“Of course.”

“Is there some way to jimmy it so it starts without a fire? If we gave the crates a good drenching, it might help.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She turned toward the kitchen.

“Ms. LeBlanc,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t I hear a general evacuation klaxon?”

She looked embarrassed. “The system’s not up and running yet. This is our opening night.” She cut across the almost empty room and vanished through the kitchen doors.

“This is an opening night like the Titanic was a maiden voyage,” he muttered. They reached the entryway. The last people in the ballroom, and thank God for that. “Jim,” he said, “you better get out. You’ve done everything you can here.”

“I’m trying,” the mayor said dryly. “Unfortunately, these people jamming the lobby don’t recognize that rank hath its privilege.”

Russ was distracted from replying by the sight of Clare, free of her fur, shoving against the crowd to get back inside the doors to the ballroom. Away from safety. Toward danger. “Typical,” he said under his breath. He slapped Cameron on the back and pointed to where the crush of bodies was thinnest. “Get on the phone as soon as you’re safe,” he said. “We don’t need any foot-dragging or turf games among the emergency response units. You can help cut through that.”

The mayor nodded. “Good luck.” He slipped away.

Russ snagged Clare by the arm. “Why the hell aren’t you outside?” He spoke loudly. It sounded as if the entire population of Millers Kill were jammed inside the lobby.

She laughed. “I didn’t know we had all this time,” she yelled. “Now I wish I had let Hugh get the wine out of-”

The ballroom behind them exploded.

Shaun’s cell phone burbled just as Russ Van Alstyne took the podium. He glanced at the number displayed and flipped the phone open. Usually, Courtney would have handed him his head on a platter for taking a call at the table, but she was staring, transfixed, at where Russ was going on about something and didn’t seem to notice anything else.

“Hi, Jeremy,” he said. “Where are you?”

“God, Dad, you were right! I followed her car, and she drove straight to the mill.”

“The old mill? Or the new mill?”

Jeremy sounded confused. “The new mill. I mean, she can probably see the old mill from where she’s parked, but it wouldn’t do her much good to stage an accident there. What’s that noise in the background?”

That noise was two hundred and forty chairs scraping, thumping, falling over as their occupants scrambled to get out of the ballroom. Courtney grabbed Shaun by the hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go!”

“Dad?”

Courtney plowed through the crowd, elbows flying, hauling Shaun along in her wake. “I’m here, son,” he said into the phone.

“What’s going on?”

Christ, if he told Jeremy the truth, he’d do ninety all the way up from town to be here for the crisis. And Shaun needed him at Reid-Gruyn, keeping an eye on the blackmailing bitch, making sure they didn’t move Millie van der Hoeven out of the old mill.

“It’s sort of like intermission,” he said. “Everyone’s up and stretching their legs before the dancing starts.” He and Courtney squeezed through the entryway shoulder to shoulder with at least ten others. The lobby was filling up rapidly. He clamped his hand over the phone. “Look, you head outside and get your coat. I’m going to step down the hall a ways and finish this call.”

“Shaun, the police chief said to get out!”

“Honey, it’s probably just a prank. Most of these bomb threats are. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

She looked doubtful, but she released him. He strode quickly away from the noisy, panicked hubbub of the lobby.

“Jeremy?”

“Yeah. Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Yes. It’s quieter now. People are going back inside. Look, have you seen anyone leave the old mill?”

“No.” Jeremy’s voice was equal parts confusion and suspicion. “Why would there be?”

“I think the woman you followed has at least two accomplices and that they’re hiding out in there.”

“Dad, are these employees? ’Cause if they are-”

“No, they’re not.” He looked behind him. The mob in the lobby was flexing like a living thing now, one part desperately trying to get out, the other part determined to stay put. He could see uniformed staff forcibly preventing guests from getting onto the elevators, presumably in order to retrieve their belongings. “But I suspect they’re working with someone inside. If we’re going to find out who, we can’t call the police.” He came down hard on those last words. “I want you to-”

But he didn’t get out what he wanted Jeremy to do. There was a horrific sound, a death scream of wood and glass, a percussive wave that boxed his ears and shoved him against the wall, and then, swallowing it all, the hungry howl of a monstrous fire.

He was amazed to find he still had the phone pressed against his temple. Jeremy was screaming something. He lifted the phone higher. “What?” he rasped.

“Dad! Oh, my God, Dad! There’s just been an explosion inside the old mill!”

The explosion knocked Millie to the floor. She lay stunned and aching for a moment and then crawled to her hands and feet. She was scraped and battered but whole. Bracing her hand against the tarp-covered machine that had served to protect her from the blast, she got to her feet. The wide front door Shaun Reid had carried her through a lifetime ago was in flames. Fire splashed in all directions from it, clawing up tarpaulins, feasting on empty pallets, inching across the old wooden floor.

The light, after so many hours of darkness, was almost unbearable. Millie threw her hands up, blocking the worst of the blaze from view. A bomb. Shaun Reid had planted some kind of bomb. He had never intended to come back for her. He had left her here to burn to death. Despite the heat from the flames, she felt cold inside. As cold as the stone tower where her brother had died. Oh, God-what about Louisa? Was he after her sister, too? She had to get out. She had to.

“Help me.” The cry from the outer edges of darkness shivered down her spine. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

There, at the far edge of the growing circle of flame, she saw what she was looking for. A narrow door. She looked behind her. If she went back for him, if she tried to carry him out, the fire would swallow the door before she could make it. It’s him or me, she thought, desperation rising like vomit in her throat. It’s him or me.

“I’ll call the fire department when I get out,” she yelled. “They’ll help you.”

“Please!”

She skirted the flames, refusing to look at the raging heart of them, focusing on avoiding the questing tendrils and embers pinwheeling through the air. There it was. The door. Within reach. The heat was already hammering at its surface, and she cried out in pain as she grasped the doorknob. She thought she heard a final “Please!” but that might have been the eager, air-sucking hiss of the fire.

She staggered out into the cool darkness, blind again.

She heard shrieking, and as her eyes adjusted to the faint light thrown off by the parking lot lights, she saw the outline of a woman, running and stumbling across the scrubland dividing the old mill from the new.

“Randy!” the woman screamed. “Randy!”

A brilliant bobbing light tore Millie’s attention away from the sight. A car was jouncing down the rough drive toward them, bouncing up and down in the same pattern she had felt, locked in her captor’s trunk.

“Where is he?” The woman scrambled over the last stretch of hillocky ground. “Where’s my husband!”

“Where’s Shaun Reid?” Millie demanded.