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“We had the trapdoor fortified,” Ryan growled. “A pair of two-by-fours slid into the housing underneath.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Atkins hissed.
“When we renovated the theater, we didn’t configure the trapdoor,” Andy said. “We blocked it with wood to keep it closed, just in case. Someone removed the wood, and installed a solenoid trigger into the old mechanism. To trigger the trapdoor whenever they wanted.”
Tatiana wailed, punctuating his words.
I got off the phone with 911 and joined them. Atkins pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank God we installed the cameras today.”
Ryan became very still. “Uh. The cameras…”
Atkins whipped his head up. “What?”
“I installed them at all the exterior entrances,” Ryan explained. “Front entrance, back entrance, and the roof. The other three cameras I aimed at potential targets of sabotage. The lights in the catwalk. The electronics panel backstage, and the final one in the lighting booth.”
A dark expression fell over Atkins’ face. “You’re telling me that after I stuck my neck out getting that camera funding from Vandercant, they’re not going to help us find out what happened? They’re useless?”
“Maybe the one aimed at the electronics backstage will show the door to the sub-stage…” Andy offered.
“Nobody’s fucking asking you!” Atkins snapped at him. He never took his glare off Ryan.
“I was focused on all the previous targets,” Ryan said stiffly. “I didn’t think they would sabotage the sub-stage.”
“That’s right, you didn’t think. I told you to cover everything, and you left a giant gaping hole in our security. And I have to be the one to explain all of this to John Vandercant. I’m sure he’s going to be thrilled to hear about his granddaughter.”
“Director, let me—”
“Get the fuck out of my theater,” Atkins told Ryan. “You’re fired.”
45
Nadia
The other backup dancers and I huddled around the trapdoor, saying words of encouragement to the wounded singer below.
Tatiana didn’t hear any of us. She was busy letting out a stream of cries and curses at anyone near her. To me, that seemed like a good sign. She didn’t look grotesquely injured; there was no blood, and all of her limbs bent the correct way. It was a good thing the layer of padding was still directly beneath the trapdoor. If she had landed on hard cement…
“I just can’t believe this,” the girl next to me whispered. “I thought we were in the clear!”
“Why tonight of all nights?” another guy asked. “With the writer here…”
The Times writer had moved to the front row, and was frantically scribbling on his notepad while interviewing one of the dancers.
“Especially after we caught the last trap,” I said absently.
“Which trap?”
“The sandbags last night. They were set to fall on Tatiana at the end of her climactic song. That’s why rehearsal was canceled last…”
I trailed off as I realized everyone around the trapdoor was staring at me wide-eyed. Shit. I’d taken for granted that all the guys I lived with knew about the sandbags. Nobody else was supposed to know.
I was bombarded with questions.
“What sandbags?”
“Another trap? From the same saboteur?”
“How do we even know this trapdoor was intentional? What do you know, Nadia?”
