Left to Lapse (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Seven) by Blake Pierce (a book to read .txt) 📕

a friend. He said he was being sequestered nearby andcame by to say hello! What is this?”

Adelelooked back toward where Martin was still trying to protest, flustered. Shepaused, though, watching as one of his hands darted into his pocket. Her eyesnarrowed. And then suddenly, Rodin’s hand reemerged. He yelled and pulled out apepper spray, spraying it into the eyes of the two officers.

“Run,Martin!” shouted the woman behind the counter.

Rodinactually paused long enough to blow the older lady a kiss before leaping overthe table, slamming his shoulder into John and sprinting out the door.

Adele’sstomach twisted as she watched, her own cry of protest dying on her lips asJohn reeled back, sent tumbling over the nearest table. The woman behind thecounter screamed. “Don’t touch him! He didn’t do anything!”

Meanwhile,the two officers were gasping, thankfully—in Adele’s opinion—refraining fromfiring while blinded. They choked and gagged, their faces covered in pepperspray, their hands wiping through the air.

Adelecursed, running to John’s side and dragging him up. As she passed the areawhere Rodin had been standing, her own eyes began to tear up and she lookedhastily away, blinking rapidly and waving at the air before her nose.

“Damnit,” she muttered. “John, are you all right?”

Herpartner growled, extricating himself from the toppled table and wiping a handacross his eyes.

“Makesure the officers are fine,” John snapped, his eyes zeroing in on Martin Rodin’sretreating form like a shark spotting a trout. He pushed off the table andbroke into a sprint, racing out the door in pursuit of the bartender.

CHAPTER NINE

John’sfeet pounded the concrete as he slammed through the glass door of the smallcafe, his burning eyes fixed on the retreating form of the ferret-faced Mr.Rodin. John cursed, reaching up and wiping in frustration at his eyes. Behindhim, as the door slipped shut, he heard Adele, concerned, calling out to thewoman behind the counter. “Water, please! I need water for their eyes.”

John,though, had his own eyes fixed on a different task.

Heraced across the platform, chasing after Mr. Rodin where the bartender duckedbehind a newspaper stand.

Johncalled out, “Stop! Rodin—stop running!”

Theman glanced back, his angled features rearranged into an expression of fright.He squeaked at the sight of the tall Frenchman barreling down on him and thentwisted, turning to race in the direction of the tracks.

Johnglimpsed a train pulling into the station from the opposite, open-air entrance.The large locomotive hissed and scraped as it whined against the tracks,attempting to bring its girth to a halt. Rodin, for his part yelped and,desperately dodging a row of luggage piled next to the train, vaulted over asuitcase and landed on the very lip of the barrier between the tracks and thepassengers.

Johndoubled his speed, shouting, “Don’t be stupid!”

MartinRodin gave another wild look over his shoulder in John’s direction. For amoment, he turned, squeaking, his hand pulling out his small device of pepperspray again.

John’seyes narrowed and his own hand darted to his weapon at his hip. He didn’t callout this time, instead favoring to conserve his breath for a lunging sprintacross the luggage, bounding over it like a panther, steely muscle and focusedfury in Martin Rodin’s direction.

Thebarkeep seemed to make up his mind at the last moment though. With anothersqueak, he spun around, slamming the spray back in his pocket, and then, withwhat sounded like an audible gulp, he leapt from the platform just as Johnreached him.

Atthe same time, the train pulled into the station fully, coming very close to crushingRodin.

Johncursed, jerking back, careful to avoid the ten tons of steel and metal. Themachine chugged past, squealing to a final halt and then resting as a metalbarrier. John breathed heavily, staring at where Rodin had managed to justbarely reach the other side and desperately clamber his way up and onto theplatform there.

Rodinturned around, staring at John through a gap in two of the train cars.

Johncursed, glancing up and down, but the train was equally extensive in bothdirections. Passengers began boarding and disembarking, pouring out into thestation and further blocking Rodin from view.

Thebartender breathed heavily for a moment, reaching up to wipe a glaze of sweatfrom his angled features and then paused long enough to give John a coy winkthrough the small gap between the two train cars.

John’seyes narrowed. And Martin blew a kiss, beginning to turn to dart away again.

Angerbegan to rise in Renee’s chest. He clenched his teeth, narrowing his eyes likea bull at the sight of a red handkerchief. So that’s how Martin wanted to playit, was it?

Johnhad seen enough. Going around the train wasn’t an option—he’d lose the bastard.

Soinstead, John, propelled by a rising wave of fury, sprinted directly toward thetrain. Rodin paused, half turned, frowning and glancing back. He watched asJohn took three sprinting steps with his massive legs and then flung himself atthe side of the train.

Rodin’seyes widened and his nostrils flared.

“Yeah,that’s right,” John muttered beneath his breath. The metal was hot near thewheels and cool toward the top. He pushed off the lower portion of the traincoupling, using it to launch his lengthy body upward. His hands snared theslanted aluminum room of the nearest passenger car. His body slipped and hisshirt rose, allowing his bare abdomen to press against the cold glass. Herealized three women were inside the train car, staring out at him and notquite looking away despite his glare.

Johngrunted, struggling, and then, kicking, pulled himself onto the roof of thetrain.

Heheard a curse that came from Rodin’s direction and didn’t hesitate to move.John sprinted across the roof and, spotting Martin now darting toward thenearest exit, he began sprinting along the roof of the train, hismassive feet pounding into the metal.

Johngasped, his arms swinging like pistons, his legs flashing beneath him. He eyedRodin’s progress out of the corner of his eye, gasping doggedly. And then, asMartin tried to merge into the crowd, angling toward one of the turnstiles,John leapt with a howl.

Hedove off the top of the train, colliding with the fleeing bartender.

Thetwo of them struck the ground in a tangle of limbs, both of them gasping andscrambling for supremacy. John was twice the size of the smaller Mr. Rodin,though, and it didn’t take