Storm (Swipe Series)

herself, and walked right back into the thick of it.
    “I’m sorry, what was that?” Dr. Arbitor asked as she sat back down at her desk. “’Fraid you were cutting in and out for a minute there.”
    The voice on the other end of the line sizzled with anger and agitation. “I said we really need you over in Third Rome—now—to pick up the pieces on Europe’s end of this transition.”
    “It isn’t my fault your Parliament pushed that G.U. treaty through before Barrier Street was ready, Bill. We’d been prepping for this merger for nearly a decade now. You’re telling me you couldn’t have waited another three months? I mean, what did you expect would happen?”
    Dr. Arbitor took a deep breath and tuned out the next several things Bill said. When it seemed he was done, she shrugged absently. “Sure, Bill. Whatever you say.”
    “Does that mean you’re getting on a shuttle? Does that mean you’ll be here in the morning? Because I really need for it to mean that you’ll be here in the morning, Olivia.”
    “I have to go, Bill. We’ll talk.”
    “We’re talking now. I’m asking for answers now , Liv.”
    Dr. Arbitor ended the call without even registering she’d done it.
    And for a moment, then, she sat, staring blankly at the wallscreens of her windowless office. In front of her was a drawing, displayed electronically just as it had been every day for the past six years, sketched long ago by her daughter, Erin.
    “Any word?”
    The voice came unexpectedly from the doorway behind her, and Olivia jumped when she heard it. She turned in her chair and nodded when she saw him.
    “Hiya, Mac. Good to see you.”
    “Just wondering if . . . I dunno. Just wondering if you’d heard anything, maybe.”
    Dr. Arbitor shook her head. She knew Mac and Erin had been close. Summers growing up, Erin spent nearly every day cooped up in this small Barrier Street office, and indeed, nearly all of that time had been spent with Mac. Mac taught Erin everything he knew about computers, about programming, about hacking . . . and he and Erin had certainly caused enough trouble together to prove it. “No sign of her,” Dr. Arbitor said. Then she frowned, and she closed the door on him.
    Two months, now. Erin Arbitor had been gone for nearly two full months. Just right up and disappeared.
    Olivia was beginning to believe she’d simply never see her daughter again.
    Charles Arbitor, the professor’s estranged husband, had long worked as a secret agent for DOME. When Erin first ran away back in December, just off into the night like it was no big deal, Charles spent every last one of his office’s available resources trying to find her. He leveraged every last ounce of influence, cashedin every last favor owed, tried every last thing he could think of to get his daughter back.
    But then the whispers started. The rumors of Markless uprisings brewing around the country, standing up to the Union, standing up for the swiped. And those whispers became shouts . . .
    And every last one of those shouts traced back to Erin.
    In the end, all that effort Charles had spent getting DOME to investigate his daughter had served only to reveal one basic, horrible fact: Erin Arbitor was a traitor. By using the hacking skills her own mother had encouraged, Erin was the thorn that had uncovered all DOME’s greatest secrets. She wasn’t just gone, it turned out. She was a fugitive. And as long as General Lamson was still in charge of DOME, Charles knew she couldn’t come back.
    So after all the Arbitors’ efforts, after all the energy they spent trying to find her, Dr. Arbitor’s husband, Charles, now found himself in the unbearable position of having to undo his work. Of having to throw DOME off the trail. Of trying everything he could think of to keep Erin as far away as possible from all the people best equipped to help bring her back.
    To find Erin through DOME would be to kill her.
    So now a terrible race was on. The Arbitors had to find their daughter first. And through all of it, the only thing Olivia could do was worry.
    Dr. Arbitor’s tablet rang again, and for a long while she contemplated not even picking it up. What could one more stupid call possibly matter?
    It rang seven times before she finally answered.
    “Yeah?” she said. But her eyes went wide when she heard the voice on the other line. It was her husband. Not some financialsomething or other. Not some politician. It was the father of her missing daughter. And