Neal meets Malcolm’s eyes, his own huge. “We need to get out of here, now. That’s propane.”

He starts forward to get Rachel, but Malcolm has already scooped her up—again, hot, but a poor time to say so. They hit the main floor and the smell is all but overpowering. Neal feels sick.

“We have to find Miss Windsor,” he says, logic lagging behind panic and concern. “You get Rachel and Ainsley out. I’ll join you.”