Beta 1426. That was the location Trace had given him for the origin of the mysterious message from his mother.

And that was very, very far away.

Before leaving Trace’s, Harry had run through his options. There were no flights heading anywhere near there, that he could find. He could charter some kind of public spacecraft, but after being instructed not to look for his mother, that seemed like a bad idea. He could contact his father and make use of the man’s ISA connections and considerable resources. That idea had been given much thought before he abandoned it. No. He wasn’t ready to pull his father into this. There was too much on the line.

That left only Gerard. His publisher. His mentor. His cousin.

Not really his cousin, of course. Gerard was technically Harry’s second cousin, their parents had always reminded them. But it was so much easier just to use the term “cousin.” The same way it was easier to call Gerard’s father “uncle” than to say “first cousin once removed.”

Gerard might not be the pilot his father was, but he could fly, and he had a plethora of craft to do it in. And he cared about Harry’s mother without having such a close connection that he wouldn’t be objective.

All this in mind, Harry got on a train early one morning, and headed for Gerard’s place in Paris.

He tried to write on the way, but the words kept being crowded out by the words “Please don’t look for me.” Over and over and over.

He could only think of two reasons that she wouldn’t want to be found. She had either lost her memory and didn’t know who he was, or someone was threatening him or his father or someone else she loved if she attracted their attention or their rescue.

Which was it? Or was there some other possibility he hadn’t considered?

He barely wrote two hundred words the entire journey, and his mind felt like stew by the time he arrived, late at night, at Gerard’s tenth story apartment overlooking the Seine.

“Who is it,” came his cousin’s bright voice through the intercom after he pressed the door chime.

“Your best author,” Harry responded.

A moment, then the door slid open, revealing Gerard’s roguishly smiling face behind it. “Well, if it isn’t the cuz himself. You should have sent a message. You’re taking quite a chance showing up here without warning. What if I’d been gone?”

“You know you can’t set foot outside without announcing the fact on every social,” Harry bantered back, stepping inside the sleek, minimalist, modern apartment.

“And you know you never presume to inflict your presence on anyone unless it’s urgent.” Gerard crossed his arms, eyeing Harry as he entered and dropped onto a firm, black couch and closed his eyes. “Can I get you something? A drink?”

“Sure.” Eyes still closed, he listened to the sounds of a cabinet sliding open, glasses being clinked out, and the gurgling of liquid being poured. Footsteps, then a cool glass was placed in his hand, and he sipped without even looking. Water. The best he’d tasted in awhile.

“So what is it?” Gerard asked. Harry opened his eyes to see his cousin settling in an uncomfortable-looking egg-shaped chair across from the sofa. The man gulped down his own water, put the glass down on a black side table, then went back to crossing his arms.

Harry looked down into his water, glimpsing his worn reflection in its surface before looking back up. “I need your help. I need someone who has craft, will travel. And I need someone to do it without publicizing the fact.”

“Let me guess,” said Gerard, leaning back in his seat and lowering his eyebrows.

Harry nodded. “I heard from her, Ger. I have a lead. She’s alive.”

Silence, during which an oven in the next room dinged and an automated voice called, “Dinner complete.”

Gerard made no move to get up. “Have you talked to your dad about this? My dad? Grandpa?”

“Of course not.”

“And you think that’s best?”

“Absolutely. My dad is already worried about me. Grandpa doesn’t even want to talk about her.”

“Hmm.” His cousin shifted in the chair, and Harry wondered why the man insisted on having such impractical furniture. “I don’t know. I’m going to need more information.”

“I can give you that. In the meantime though, I think I smell something burning.”

Gerard leapt up from his seat and flew into the next room. Harry relaxed again and smiled. If Gerard was interested enough to risk his dinner, he shouldn’t be too difficult to convince.

“Want any overcooked steak?” the man’s voice called.

Harry stood, stretched his weary body, and followed Gerard into the kitchen to discuss his proposition.