Page 15 of Mexico Can Choke On It
A rustle.
Then asnap.
Probably just some raccoon poking around the perimeter. We get coyotes sometimes. Even a peacock once, thanks to Mother’s exotic pet phase. But then—
A human leg.
Then a bodyplummetsfrom the foliage.
THUMP!
What the—
I scan for security, but the guards are stationed at the front entrance, where the guests and their million-dollar jewelry collections are clustered. None of the other partygoers have wandered this far into the garden. No one else has witnessed this breach.
“Hey!” I bark, voice sharp and immediate, instinct overtaking etiquette.
The intruder bolts upright andruns.
“Stop!” My glass drops and shatters on the stone path, but I’m already sprinting. “Security!”
They’re fast. But not faster than me. I gain ground as they dart toward the casita, feet pounding the pavement, dress shoes be damned.
I reach out and grab their arm.
Gotcha.
“Hands off, Rent-a-Cop!” a woman’s voice shouts.
A heel stomps on my foot. Hard.
“Jesus Chr—!”
Her elbow slams into my ribs before I can finish the curse. I double over, sucking in air.
Who the hell did I grab? Female John Wick?
I can’t see the intruder’s face under her hoodie-covered head, but she’s racing for the pool house entrance.
“Dammit,” I mutter, dragging myself upright and giving chase.
She reaches the door and yanks on the handle. It doesn’t budge. Locked. A string of muffled curses fills the night air as she slams a fist against the glass. Moonlight glints off the surface as she rattles the handle again, frantic.
Instinct kicks in. I don’t think—just react. Four years on the Princeton Prep wrestling team. Three Ivy League championships. That kind of muscle memory doesn’t vanish just because you trade in singlets for suits. If I can get this trespasser pinned until security shows up…
I charge forward with intent to takedown and pin. A drill I’ve done a thousand times.
My arms hook around the intruder from behind, trapping her in a textbook restraint that would make Coach Stevens grunt with pride. I don’t squeeze too tightly because, well, she’s a woman. But she’s behaving like a cat in a bathtub, kicking and thrashing.
“Let! Me! GO!”
“Surrender before you make it worse,” I bark in a low voice.
“Where’s the fun in that, Security Ken?”
I firm up my hold, arms forming a human straightjacket. The little maniac braces both feet on the pool house door.
Wait, what isshe—
