He walked away before Vic could respond.He walked back into the museum, flashing his badge as a security guard at the door.He then navigated through the crowd that was still dispersing, ushered by NYPD and security guards.He made his way toward the restrooms near the medieval collection, and he could feel the eyes of those still inside tracking him.He could imagine what they were thinking…the FBI agent who had run through the museum.The agent who had broken a man's arm in the gallery where they had been admiring ancient statues just minutes before.
The restroom was empty when he entered.Miles walked to the far stall and locked himself inside.He sat down on the closed toilet lid and put his head in his hands.
His hands were shaking again.Not as badly as before, but enough that he noticed.He stared at them, at the fingers that had gripped Hartley's arm and kept pulling even after the bone broke.He could still feel it, that moment when something had snapped both in Hartley's body and in his own mind.
What would he have done if Vic hadn't arrived?How much further would he have gone?The questions circled in his head like vultures, and he had no good answers.
He had caught the killer.Had saved Victoria Ashford-Walters.Had done exactly what he was supposed to do.But the method, the loss of control, the rage that had overtaken him in those final moments…that wasn't who he was supposed to be.That wasn't the agent he had trained to become.
Miles pressed his palms against his eyes and took slow, deliberate breaths.Dr.Mitchell's voice echoed in his memory.Something has to change.He had been so certain he could handle this, so determined to prove he was fine.But sitting alone in a bathroom stall at the Metropolitan Museum, his hands still shaking from what he had done, Miles had to admit the truth.
He wasn't fine.He hadn't been fine for a long time.And pretending otherwise was only going to make things worse.
Outside, he could hear voices passing the restroom.Museum security coordinating cleanup, he supposed.Guests are being escorted out.The sounds of a normal gala ending in the most abnormal way possible.
Miles stood up slowly and unlocked the stall.He walked to the sink and splashed cold water on his face.His reflection in the ornate mirror looked haggard, older than it should.The tuxedo that had felt uncomfortable earlier now felt like a costume, something he was wearing to play a role he was no longer sure he could fill.
He dried his face with a paper towel and headed back toward the Greek and Roman gallery.Vic would be waiting.There would be reports to file, statements to give, questions to answer about why an FBI agent had used potentially excessive force against a suspect who was already subdued.
But for now, Miles just needed to get through the rest of the night.One minute at a time.One breath at a time.Until he could figure out what came next.
Until another disciple acted out in Kane’s twisted philosophy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Miles sat across from Sarah Kim at the same bar where they had met a week earlier.The place was busy for a Thursday night, filled with the after-work crowd unwinding over drinks and appetizers.The noise level provided a comfortable buffer, enough that their conversation wouldn't carry to nearby tables.Miles wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that this bar—this little table in the corner—was starting to feel very familiar to him.He and Vic had only been back in DC for two days, and he was already back here…back here, with Sarah.
Sarah had already ordered when Miles arrived.She nursed a gin and tonic while Miles worked on his second bourbon.The alcohol helped take the edge off, though he was being careful not to drink too much.Just enough to quiet the constant noise in his head.
"So, I hear Victoria Ashford-Walters sent flowers to the field office," Sarah said."Three massive arrangements.One for you, one for Vic, and one for me, even though I wasn't in NYC."
“She did.Did you not see yours yet?”
“No.I was over at the Pentagon, helping with something.Haven’t been by my office all day.”
"It was a lovely spread," Miles said.“Maybe a bit excessive, though.”
"That's gratitude from someone who knows she would be dead otherwise."Sarah took a sip of her drink."She also made a substantial donation to the FBI's victim assistance fund.Hayes was practically glowing when he told me about it.You know, Miles…with each one of these creeps you put away, you come out looking more and more golden."
Miles rotated his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light."Yeah, well, I don'tfeelgolden.”
“The way I hear it, neither does David Hartley,” Sarah said.“Did you get the report about his hospital stay?”
“I did.His surgery went well.They had to put pins in his arm but he'll recover full function eventually.He's in a holding cell now, awaiting arraignment.His lawyer is already talking about police brutality."
"Of course, he is."
"Hayes shut that down pretty fast, though,” Miles said.“He’s going to argue that I was defending myself against an armed assailant who was actively trying to inject me with a paralytic agent.Which is true."
Of course, he knew that the official story didn't include the part where he kept pulling on Hartley's arm after the threat was neutralized.The fact that there was something dark and furious inside of him had wanted to cause more pain wouldn’t make it into any official reports.
They sat in silence for a moment.Sarah ordered another drink and Miles did the same.The conversation felt stilted, like they were both avoiding something.
"This is awkward," Sarah finally said.
"Yeah."
"Why is it awkward?We've worked together for weeks now.We’ve been out for drinks…what, almost ten times now?"
