Jameson strides toward her. He leans forward, arms outstretched and ready to pounce. Maxzyne cringes against the cold glass. This time, there is no escape. Outside, the shrieking ambulance siren echoes off and around the nearby skyscrapers. Its insistent wail grows louder as it makes its way down Randolph Street toward them.
“Maybe that’s the cops coming for you now, Missy. I never thought to look here. What’re you doing by that window, anyway—trying to signal your gang? Get away from there!”
With a high-pitched squeal, Maxzyne kicks the golden egg near her foot. She feels it connect. The egg flies hard and straight into Jameson’s looming face. “Score!” she yells.
Diving under the nearby table, she escapes while he is distracted and off balance. Heart pounding, she wriggles through table legs and then stands and topples the table in his direction.
“Why, you little—.” There is a dull thud as the table hits the floor and another crash as Jameson trips over one of the table legs. Doing a belly flop, he lands on the Easter basket and crushes the contents.
“S-s-sorry!” she shrieks, darting through the curtain. Flying past the pile of clocks, she sways around the Japanese maple. Footsteps pound the floor behind her. Already Jameson has recovered and is after her. What now? Maxzyne skitters around the wet floor by the fountain that has not yet been mopped. “Over here! I’m over here,” she teases. She ducks down behind the forsythia display.
Seconds later, Jameson slips on the wet floor. He crashes into the wall of flowers around the fountain’s edge.
“Gotcha!” she whispers, knowing the flowers cushioned his fall.
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