Ilse heard Sawyer curse and watched as the agent gave chase, sprinting across the yard and rounding the garden in the direction Emily had gone. The young woman was now out of sight, having slipped behind the house again. Ilse frowned, staring in the direction Emily had disappeared, considering her options. Slowly, her hand moved to her belt buckle, she clicked it and began to push open the door.
“Stay in the car!” Sawyer shouted over his shoulder as he hotfooted around the house as well.
But a second later, Ilse watched as a head dipped back over the roof of the house. Suggesting Emily had clambered back onto the garage and waited for the agent to sprint past.
Now, Emily began racing towards the street, in the opposite direction of Sawyer.
“Tom!” Ilse yelled.
She heard a cursing sound from behind the house.
“Tom!” Ilse shouted louder, watching as Emily Winters broke across the street, dodging a screeching minivan and hopping a small bench as she raced towards a bus stop.
Ilse hesitated, one hand on the door, the other still holding her detached buckle. Her heart pounded wildly as the young woman in the hood beat a hasty retreat. The door to the halfway house had closed, suggesting the old lady didn't want to witness the proceedings. Perhaps so she could refuse testifying in case of a need for an eyewitness.
But Tom was too far away.
Ilse cursed to herself, muttering frantically beneath her breath, “Lopez. Underage murders. Three-hundred and fifty victims. Sexual sadist. Whereabouts unknown.” And then, she shoved out of the front door of the parked car and took to the curb. Slowly at first, but then picking up pace, she broke into a sprint.
Now, her sport of choice was jujitsu. But what made her enjoy the sport most was her background with cardio, especially track and field in high school. The combination of the cardio she maintained for her jujitsu training kicked in, her lungs warming as she lowered her head and dashed forward.
A second later, she heard Sawyer shout, “Stop!” He emerged from behind the house, spotted their fugitive and hurtled the small bench as well.
Ilse, though, broke out ahead of the lanky agent, her arms pumping at her side, racing forward. Her preferred terrain wasn't the asphalt and concrete of a city. Pine needles and branches and the scent of lake water always soothed her when she ran. Now, though, bursting forward, she watched as Emily Winter ducked behind the bus stop, seemingly making for an alley between a small, handcrafted chocolate shop and a burger joint near a construction zone.
Sawyer cursed, circling a parked van outside the chocolate shop in order to cut the distance. Again, they lost sight of Emily for a brief moment.
As they hurried forward, though, Ilse in the lead, she pulled up sharply, as Sawyer raced past her, circling the edge of the building in order to reach the other side of the alley quicker.
Ilse slowed to a jog, then came to a halt. Frowning at the alley mouth where Emily had burst towards.
She glanced back towards the bus stop. Towards the two, advertising posters covering the glass—one for a hair product purporting to be near equivalent to an elixir of youth. The other for the chocolate shop.
Ilse hesitated, then glanced back towards the garage, her mind spinning. Her heart went out to Ms. Winters. The idea of being shunted from hospital to halfway house and back made her skin crawl. She couldn't imagine what her own life might have been like if her mentor, Donovan Mitchell, hadn't taken her in, personally trained her and even let her couch surf for a while.
Some people weren't so lucky to find love or kindness in the world.
But also, those same people could often be split into multiple categories. One type would fight. Anything and everything thrown their way. Another type would run. Non-confrontational at their core—often called agreeable in the five-trait personality test.
Emily Winters had bolted. But also doubled-back behind the garage, tricking Sawyer.
Ilse's frown deepened, and instead of chasing after Tom, towards the alley, she circled the bus stop instead, peering into the shadows behind the posters.
She pulled up.
A young woman, with dark hair and a hoody was crouched, waiting and breathing heavily, one hand with fingerless gloves pressed against the concrete.
The woman looked up, her eyes fixated on Ilse. Her eyes flared, and she began to bolt again.
“Don't,” Ilse said, quickly.
But Emily Winters ignored the advice, lowering her shoulder as if to collide with Ilse. Not just flight, then. Fight too.
Ilse winced, bracing herself; then, lowering on the balls of her feet, she waited until Ms. Winters nearly barged into her. Once the contact was made, she rolled with the blow, hooking her arm behind Ms. Winters' shoulder, and extending a foot.
An easy, simple throw. A white belt could've accomplished it.
But Emily wasn't expecting this. She shouted in alarm and surprise, sent tumbling to the ground. As she tried to rise, Ilse heard a gasping voice behind her. “Stay down!” Sawyer called, breathing heavily and coming to a thumping stop behind the chocolate shop poster. “Keep your hands where I can see them!”
Emily Winter went stiff, arms raised, breathing heavily into the dust. “Don't touch me,” she was muttering. “Don't!”
Sawyer, though, murmured, “I'm sorry, Ms. Winters. But I can't risk another foot chase. I'm not going to hurt you.” Carefully, despite Winter's muttered comments and gasping breaths against the asphalt, he handcuffed her, leaving the cuffs a couple of clicks loose.
Then, he shot a look towards Ilse, frowning. As he helped Emily to her feet, he kept glancing towards Ilse, frowning, then tilting his head, then frowning again.
“What?”
“I told you to stay in the car.”
Ilse glanced towards Tom, towards the alley, then back towards Emily. “I know,” she said.
For a moment, they stood there, Tom's hand against the metal of the cuffs instead of Emily's wrist. “That was stupid,” he said, frowning. “Good job. But damn stupid.”
“She was going to get away.”
He rubbed his jaw with his free hand. “I said good job, didn't I?” he gave her a look that, if she didn't know better, bordered on impressed. But then, his eyes narrowed again. “Stupid, though. Good but stupid.”
Good, but stupid.
She supposed she'd have to live with that. It wasn't like Sawyer was particularly liberal with his compliments.
Still, they had Emily Winters in custody, and the young woman's hood was thrown back, revealing a thin, bony face, and oversized, Disney princess eyes with long lashes.
“Ms. Winters,” Sawyer said, leading her back towards the sedan now. “We have some questions for you down at the station.”