She turned, tripping on her long skirt, and, almost on her knees, scrambled up several steps.

Something tugged at the hem of her skirt. She kicked backward, and a hand grasped her lower leg, twisting. If she didn't go with it, she'd break her leg. She turned over, sat on the step.

Henry snatched her hand and jerked her to her feet.

"Abigail's alive."

Sig gasped for air.

"What the hell's going on here? Henry, for God's sake" -- "Shh, shh."

He put a finger to his lips. He was dressed casually in a cotton sweater and trousers, handsome, totally calm.

"It's okay. Shh.

I don't want to hurt you. "

Riley. Her sister must have heard the commotion in the kitchen. She would call the police. She would get Straker. She would run out into the street and get someone in here. Sig couldn't give her away. She had to be brave. She kept her eyes pinned on Henry, refusing to glance back up the stairs and alert him that Riley had come in with her.

"What did you do to Abigail?" Her voice was hoarse, breathless.

"Did you push her down the stairs and beat her up the way you did my husband?"

"I could have killed your husband. I didn't. Be grateful."

"You monster."

"If your husband had minded his own god damned business, we wouldn't be here right now."

"His father's death is his business."

Henry's eyes darkened, and he jerked her down the stairs, not caring if she stumbled, if he had to drag her. She managed to stay on her feet.

Adrenaline shot painfully through her. Her knees weakened. She should have found a gun, grabbed a poker from the fireplace.

He tightened his grip on her arm and elbowed her in the chest to break her momentum and keep her from toppling into him. She tried to pull herself free.

"Ouch Henry, you're hurting me!"

"Armistead," Emile yelled from deeper in the kitchen. She'd never heard him sound so certain, so furious.

"If you hurt her, I'll kill you myself."

Henry smirked, cocky, nasty. He didn't even look in Emile's direction.

"Your grandfather doesn't seem to understand he's tied up and can't do anything. It's his life that hangs in the balance. Not mine."

"I'll haunt you from the grave," Emile said.

"You won't have a second's peace."

"Henry," Sig croaked, gasping for air, "for God's sake, you can't believe this is going to work." "The police already suspect Emile. I just need to help them reach the correct and logical conclusion, provide proof that what they believe he's done, he did, in fact, do."

"What about Abigail?"

He ignored her and pulled Sig over Abigail's prone body. Sig was sickened, terrified for herself, for her sister-in-law, for Emile.

Henry touched her hair.

"Sig, you of all people should understand."

"What? I don't understand any of this."

"Loving a Granger. Wanting to be one of them. You don't understand?"

Bravado, anger, kept her on her feet.

"You don't love Abigail. You don't know what love is. And I never cared about being a Granger. I cared about my husband."

"I never meant..." He broke off, his eyes misting, not with regret, Sig thought, but self-pity.

"No one was supposed to die."

"Five people did die. And now with Sam's death, six."

Henry's gaze hardened, his grip on her tightening painfully, to the point she thought her arm would break.

"Trust me, no one misses our good Captain Cassain."

He shoved her backward, sent her sprawling against the table. She stumbled, held on to the back of a chair. A knife. Where did Abigail keep the knives?

She saw her grandfather in the corner by the stove, his hands and feet tied to a chair. He was white-faced, old, trembling not with fear or pain, she thought, but unbridled anger.

"Emile," she breathed.

"Oh my God."

His dark eyes leveled on Henry.

"Kill me. Leave Sig."

"That won't work, Emile. I'm not stupid. I've examined every option.

You're the one who backed me into a corner. If you'd just left me alone"-- " You sabotaged my ship. You killed members of my crew. You murdered my captain. "

"Your captain discredited you. He tried to blackmail me. Why would you risk your life for him?"

"That's my duty," Emile said simply.

"If no one had died," Henry sneered, "you would have thanked me for getting rid of the Encounter."

Emile's expression was stony.

"Abigail saw you before you hit her."

"No, she didn't." Henry was confident, arrogant.

"She'll blame you.

You hurt her brother, now you've hurt her. "

"She suspects you. Henry. You know she does."

"Shut up."

Sig felt bile rise up in her throat, and she put her free hand on her abdomen as if to soothe her babies. She needed a weapon. Some way of stopping this from happening. How could it be Henry? How could he have killed Bennett, four other crew members, Sam Cassain?

And where was Riley? Sig felt sick to her stomach.

Henry turned to her, as if reading her mind.

"Where's your little sister? She's a pill, that one."

"I left her with John Straker. They'll have the police here any second. You should stop now while you still can." She raised her chin, breathed in.

"Damn you. Henry."

"Oh, yes. I'm damned. But not today. Today, finally, I'm free."

"What do you want from me?"

"You, Sig?" He smiled, an unsettling mixture of sadness and relief.

"I want you to prove to the authorities just what a madman your grandfather has become. "

Riley searched madly for a telephone. She needed to call the police; she needed help. She raced silently through the parlor. "Even the damned Grangers have to have phones!" she muttered under her breath, forcing back panic. Henry had Sig. Something had happened to Abigail.

And Emile--he was down there, too, in danger.

She stopped in the middle of the thick Persian rug, tried to remember the layout of the huge, old house. There would be a phone in the kitchen, but Henry was in the kitchen. Wasn't there an office upstairs? And bedrooms--surely there would be a phone in the master bedroom.

If Henry heard her, she was sunk.

She eased out into the hall and stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the low, intense voices coming from the kitchen. If only she knew how much time she had!

There.

A phone. She spotted it on a table at the end of the hall. She'd have to be careful and speak quietly to keep Henry from hearing her. She moved quietly, quickly, down the hall, lifted the receiver and grimaced as she tapped out 911. She didn't waste any time with explanations, told the dispatcher there was a hostage situation on Beacon Hill and gave the ad dress.

The dispatcher wanted her to stay on the line, but she heard her sister scream. The police wouldn't get there in time.

"Hurry," she told the dispatcher, and hung up.

She ran into the parlor, grabbed an expensive, heavy brass poker from the marble fireplace. This was madness, she knew, but she couldn't hide up here while her sister and grandfather were in imminent danger.

Even if she raced outside, it was a quiet week day afternoon. She couldn't count on running into anyone who could help.

Straker. He wasn't here. She was.

She slipped silently down the stairs, concentrated on maintaining her footing, on the feel of the poker as she refused to let her fears overcome her. She didn't think back, didn't think ahead.

She managed not to gasp and give herself away when she saw Abigail at the bottom of the stairs. Farther into the kitchen. Henry stood with his back to her, Emile's gun pointed at Sig. She was at Emile's side.

Their grandfather was white-faced, furious, determined And he saw Riley. She knew he did. His expression didn't change, he didn't move, but she knew.

Abigail moaned incoherently, but Henry didn't turn around.

"If you kill me," Sig said coldly, "you kill my babies."

Henry scoffed.

"I'm not killing you." His voice was high-pitched and jittery.

"Your grandfather is killing you."

"My husband will hunt you down."

Riley could feel her body moving almost of its own accord, instincts taking over. Her world slowed down, enough for her to see, maneuver, act. Emile kicked forward, distracting Henry, and she swung her poker, hitting him in the arm.

The . 38 flew from his grip, and she whacked him again. He cried out in pain and surprise, spun around and snatched the poker, raging as he backhanded her. She fell against the table, tripped backward over Abigail.

Sig dove for the gun, kicking it aside. Henry grabbed her from behind, held the poker over her pregnant stomach. She went still, her face drained of color.

"No. Henry ... my babies."

"No more. Henry," Emile said.

"For God's sake, no more."

Armistead pulled Sig backward toward the counter, tightened his grip around her middle. In one swift movement, he dropped the poker and whipped a knife off a magnetic rack, put it to her throat.

Riley went still. Her grandfather didn't even seem to breathe. The police would be here any minute, she thought. They had to be. Neither she nor Emile said a word as Henry pushed Sig toward the stairs. Ah gail, still moaning, rolled onto her side, coughe Henry went around her, started up the stairs with tl knife still at Sig's throat.

When they were almost to the top of the staii Riley staggered over to her grandfather. "The poli< are on their way. They'll get him. He won't hurt Si Oh, God, he can't." She grabbed a knife, cut the du tape and rope around her grandfather's wrists.

"P must be out of his mind--the police are on the way."

"He's past thinking." Emile pushed off the dai gling ropes, nodded to her as he tore at his hour feet.