I hook my foot behind his ankle and shift my weight just enough to break his balance. It's not violent. It's efficient.
He goes down hard, surprise knocking the breath from his lungs as the bag slips free of his grip. I grab it.
I catch Lindsay by the arm and pull her back with me in the same motion, steering her into the recessed alcove beside the exhibit wall.
She doesn’t resist.
I place myself fully between her and the open floor, one arm braced across the stone beside her head, the other angled protectively across her front. The bag is secured in one hand, out of the criminal's reach.
"We're safe here," I tell her.
Her breath is quick but steady. She watches me, eyes sharp, trusting me without question.
Security is already moving—I see them in my peripheral vision, closing in, efficient and silent.
The threat is neutralized within seconds, lifted and escorted away without spectacle. Procedures executed. Risk contained.
Only then do I become aware of how close we still are.
Lindsay is pressed lightly to the wall, my body shielding hers, my arm still braced above her, my presence enclosing her space completely.
I can feel the heat of her through the fabric of her hoodie. Her pulse flutters beneath my fingertips where I'm still holding her steady.
For a suspended moment, neither of us moves.
I lower my voice even further. "Are you hurt?"
She shakes her head once. "No."
Relief hits fast—and is immediately replaced by something worse.
Awareness.
The way her gaze drops to my mouth. The way my hand tightens reflexively before I force it to release.
A security agent clears his throat nearby. "Sir, the situation's handled."
I step back at once, restoring the distance between us. If only my emotions could be handled as easily.
I hand Lindsay her bag. "We need to get you your own security," I say, trying to shake the lingering feeling.
But the space where I was standing feels empty.
And I know without needing to look at her that she feels it too.
