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the lawn.
    H AWKINS and Dylan reacted instantly, running toward the amphitheater, while everyone else in the gardens was either scrambling to get away, or frozen by shock where they stood. Hawkins headed straight to where he’d last seen Katya and found her just a few steps from the stage. He dropped to his knees, with Dylan right behind him. A quick check proved she had a pulse.
    High above them, another explosion ripped the sky. He threw himself over her body and looked up. The rocket that had exploded out of one of the palm trees on the side of the stage had set the tree on fire and burst into a cloud of showering, shimmering sparks that hung in the air. In the next second, another rocket exploded out of another palm tree, starting another fire and shooting into the sky.
    Fucking fireworks?
he thought, watching colorful streamers and sparks explode out of the second rocket.
    “Get her out of here,” Dylan said. “And yes, that’s an order.” He rose to his feet and took off at a run.
    Neatly done,
Hawkins thought grimly. He couldn’t remember the last time Dylan had pulled rank, and he couldn’t help but think that if he’d been thinking even a split second faster than his boss, he could be the one racing across the gardens, drawing his gun, figuring out what the hell was going on while fireworks exploded out of the scenery.
    But Dylan had beaten him to the punch, and now he was stuck with Bad Luck Dekker.
    “Alex . . . what . . . oh, wh-what in the hell? I—” Panic and exasperation edged her voice as he did a quick pat-down. She slapped at his hand and a grin flitted across his mouth. She could talk and move, and didn’t have any broken bones. They were good to go.
    Another rocket exploded with a concussive boom, and she curled up beneath him, putting both of her hands over her ears.
    Geezus,
the whole place was coming apart.
    When she tried to roll over and push herself up, Hawkins didn’t let her. He held her down for another second, covering her until he finished a quick scan of the gardens.
    “Please . . . stop. No—” Her voice ran out on a breath, and she went a little limp.
    Beneath the fireworks display, pandemonium had taken over the party. The lights in the trees and on the huts had gone out, plunging the gardens into darkness. People were running everywhere, women screaming, men shouting, as one by one the forest of palms rimming the stage exploded and draped the night sky and the gardens in showers of hot, colorful sparks.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The explosions kept coming, faster and closer together. Nobody was in charge of the situation yet, but he could see the cops here and there, doing their best to keep people from trampling each other.
    Deciding the coast was nominally clear of shooters looking for a target, and having no intention of hanging around for the grand finale, Hawkins dragged Katya to her feet and did a quick assessment of her ability to run: not so good—she was swaying, and she looked a little stunned. So he scooped her into his arms and was gratified to feel her molding herself to him. She wrapped one arm around his neck and used the other to cover her ear as she buried her head against his jacket. He could have moved faster by throwing her over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, but just because he didn’t see any shooters didn’t mean they weren’t out there, and in his arms, she was a smaller target.
    And she was small. He’d forgotten how small. In his memories, she’d more than held her own with him, but carrying her, he had to wonder how.
    Showers of sparks fell all around them. One of the canopies on a jungle hut caught fire and caused a whole new set of screams, and Hawkins figured it would only take one more semidisaster for the whole place to go up in sheer, unadulterated panic. By the time they reached the parking lot, a few dozen people were following in their wake. The elegant garden party had definitely gone and turned into an out-and-out rout.
    In a sea