Asylum

Chapter 20: A Chase Scene

I snapped my gaze up to see the young man, a few yards away, looking back at us, and as our eyes met, he bolted, Ivan already in pursuit and shouting to Marshall and Mateo to intercept him.

The young thief saw the bodyguards surge to life a few paces ahead of him and nimbly spun to the right, pelting down a path across the courtyard, turning right again on the other side of the mall to head back in the direction from which he'd come.

With the three men on the thief's heels, I dropped the shopping bag in my hand next to the ones Ivan had left behind and took off to my right, thinking vaguely of running an intercept course.

I glanced across the mall in time to see the thief launch his slim frame between the first few tables of the outdoor café. Diners were becoming alarmed, crying out, a few getting to their feet as he rushed by, leaving chaos in his wake – a roiling mass of human obstruction that his pursuers crashed into like practicing linebackers hitting a blocking sled. The sounds of crashing dishes and screams of outrage added to the confusion as the thief hurried to dodge through rapidly closing openings in the milling crowd.

I passed Ball Cap on my side of the mall and scanned the pavement ahead of the sprinting youth. Shit. He would be out of the restaurant soon, and was putting distance between himself and the larger men chasing him. And a few storefronts down from the café, there loomed a side corridor that would let him out to the parking lot and a much likelier chance of escape.

There were no passageways across the atrium before the mall exit, but ...

I wasn't sure I would have seen the narrow ledge between one of the koi ponds and an overflowing planter as a walkway before I started my parkour lessons, but now I leapt onto it without an instant's hesitation. Mincing faster than I thought my running shoes could possibly carry me, I was almost across the courtyard when Ball Cap cleared the last of the cafe tables, Ivan and his security team still surging through the mire of angry shoppers and screaming children.

Just a few more feet. He was running faster now, and I was going to lose him.

If the thief had looked over his right shoulder to check on his pursuit, he might have been able to react in time, but the frantic glance he threw back at the café was over his left, so he never saw me coming. Knowing I only had one shot, I vaulted the last few feet, the thief having already passed the end of the ledge I was on. My right hand shot out to grab the slender, rough trunk of one of the ornamental palms, and I used my momentum to swing myself to the right, changing the angle of my trajectory to send me slamming into Ball Cap and driving him facedown to the granite floor.

The pickpocket scrabbled against the polished tile, but I had landed on top of him, so I recovered first. I drove my knee into his lower back, smashing his efforts to climb to his feet.

At the academy or on the streets of New York, this would be the moment when I would yank the perp's hands together behind his back and reach for my cuffs, but I suppressed that muscle memory and instead snatched Ivan's phone from the back pants pocket where the thief had slipped it while pretending to be rubbing his bruised backside.

Ivan burst through the café crowd, Mateo only a foot or two behind. I stood quickly, holding the phone up so they could see I'd recovered it. Ball Cap sprang to his feet and took off, turning the corner and pounding down the side corridor in a terror-inspired bid for freedom.

Ivan slid to a stop when he reached me; Mateo jostled his boss into me as he rocketed past us, still in pursuit of the thwarted pickpocket.

I waggled the smartphone in my hand. "Got it," I announced unnecessarily, but unable to say more as I was still short of breath.

Ivan didn't seem to see the phone at all. Without a word, he took my face in his hands and captured my mouth with his in a passionate, world-spinning kiss that could have given any romantic climax from a Hollywood movie a run for its money. Distantly, I heard the swell of applause from the diners and slack-jawed shoppers who had witnessed the chase and eventual take-down, but they were somewhere outside the sphere of what mattered. I wrapped my arms around Ivan and lost all thought in that kiss, my left hand clenched in a death grip around that fucking phone, the other splayed on the raw linen of the shirt that separated me from his skin.

He broke away with visible effort and dropped his hands to my shoulders. Quickly he scanned me from scalp to sole before bringing his hands back to my face and directing those piercing eyes straight through mine and into my brain.

"Don't ever do that again," he said roughly.

I nodded, not sure what to say, and he pulled me into a quick embrace.

He pushed me away a couple of inches to fix me with his eyes again. "I assumed you were still where I left you, and to see you suddenly ... hurtle out of nowhere and smash into that guy ... I thought I was going to puke my heart up. I'm serious, Lex – don't ever do that again."

"I really have no plans to," I assured him.

Ivan dropped an arm, keeping the other wrapped around my shoulders, and looked around to find his bodyguards. Marshall was standing about ten feet away, no longer chasing the thief, but craning his neck to look down the exit corridor, a smear of what was probably spaghetti marinara covering most of one khaki-clad knee.

Of course he'd stopped, I thought belatedly. Once Ivan had skidded to a halt, the guards had to split up; they couldn't maintain pursuit and leave their charge unprotected. Since Marshall was lagging behind – having apparently fallen into someone's late afternoon lunch – Mateo had continued the pursuit alone, though I knew that Marshall was the faster of the two.

I scanned the faces of the curious onlookers swirling around us and tried to think like one of Ivan's guards. It was possible that this wasn't an attempted robbery at all, but a ruse to separate the cartel's moneyman from his armed security.

I turned my head back to Marshall and watched as his heels dropped to the floor and his shoulders slumped. In a moment, Mateo stormed out of the corridor, winded and empty-handed, and confirmed my suspicions: Ball Cap had gotten away.

The huge Latino's face was livid as he stalked up to us, his partner rushing up behind him. "Why did you let him go?!" he demanded of me. I unconsciously took a half-step away from that concentrated fury, halted only by the iron-hard arm around me.

"Stand down, Mateo." More militaristic jargon. Ivan's voice was quiet, but its effect on the bodyguard was instantaneous. "We'll discuss this, but not here." He oriented himself quickly but calmly and started to lead us away from the café and its quieting gawkers.

"Boss, wait." Marshall's voice was low and urgent. He stepped up to Ivan and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You've got blood on your shirt."

Ivan twisted to look over his shoulder and brought a hand around to explore his back, but a sudden jolt of pain told me that the blood wasn't his. I looked down at my hands, the left still holding the smartphone, the right criss-crossed with shallow, seeping lacerations.

"Sorry about that," I apologized. He turned to me and followed my gaze to my palms.

"Ебаный ублюдок (fucking bastard)!" he swore, taking my cut hand tenderly in his own.

"Must have been the tree trunk," I said. I closed my hand self-consciously and handed the phone back to Ivan. He absently tucked it back into his pocket. "I can get a wet paper towel from the bathroom, and it'll be fine."

He took my hand again and unfurled my fingers, holding it out for Marshall to examine the damage. With surprising gentleness, the bodyguard took my pale hand in his dry, dark one and inspected the cuts. "The scratches are pretty shallow; should be okay if we wash it and keep some pressure on it," he agreed. "I can do a little more work on it when we get back to the house."

Ivan nodded his assent and brought his arm back up around my shoulders; he pulled me tightly against his warm body and kissed the top of my head, pausing to inhale the fragrance of my hair.

"Don't ever do that again," he repeated.