My bureau and desk were cleared off, and Mom's DVDs were missing from my bookcase. I guessed Roik had my laptop, because he'd traded Yates my photo files for his motorcycle when I disappeared.

My closet was in even worse shape than the room. Every panel of wallboard was cut open. My clothes and shoes were piled on the floor amid the wreckage of hangers and flattened shoe boxes. I dropped to my knees and picked up one of the pumps I wore to Dayla's Sweet Sixteen. The satin-covered heel looked like it had been smashed with a hammer. "What the- Did some jerk think I hid secrets in here?"

I spied a torn sc.r.a.p of sparkly wrapping paper and carefully slid it out from the wreckage. I smoothed the unicorn's crumpled horn. Oh no. They didn't.

I dove into the pile, tossing clothes out of the way, searching for the box where I'd kept Mom's letters, the one covered in glittery pink unicorn paper. My hand closed around the lid, which I tossed aside, and a moment later I found the remains of the bottom.

"Dad! Dad!"

I flung armfuls of clothes out of the way, looking for even a sc.r.a.p of the lavender-colored paper Mom loved to write on.

I love you. I love you. I love you. Mom had covered two sides of a page, writing it over and over in every color before she died. I love you.

"Avie, what happened? What's going on?" Dad crouched beside me, his eyes scanning the mess.

"They took Mom's letters. I can't believe they took her letters! Why would anybody do that?"

Dad squeezed my shoulder. "It will be okay. Our lawyers recorded everything they took. We'll get Mom's letters back, I promise."

I stared at him, thinking how nave Dad was to believe that. He didn't know what these guys were capable of.

Dad gave me a hand up and I went around my room for the last time. I thought we'd walk downstairs together, but he disappeared, once again leaving me for some work crisis.

At least we had our hour and a half.

But when I got to the bottom of the stairs, Dad came out of the library, holding a small stack of purple envelopes. "Your mother didn't only write letters for your birthday." He pressed them into my hand. "I think she'd want you to have these now."

My eyes filled, seeing my name in Mom's exuberant green scrawl. "Thanks, Dad."

He nodded, and I saw Dad fight to control himself as Ho appeared behind him. "We shouldn't keep Mr. Hawkins waiting."

"Yes, of course," Dad answered.

I slipped the letters inside my shirt, making sure Ho saw. They were mine, and Ho needed to know that he and Hawkins weren't going to get a glimpse of them without a fight.

Deeps waited by the helicopter as Dad walked me out, his arm across my shoulders. "Is there anything you'd like me to tell Yates, if I go back to At.w.a.ter?"

"Tell him-" What? Nothing I could say would make a difference. Love couldn't save us. It wasn't the escape. Love couldn't always slip free of the knot. "Tell Yates that I love him, and I'm sorry, but I have to marry Jessop Hawkins."

Dad shook his head. "d.a.m.n it, Avie, I'm sorry. I wish I knew a way out of this."

"Yeah, well, there isn't any." I felt my throat tighten. Yates had to understand. He had to know that this marriage wasn't my choice.

I climbed into the helicopter, and Dusty leaped up on the metal step, trying to follow. "No. Get down," I told her, nudging her off, but she came right back. I shoved her off again, harder this time, but she circled the step, darting away from Deeps before she tried again. My eyes filled, and she turned into a fuzzy white blur. "You can't come!"

Gerard walked over and scooped her up, and then carried her into the house.

I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and waved to Dad. This was the first time I could remember that he didn't rush off after saying good-bye to me. Today he stayed out on the terrace, and waved until we were out of sight.

27.

Deeps flew us back to Hawkins' compound, but this time he followed the Pacific Coast Highway. The fog had lifted over Malibu, revealing the miles-long line of beach houses holding on to the narrow strip of land between the highway and the ocean.

I was on my way to my new life as Mrs. Jessop Hawkins. How was I going to survive him? Moment by moment, I guessed, of me trying to stay on his good side.

Down below, a few surfers were still riding the late-morning waves. Yates used to surf this spot, I remembered, even though Zuma Beach was better. I dug in my pocket for a tissue.

Yates would never be free again to surf here with his friends. Hawkins wouldn't want Yates freed. No, Hawkins would do everything he could to eliminate even the slightest chance that Yates could reappear in my life. And Fletcher? He'd never agree to let Yates go. Not after everything Yates had witnessed.

Tell Yates that I love him, and I'm sorry, but I have to marry Jessop Hawkins.

Yates had to understand. He had to. I had no choice. We were both imprisoned, only in different ways.

We flew past Pepperdine University, and the houses thinned out. "How soon until we arrive at the compound?" Ho asked.

"Six minutes."

"Good, I'll let Mr. Hawkins know."

I stared out at the last few miles of freedom. I would never call Hawkins' compound home. Home wasn't where you were locked up against your will.

We were more than a mile away, when I saw a line of cars and news vans, snaking up the coast. As we got closer, I realized they were parked along the compound fence.

"What's going on?" I said into my headset.

"Your homecoming," Ho answered. "You are returning to your fiance, grateful and relieved to be back from your ordeal."

Now I got why I had the parka. I had to pretend this was the moment of my big return to civilization and safety, and my reunion with the man of my dreams.

Vans with KTLA-5 and other news station logos clogged the road, equipment sprouting from their roofs like ray guns. Oh G.o.d, look at them.

Someone must have paid off the electric company, I thought, counting at least thirty Department of Water and Power trucks with big orange buckets on telescopic arms, and men standing in them, huge videocameras on their shoulders. The cameras were trained on Hawkins' landing pad like weapons on a target.

The manhunt for me was over. And now we were going to act like my being called a terrorist was all a big misunderstanding.

My heart pounded, seeing the hundreds of men awaiting my arrival.

A dozen reporters must have made the A List, because they and their crews jostled for s.p.a.ce at the edge of the landing pad. Deeps circled closer, and Ho was texting furiously, but Hawkins hadn't emerged from the house.

"What am I supposed to do when we land?"

Ho turned to me and spoke into his headset. "Put your hat on. Oh, and if I were you, I'd make sure everyone saw how happy I was to be reunited with my fiance."

I tugged the knit hat over my blond hair.

"Pull it down over your eyebrows, too," Deeps added.

I pulled the hat down even more and crammed loose strands up under it. Deeps must have a reason for saying that. "Will I have to answer any questions?"

"No," Ho replied. "Jessop will say a few words, then I will read a prepared statement."

My heartbeat echoed the chop-chop-chop-chop of the rotors. Why was I nervous? It wasn't like anyone would try and shoot me. Or-"Deeps, all these reporters, is this safe?"

"See the yellow jackets? They're security." A squad of men in chrome-yellow jackets walked the walls along the compound, and more guarded the landing pad.

Deeps touched down and the rotors stopped. Ho dragged two fingers down his face.

Cry. I got it.

Hawkins appeared, and the cameramen surged forward. The hired security guys moved down the line, pushing them back. I climbed down on the landing pad into an eruption of voices shouting out my name. "Aveline! Avie! Over here, Avie!"

Hawkins walked toward me, his arms outstretched, relief carefully ch.o.r.eographed on his face. I ran to him, exaggerating my limp, and threw myself into his arms and buried my face in his chest. The musky scent of his cologne and the feel of his body against mine made my stomach heave, and I had to fight the urge to shove him away. Keep it together. You can't show how you really feel.

The cameras let loose a machine-gun fire of clicking as Hawkins held me. "Nicely done," he whispered into my hair.

Hawkins cradled me under his arm, and we walked to the podium. I kept my face pressed against his chest, trying to dodge the cameras. "Today I am a happy man," he announced, "owing to the return of my dearest Aveline. I ask that you respect our need for privacy, and I thank you for sharing this joyous occasion."

Hawkins guided me down the stairs until we were out of sight, then he stopped to listen to Ho read his statement.

"After the terrifying shootout with federal agents in Salvation, Idaho, Aveline Reveare feared for her life. Thanks to the help of the media, Aveline was able to reach out to her fiance, Jessop Hawkins, and request a.s.sistance to return home. Aveline is not charged with any crime at this time, and our lawyers antic.i.p.ate that she will be cleared of any suggestion of wrongdoing. She sustained minor injuries during her ordeal, and after a brief period of recuperation, we antic.i.p.ate that she will join Candidate Hawkins on the campaign trail. I will take questions."

Reporters shouted out questions as Hawkins and I shut ourselves inside the house. He released his hold on me. "You did well out there. Facing the media can be intimidating, but you handled it like a pro."

I nodded and started toward my room. I didn't care how well I'd done. All I wanted was to be alone with Mom's letters. I'd only gone a few feet when Hawkins said, "Did you enjoy your visit with your father?"

Maybe if I acted grateful, he'd let me see Dad again. I forced myself to turn around. "Yes, thank you."

Hawkins lingered. He wanted something more, but I refused to share how much it meant to me to see Dad.

"I am not evil, Aveline."

Saying that only proves you are. "I never said you were."

"But that is what you think."

I wasn't touching that. Hawkins waited for my reply. I'd saved his campaign, and he gave me what I'd asked for. What more could I get if I cooperated?

"Maybe we could start over," I said. "You can show me what you're really like."

A smile bent his lips and his eyes relaxed. "Yes. We should."

My breath caught as Jessop took a step closer, but then Ho blew through the door. "That went brilliantly." His fingers were doing a happy dance on his cell. "We're on ninety-two stations worldwide, including Al-Jazeera, and barring a terrorist attack on American soil in the next five hours, Aveline's return will be the lead story."

Hawkins clapped him on the back. "Outstanding work. Time to plan our next move."

The two of them headed downstairs, and I retreated to my room and took Mom's letters out from under my shirt.

I pressed the stack to my nose, but the lavender-oil scent Mom used to spritz on my letters was long gone, and the purple envelopes had yellowed around the edges. At least I have them, I thought, seeing "Happy 17th Birthday!!!!" scrawled on the one on top.

I slid a finger under the flap. My birthday was a few weeks away, but I needed Mom now.

"Happy Birthday, my dearest girl."

I bit my lip, reading the first sentences. "What a big year this will be for you. In a few weeks, you'll be visiting colleges. I'm sure your dad would love to have you close in California, but I know you might like to try your wings and go east."

A huge lump formed in my throat. I tried my wings, Mom. I tried so hard, and they almost took me to freedom before I fell.

I skimmed the rest of her letter. Mom was so excited, imagining me touring campuses in Boston and Connecticut. "Now don't write off the East just because it's cold and bleak when you and your father visit."

I could barely stand to read her list of hopes and dreams that would never come true, so I skipped to the end, where I knew her "I love you" would be waiting for me.

Down near the bottom of the page, I found it. "I love you more than the stars. Mom." And right below was a P.S.

"People will push you to choose the college they like, but don't let them pressure you into a choice that feels wrong. It's your life and you're the one who has to live with the decision. I would hate for you to know the misery of living with regrets."

I folded the letter gently and tucked it back into the envelope. I already do, Mom. I already do.

28.

The media hung around for hours. I stayed away from the windows, and my fishbowl of a bedroom, finally ending up in the indoor lap pool, a place I'd figured out that Hawkins rarely used.

I dimmed the recessed lights over the sandstone walls, until the room was black except for the aquamarine water. The gla.s.s tiles sparkled like opals in the underwater lights. I dove, imagining myself a thousand miles away in an underground cave.

I must have swum a mile before Deeps came to tell me the coast was clear. He crouched by the edge. "Mr. Hawkins expects you to have dinner with him at seven," he said.

I stood and pushed my dripping hair off my face. This was the first time since I was Retrieved that Hawkins wanted to eat with me. "Does he have guests coming?"

"No, just you two." Deeps flicked some water at me. "You might want to ditch the sweats."

"They're workout clothes, not sweats."

"Whatever, you've worn them nonstop for the last three days."

I stuck out my tongue and Deeps laughed. He pushed his henley up to the elbows, exposing the tattoo on his forearm: Semper Fidelis.

"Semper Fi. Isn't that the Navy motto?"