“The police are coming.” Was I warning her or threatening her?

“Like I couldn’t be done and gone long before they get here. Don’t pretend you don’t want me to.”

As long as Lena was in the museum, Aimee was the one in danger. But the minute Lena left, my family could be in her sights. Even if she disappeared, Michael and I would never feel safe again.

Maybe I could keep Lena talking until the police arrived. “Is she alive?”

“For now. Think you can talk me out of it?” Of course, she could see right through my futile hopes. Then she whispered, “I left the door open for you …”

And she hung up.

The silence in my ear was like a flashlight being turned off. If I couldn’t see her, couldn’t hear her, I wouldn’t know where she was. To keep her from vanishing, I had to go after her.

The museum’s front doors were locked, but Lena had gotten in somehow. The caterers must have been among the last to leave, and they would have used the back door. I hadn’t even tried it when I’d woken up on the pavement. The alarm should be set, but no security system would be a match for Lena. She’d probably disabled it. But maybe I’d catch a break and by entering the museum I could silently trigger it.

I handed the phone to the sanitation worker and said, “Stay here with your truck. The police are coming. Call them back at 911 and keep them on the line. I have to go in.”

“What’s in there?” he called after me.

But I didn’t slow down to answer.

I sprinted around to the back door. It was unlocked. Inside, I dashed up the narrow stairs into the room where we’d staged events. The smell of food and antiseptic cleanser lingered in the air.

“Lena?” I called.

No one answered. I ran into the atrium, my steps echoing, the only light the occasional flash of red or orange in the ghostly glass ribbons overhead. From somewhere, I heard Lena call, “Cold.”

I stopped short. Crossing that expanse felt like being on stage, with the galleries looking down on me and the glass wall at the front of the museum exposing me to the street. From here I couldn’t see the red flashing lights of the garbage truck. Would the men stay there until the police came? Were they even there now?

I paused by the front desk, fumbling under the edge of the counter for the panic button. I pressed it hard, over and over, but it had no more effect than the crosswalk button when the light’s still red.

“Ice-cold.” Lena’s voice filled the space around me, blithe and playful and impossible to locate.