“Can’t. Classified.”
“You’re shitting me. You know I’m FBI. What are you doing here? Are you here to steal the statue?”
The kid’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. You jumped to that conclusion? Are you always so suspicious of your boyfriend’s friends?”
“Boyfriend is jumping ahead a little, I think,” Jesse said. “And not the point of this conversation. Answer my question. What are you doing here?”
“I really can’t tell you. It’s classified.”
“You’re what, nineteen? Who could you possibly be working for with a higher clearance than I have?”
“Uh, your clearance isn’t all that much in the grand scheme of the federal government. I’m sure there are nineteen-year-olds who see more classified information than you do. But I’m also twenty-two.”
Jesse rolled his eyes.
The kid shrugged. “What? You’re the one who brought up age.”
“What’s your name?”
“Not sure I should tell you that either.”
“Do I need to arrest you?”
“For what? I’m standing here in the middle of a park. What exactly am I doing wrong that an FBI agent thinks he can get away with arresting me?”
Acting like an aggravating child didn’t constitute a good reason for Jesse to stop anyone, let alone question them. But there was something fishy about the kid. That line about classified information had to be bullshit. “Okay, I’ll detain you for suspicious activity until I can check your story out.”
The kid laughed at him. “Do youlikeyour job? Because doing that would be a great way to lose it.”
“Dawes, wrap up whatever bullshit you’re doing,” Milton growled through the earpiece. “Dress shirt’s going to make a move for it.”
Dress shirt and jeans. Just like Bryce was wearing earlier that day. Jesse narrowed his eyes at the kid. “Tell me my instincts aren’t wrong, just my deduction. Tell me Bryce isn’t in there about to rip off the damn museum.”
“No. He’s in there trying to help the damn place!”
“Hold on, got a guy in a black hoodie,” Milton said. “Shit, shit. He’s not even—gah! FBI! Stop!”
Rowland and the other agent cried out for verification of what was happening, but Jesse was already running for the stairs. From the sounds coming through his earpiece, Milton was struggling with someone, hopefully the thief.
As Jesse booked it up the stairs, Milton shouted, “He’s making a break for it. Front entrance.”
Jesse’s entrance. He didn’t have to wait long. He spotted a flurry of motion and then a man rushed through the glass doors.
Weak as the daylight was, it stunned the man, but he spotted Jesse and moved to evade him while outrunning his pursuers.
“FBI! Get down on the ground!” Jesse called out.
Everyone else in the area started to clear to the sides, some shouting in alarm as Jesse headed their way in an attempt to cut off the man’s path. The only problem was the museum sat in the middle of a wonderfully large, extremely open park. There wasn’t a tree around for yards, and once down the stairs, the man ran for the field.
Jesse spat out the direction of the chase in his com, keeping his fellow agents up to date as he ran. Then he poured every ounce of speed he had into the run. The man was getting winded, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he slowed enough that Jesse caught him by the hood.
The statue flew from the man’s hands and rolled onto the lawn. The man tripped over it and his forward momentum carried Jesse to the ground with him. They rolled and the struggle shifted. Jesse tried to pin him, but the man swung at him. Nails, teeth, fists. The guy wasn’t going to stop. He was strong and determined, and somehow the roll ended with Jesse on bottom. The man screamed incomprehensible words at him, and Jesse struggled to keep the man’s fists from slamming into his face.
Then the kid grabbed onto the man’s shoulder. A heartbeat later the man slumped, collapsing on top of Jesse, and the kid fainted the other way.
“Fucking hell,” Jesse hissed as he pushed the man off of him. “Kid.Kid. Hey, wake up!”
Securing the suspect came first, even as badly as Jesse wanted to check on the kid. He pulled zip tie cuffs from his pocket and linked them around the suspect’s wrists and ankles.
