CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Two women, dressed in ballroom gowns both squawked as Mr. Clement barreled between them, knocking them over, petticoats flying.
Ilse winced and shouted, “Sorry!” as she jumped over one of the sprawling women and hastened up the stairs. Sawyer had stopped to catch the second woman before she fell and hit her head. “You good?” he said. “Good!” He pushed past her, racing up the steps as well.
The faint delay had cost him time, though. Now, Ilse was in the lead, gasping and panting as she raced after Mr. Clement.
“Stop!” she yelled up the stairs. “Stop now! FBI!”
“Leave me alone!” a moaning voice, carried by a panting breath came from above. She watched pale fingers slapping against the banister above as she curled around the stairs as well and followed up the next fligh
