Chapter Nine

Mike saw Lane’s shocked gaze travel not to the fire but to the wisp of smoke collecting near the stairs and knew she was thinking of where her daughters could have been right now. He noticed Lacey Walker collecting the kids—Ashley, Gemma, Mima—under her wing and heard Clay Walker phoning 911. The building’s fire alarm began to shrill.

Mike’s own attention was racing through the building, mentally checking locked and unlocked doors.

Nick Hershey, also ex-military, voiced Mike’s thoughts. “Lane,” he said, “where else could people be?”

“Theater restrooms,” Tom DeMille offered. “I’ll go look.”

“Me, too.” Gussie went with him.

“Upstairs,” Mike answered for Lane. “Ashley, could anyone else have been in the apartment? Or in the stairwell?”

“No one. I’m positive. We checked the bedrooms before we left, just to be sure. And I locked the apartment door behind me.”

“Good job.” Clay Walker, Ashley’s step-dad, had a phone to his ear. “It’s the lightening,” he said. “They’ve got two other fires in Pleasure Pointe. The dispatcher wants me to stay on the line.”

Mike nodded. “I locked the cloakroom and utility closet myself, and I’ve been checking them.” The place was full of teenagers after all. “The stage door’s locked, but anyone could sneak under the curtain.”

A lick of flame broke through the top edge of the velvet drapes.

“That’s our cue, flyboy.” Nick punched Mike’s shoulder.

“OK.” Mike wasn’t going to argue with a Navy Seal. “We’ll check the stage.”

“Wait.” Lane shook herself. “I’ll come—”

“You’ll get your daughters out.” Mike kissed her fast and hard. “Put Clay in front and stand guard by the boat doors to keep people out. And make sure there’s room for fire trucks in the parking lot.

“We’re on it.” Lacey took Lane’s arm.

Mike pulled out keys, thumbing the mini-mag light on his keychain. “Side door.” No ducking under burning curtains. He led Nick partway up Lane’s staircase and pressed his own palm flat against the door to test for heat.

“You thinking flashover?” Nick asked above the shrilling alarm.

“Maybe.” The curtains might have restricted the flow of air to the stage, in which case opening the door could let in a rush of oxygen that set off a fireball. “Door’s not hot,” he reported. “We’re probably OK.”

Nick dropped and felt the crack along the sill. “No draft.”

“Right.” Mike unlocked the door. “I’ll open. You stand aside to pull me clear.” He turned the doorknob, preparing to dive for cover, but nothing happened.

Mike peered into the stage wings. Inside was darkness—emergency lights obscured by a high layer of inky smoke—lit by a ghastly flickering line of fire on the back wall.

“Hello!” Nick strode in. “Anyone here?”

The stage looked empty, but there were nooks and crannies everywhere.

“Kids hide from fire,” Nick said. “Look inside things. I’ll take the other wing.”

Mike signaled thumbs up and started opening cupboards, looking behind and under props. Knowing the theater better, he finished ahead of Nick. The room was definitely warming up.

There was a trap door operated by a handle on the back wall. Mike had played in the utility room under the stage as a boy. It was the perfect place to hide, but would anyone else know how to get down there? He glanced up at the thickening smoke, coughing, thinking there was a narrow margin between being thorough and getting yourself cooked alive.

One of the curtains dropped in a shower of sparks. Smoke roiled into the auditorium. Screw it. Mike grabbed a piece of wood, ran to the back, and hit the red-hot handle. He met Nick in the middle of the stage and they both stuck their heads down through the trapdoor, shouting.

The space was black, filled with bits of scenery and old machines. There could have been a dozen kids inside. Mike aimed his little light into the corners.

Nick grabbed the flashlight, jumped in, and disappeared. Forty-five very long seconds later he was back.

“We’re clear.”

Mike hauled him out. He wasn’t sure who made the stairway first. Ten seconds after that, they were in the auditorium. One second later, the building began to rain.

“Sprinklers?” He turned to stare. “The goddamn sprinklers just came on?”

“Leave now.” Nick pushed him toward the boat doors. “Rubberneck later.”

Rubberneck? But Mike couldn’t argue with getting out. He jogged through light rain in the puddled parking lot and joined the knot of desperately worried watchers standing in the sweet air.

“Nick Hershey, you idiot so-and-so.” Willow exploded out of the group into Nick’s arms. “I ought to break your neck.”

“We’re fine,” Nick said. “It wasn’t even scary.”

Mike had been moderately terrified, a fact that hadn’t registered until now. He reached Lane who was standing, shivering in the warm drizzle, clutching her girls.

“Rain guy!” Gemma and Mima cheered.

A fire truck rolled up with sirens and flashing lights. Nick went to talk to them. Inside the Mimosa Theater, the fire alarm warbled uncertainly and fell silent.

“It’s me.” Lane’s teeth chattered. “It’s all my fault.”

Mike got an emergency blanket out of his truck and helped Lane and her daughters out of the rain into the big back seat of the cab.

“You said….” She hiccupped. “The judge…everyone said the building wasn’t safe.”

“It’s OK. The sprinklers came on. Everyone’s fine.”

Lane clutched her daughters.

“I’m hungry,” Mima lifted her nose. “I smell food.”

Mike’s nostrils were still full of smoke. He turned and coughed into his sleeve. “That’s the Cubanos. I left them in the front.” He got the bag of sandwiches and some bottles of water. “Here you go.”

“Where are we sleeping?” Gemma asked. “In the truck?”

“How about my boat? It’s got a room with bunkbeds just right for little girls.”

“The boat that used to be in the theater?” She shook her head. “We’re not allowed anywhere near it on pain of you-don’t-want-to-find-out-what.”

“I think it’s OK if we bring your mom.”

Mima swallowed a bite of sandwich. “Cowboy-monster-truck-fairies don’t live on boats.”

“Of course not,” Mike said. “On a boat you’d be a cowboy-monster-truck-fairy-pirate.”

“Pirate?” Mima’s small mouth dropped open. “Pirate!”

“Pirate princess,” Gemma demanded.

“Queen of the sea.”

Mima put down her sandwich and stood on the seat. “This is the best night ever,” she yelled to no one in particular.

Mike shook his head. “Ever?”

But Lane, much calmer now, smiled in agreement. “We’re safe.” She clasped Mike’s hand. “You’re safe. Everyone’s here. Life doesn’t get any better than that.”