“What?” I hear the man’s words, I acknowledge them, but all I can think of is Beatrix, crying silent tears against his chest. I hold out a hand to her, and the man sets her on the ground. She darts around my legs to her brother, both of them using me as a human shield.

“Set the alarm to Stay,” he says again. “That way, I’ll know if anybody tries to escape.”

Shit. If I reset the alarm, that means only two exits, the front door and this mudroom door, that don’t immediately trip the alarm. Forget sneaking out the side door or climbing out a window. Either would result in the alarm wailing and bullets flying. Shit.

I drop my bag onto the built-in seat above the shoe cubbies, wiping one eye and then the other, buying myself some time, trying to remember if Cam and I ever got around to changing the duress code. I know we talked about it. I know I asked him to. He said he needed a manual, and I asked him if I looked like Google. He laughed and said I was the sexiest Google he ever did see, but did he ever do it? Did he change the damn duress code?

I don’t fucking know.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” the man says, reading my mind. His gaze flicks between me and the pad. “Same as you did just now, 2-9-2-1. If the cops show up in the next five to seven minutes, the kids are first, then you.”

I swallow down a sob and tick in the code with quaking fingers, then tap 3 to arm the system to Stay. The tiny light flips back to red, and a cold numbness blooms in my chest and spreads across my skin.

We are locked in the house with a gunman.

C A M

3:21 p.m.

“Everything okay?” I look at Flavio, the best general manager I’ve got and GM of the charred remains of the steak shop we’re currently standing in. He’s asked a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one.

I take in the ruins of my flagship restaurant and remind myself to breathe. Faulty wiring, according to the lead firefighter, and in the worst possible spot, next to a giant tub of cooking oil. One tiny spark in a corner of the kitchen that quickly grew into a fireball, licking up the walls and into the empty space above. The flames crawled across the ceiling into the dining room, where noise absorption panels were spread like a nighttime constellation, custom-made sheets of foam and fabric that rained down sparks and fire. By the time the fire trucks got here, the place was completely engulfed.

“No, I’m not okay. It’s like a bomb went off in here. I’m about as far from okay as you can get.”