The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(91)

There’s a brief loud ripping sound, then a crash and a thump that sounds a lot like someone falling off a chair onstage. The hell? This isn’t in Operation Janeway anywhere.

L pulls my arm out of my socket, requiring me to climb over people to get out of our seats. All around me in the dark, mass hysteria reigns. Chairs clatter to the floor. I can only vaguely see L’s form as we plow through the rest of the row into the aisleway. The emergency exit is the only source of light in the ballroom now.

The auctioneer tries feebly to calm people using the PA system, talking about an orderly exit, when all the lights flood back on. Pandemonium ceases; everyone freezes midflight. Chairs are everywhere, people and costume pieces scattered. The auctioneer waves a hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Someone just bumped the bank of lights. We can all settle down now and return to order.”

I think I see Ryan hurtling past the hulking form of Casey Junior, sitting and moaning on the stage like he’s been sucker punched in the dark.

“That was weird,” I grouse, rubbing at my temple.

L is still on high alert. I can feel her vibrating next to me. “More than weird. That was a diversion. Look at the stage.”

My eyes trail over the covered tables to the round one where they set the large print after the presentation. My print. The one with the journals and the evidence in it . . . or the remnant of what was once the beautiful piece. I gasp. No, no, no. The canvas sags open, a gaping slice straight through the middle. The top and bottom curl away, revealing the back of the frame. No journals. Nothing. Gone. But . . . I didn’t see anyone. Not a White Rabbit. Not a Golden Arrow. Not a damn thing.

“The painting! The journals!” I spin to L. “What do we do?”

“Hang on.” L looks to Shwanda’s corner, then to the corner with Amy Blondonis. They exchange complicated hand gestures, and her shoulders relax a fraction. “Unless someone went through the ceiling, I don’t think anyone made it through an exit. The girls gave me the all clear, which means the doors haven’t been opened. The thief is still here.”

And I still have a chance to slay this monster. Good thing I have my ass-kicking heels on. “I need to get to that microphone.”

I make my way as fast as I can up the side of the stage and walk across to the auctioneer, who eyes me with alarm. It could be the blood oozing down my face. Or my disheveled appearance. Who knows?

“It’s okay; I work for Genius. I need to make an announcement.” I step up to the microphone and address the audience. “Someone call security. We need to keep the doors closed. One of the items has been destroyed, and the person responsible may have an item of interest—”

I don’t even get to finish. There is a second scuffle, this time by the back door. Abandoning my announcement, I race to the edge of the stage in time to see the long blonde hair of Amy Blondonis diving into the center of a circle of costumed bystanders, her fingers grasping just shy of the shirt of a figure who bolts through the back door.

“L! We have to go! He’s getting away!” I leap off the stage, only to find Latifah already racing through the crowd, her ample curves and ample height no match for the flummoxed herd of attendees. Behind me I hear several people take up the cry as they see the damaged painting, but we’re already off and away, chasing after our villain.

“Which one is it? Arrow or Rabbit?”

“I don’t know!” I’m yelling to be heard over the pandemonium as we careen around a group of six-foot dragons and scramble through the back door. Amy and Shwanda are in hot pursuit, just the glimpse of a figure up ahead, wearing a big black leather jacket and a black ball cap pulled low over the face.

I’m impressed at the speed Latifah manages in her five-inch stilettos. Mine are inches shorter, and I’m barely making muster. Amy Blondonis dodges costumed folks in the small hallway, yelling something I can’t hear or understand.

“What do we do?” I gasp, already tiring. We’re approaching the exhibition hall, and I groan inwardly. There’s no way to track this person if they make it in there. We’re sunk.

“In gaming terms, we are going to Leeroy Jenkins the shit out of this bitch,” Latifah yells. “Hold my wig.” She yanks the confection right off her head, exposing the wig cap as she runs, and throws it over her shoulder at me. “You find a way to navigate. I’m going to catch this mother.” In an unbelievable burst of speed, L is at the heels of Amy Blondonis.

“Navigate. Navigate. I’ve got to navigate?” I’m not even sure what that means. Eyes on the ground, maybe? Up. I need to get up above to see the Golden Arrow. I need the Genius booth.

Not two seconds later, Shwanda screeches past, taking an alternate route. I hope L is trying to circle around to cover the other exits.

Yells and a large crash explode from within Artists’ Alley, likely our villain having a hell of a time shaking Amy and Latifah. My suspicions are confirmed when a shout rises above the general murmur of the crowd and I see a booth topple not two hundred yards to my right.

I need to find something to climb on. My eyes alight on the huge Genius banner. It’s held by a PVC frame and attached to the ceiling with cables. There is no way it’s safe, but it’s sitting on top of the booth, so I sprint for it.

“MG!” I hear my name shouted, but I can’t spare time to look. I need to get eyes on the ground, and it needs to be now. Not even bothering to explain, I burst through the line of people waiting for pictures with characters, practically bowling over Captain Genius before I right myself and race to the back table.