He took three quick steps forward, raised his foot, and kicked the bathroom door just below the handle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
"FBI!Don't move!"
Miles burst through the bathroom door, his weapon raised.The space was small, just four stalls and a row of sinks with an ornate mirror.Because it was so intimate and quiet, he had no trouble hearing the sound of a muffled moan coming from within the space.It was weak and desperate, coming from the far stall.
Miles rushed forward and yanked the stall door open.
A woman in an emerald gown sat slumped on the toilet, fully dressed.Her head lolled to one side, her eyes wide with terror but her body completely unresponsive.Next to her, positioned between the stall wall and the back of the toilet, stood a man in a white server's jacket.One hand was positioned at her throat.A small black bag sat open on the tile floor, partially unzipped.Something inside caught the bathroom light and a dull shine…likely something metallic.
Miles took all of this in within the space of a second.It was also within this single second that he saw that the man was David Hartley.His eyed had turned toward Miles with an expression of pure rage.
"Step away from her," Miles commanded, keeping his weapon trained on Hartley's center mass.
Hartley's hand moved toward the bag on the floor, but Miles recognized the motion for what it was."Don't,” he commanded.
For a moment, everything froze.Miles could see the calculations happening behind Hartley's eyes.Then Hartley lunged forward, not toward his bag but directly at Miles, using his body as a battering ram.It was perhaps the last thing Miles would have suspected, a man held at gunpoint rushing directly for the gun in such a tight, enclosed space.
Miles tried to sidestep but Hartley caught him in the shoulder, shoving him backward through the stall door.Miles stumbled a bit, falling hard against one of the sinks against the wall behind him.into the sink.Miles's weapon swung wide as he fought to keep his balance.By the time he had his feet centered and his gun back up into a firing position, Hartley was already past him, sprinting for the door.
At the same time, Miles watched as the comatose victim slouched on the toilet.She tilted to the left, and her head hit the stall door with a dull thud.
“Shit,” he breathed as he ran for the door.He passed through it so hard and so fast that he nearly knocked Vic down as she came rushing from the gala-side.
“Miles, are you—”
“The victim is alive and in one of the stalls inside,” he said, calling over his shoulder as he gave chase."Stay with her!"
He didn’t take time to hear Vic’s response.He was already running back into the larger room to the right, the only direction to go.Many of the party-goers had parted and stepped aside, making it easy to see Hartley’s progress.Hartley was twenty feet ahead, his white jacket stark against the dark walls.He turned right, heading deeper into the museum rather than toward the exits.
Miles sprinted after him.His rental shoes slapped against the polished floor as he ran past startled guests who pressed themselves against the walls.Someone screamed and others let out surprised curses.Somewhere nearby, he heard a few champagne glasses shatter.
"Federal agent!Move!"Miles yelled.
Hartley cut through a gallery filled with medieval armor, weaving between display cases.Miles followed, catching glimpses of white jacket between the steel and glass.A suit of armor rocked on its stand as Hartley clipped it with his shoulder.One party-goer didn’t move aside fast enough, and Hartley body-checked them like he was playing hockey.
They emerged into a larger space, vaulted ceilings soaring overhead.Renaissance paintings lined the walls, but Miles barely registered them.Hartley was pulling ahead, taking advantage of the confused and alarmed crowd.He turned sharply with cat-like reflexes and disappeared through another archway.
Miles pushed harder, his lungs burning.He rounded the corner and found himself in a gallery of French Impressionists.Monet's water lilies blurred past.Guests scattered, some dropping to the floor, others running for exits.Somewhere behind him, Miles could hear security personnel shouting.Everything was devolving to chaos behind him but he had to keep his attention turned forward.
Hartley vaulted over a velvet rope and cut through a restricted area.A security guard tried to intercept him but Hartley shoved the man aside without breaking stride.Miles followed the same path, hurdling the rope and nearly colliding with the guard who was stumbling backward.
"Sorry!"Miles gasped.
They were moving through the American wing now, past landscapes and portraits of founding fathers.Hartley knocked over a standing display sign, sending it clattering across the floor.Miles jumped over it and kept running, intensely focused on Hartley’s back and every single stride the man made.
Hartley burst through a set of double doors and Miles followed him into the Greek and Roman galleries.Towering marble statues filled the space, their blank eyes staring down at the chaos.Columns rose like trees in a stone forest.The ceiling was glass, letting in moonlight that painted everything in shades of gray.
A couple in formal wear stood frozen near a statue of Apollo.Hartley ran straight toward them, and the man tried to step aside but wasn't fast enough.Hartley's shoulder caught him and both men went down in a tangle of limbs.
Miles took advantage and closed the distance right away.Hartley scrambled to his feet, but he was trapped now.The layout of the gallery formed a dead end behind him, with statues blocking the side exits and only one way back the way they'd come.Miles stood between Hartley and escape just as three museum security guards came rushing into the room.
Miles marched forward, his face a stone wall of determination."Get on the ground.Now."
Hartley stood among the statues, his chest heaving.His white jacket was torn at the shoulder.Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead.He raised his hands slowly, palms out in a gesture of surrender.
"Okay," Hartley said."Okay…yeah, okay.I'm done."
