spice,” I say. “Or vanilla.”
Storm’s mouth tips in a way that both is and isn’t a smile. “The boy can be useful.”
I grin.
My phone pings—security with bags from the Tybee boutique. I take the clothes into the guest room and lay them out without folding them store-neat. I want Phoenix to touch them and know they’re hers and not something grabbed off a display.
Atticus calls from upstairs, summoning the rest of us.
We gather around a screen that shows an arc of ocean. My eyes scan over and interpret each item rapidly: a blinking triangle, a dotted line, the ghost of a Coast Guard cutter nowhere near where we need them to be.
Atticus explains, thankfully minus the tech-bro jargon. “The call from Blackvine came in. This is where the AMARANTH STAR will be in five hours if it holds speed. Blackvine’s boats are going to intersect here.” He points. “They’ll be boarding under the guise of running private maritime security for ‘piracy mitigation.’”
“Pirates,” I say. “Cute.”
“Legal fiction,” he says. “Big guns that don’t have to belong to a flag to pack a punch.”
Storm leans on the back of a chair. “Are we going to be on the boats or are we meeting them at the shipyard?”
“We’re on that fucking boat,” Atticus says.
Storm doesn’t ask if we trust Blackvine. He trusts me to have done that math. I did. They could’ve hung us out to dry with the pharma stuff and they didn’t.
That said… I trust them like I trust a shark that’s not hungry. They’ll eat another day. Today, we swim together.
My phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen.
“Blackvine’s team is in place.”
The room takes a collective breath. It feels like things are—finally—starting to move. Like we’re finally taking the necessary steps to get our girl back. We’ve been doing that all along, of course, but this feels…I don’t know.Active.More.
I go back to the kitchen and eat a sandwich while I pace a circle around the island. It’s going to be hours before we get anywhere close to where Phoenix is located, and the waiting is brutal. I need to fuckingdosomething.
Conrad comes in, clutching Zeus’s blanket, and walks past me without saying a word. Shoving the last bite of sandwich in my mouth, I follow.
He walks straight to the room we chose for Phoenix, pulls the blanket out, and lays it on the bed while I watch from the doorway. He inhales once—sharp, like a stab—and turns to leave.
I stop him with a hand on his chest. “We’re going to get her here,” I tell him, in case he thinks this is all theatre we’re doingto make ourselves feel better. “She’s going to sleep in that bed. She’s going to wake up to us and not…them. Whoever the fuck it is.”
