The Thief and the Globetrotter

Chapter Three: The Escape

Rinse and repeat.

The rope creaked under his weight, fibers stretching. It would hold. Baz kept telling himself it would. If anything, his nerves would snap before the rope did. There was a 70% chance of that happening.

He steadily made ground, only once losing grip, dropping the last five feet of the rope more dramatically than he meant.

It held, the loop around his waist, jarring but survivable. It took an extra few minutes of clinging to a balcony railing before Baz calmed down to trust his grip again.

After the nerve-wracking descent down floors 35 through 19, the last chunk was a cakewalk, more parkour and gymnastics than sport climbing. Hopping and climbing down, balcony ledge to balcony ledge, looked easier than it felt. If every muscle he had wasn't already threatening to buckle from easing down from the penthouse, they would've been tense from the dogpile of threats lurking in the back of his mind.

He could be caught. He could still be caught. He could be caught later. There was plenty of evidence that he was in the suite. His fingerprints were all over the library, the closet, Gwen. There were witnesses. There was the possibility of a security camera he hadn't thought about, one he may have looked right at.

After all, on the side of a building, security cameras were not the thing he concentrated on. For all the threats to his well-being, plummeting to his death was still number one.

He swung from a second-floor balcony and leapt finally to the ground, awkwardly taking his momentum and rolling into his shoulder. Terrible technique, and he'd bruise for it, but it was the ground and Baz had stopped caring how he reached it.

It took all the will he had left just to pull himself to his feet and trudge down the street, putting distance between him and the crime.

Baz pulled his phone from the safety of a zippered pocket and dialed Jasper. He answered on the first ring.

"Come and get it," Baz said, "I'm on King Street headed west."

He hung up. Baz had done the hard part. The least Jasper could do was come and get the stupid box.

It took about five minutes before the black sedan pulled up and parked just ahead of him.

Baz slid into the back seat, as per the routine. He let the drawstring pack slide off his aching shoulders.

"I hate you so much right now," he said.

Jasper reached up and pulled off his sunglasses, brows furrowed so deep and so baffled Baz almost laughed.

"What happened to you? Is that lipstick on your face?" Jasper took Baz's chin in his hand to physically turn his head. "Is that a hickey?"

"You sound like my father," Baz said, twisting out of Jasper's grasp, "just take your damn box."

There was no rummaging necessary. There was nothing in the pack except the box, wrapped up in Baz's dress shirt and tux jacket. He hastily unrolled the box from its makeshift packaging before Jasper saw the lipstick on his collar too.

Jasper took it, cradling it delicately in his hands, as if the thing hadn't already survived the descent from Mount Everest.

"How'd you get out?" Jasper asked, eyes still fixed on the box. His fingers hovered over it, like he was tempted to touch the wooden inlay, but was still working up to it.

"Well, after tonight, I think I'll pass on ever becoming a window washer," Baz said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fighting off the temptation to sleep. If he leaned back, he'd be out like a light. There was still the walk home. Jasper would drop him off where he always did, but no bike would be waiting. He would've looked idiotic riding a bike in a tux earlier in the evening.

"You joke too much," Jasper said.

"I'm only half joking."

Jasper shot him yet another bewildered look. Baz just rubbed his face, trying to get back some sensation other than the sting of wind against his skin.

"I'm over it. You've got your box, give me my money..." Baz said, "and let's just stick to the ol' 'hop the fence and steal the jewels while the family's in their summer home in Hawaii' routine from here on out."

For once, Jasper had nothing to say to that. His briefcase popped open and he handed Baz a fat envelope. If the mission had gone smoother, maybe there would've been a retort on the tip of his tongue, but in that scenario, Baz would still be in a tux and would've come down the elevator like a reasonable man.

The bewilderment faded into a look Baz dared to call admiration.

***

A vibration jarred Baz into consciousness.

It kept going. He groped, still half asleep, for the object of offense just to shut the damn thing off. It was too early. It might've been noon or three in the afternoon, but his bones ached and his head was too heavy to move. His cat pawed at him, equally upset about being roused from sleep.

He found it, still vibrating as he held it. Baz squinted at the screen.

Not the alarm. Jasper's name bannered the screen. The little red reject button beneath his number glowed temptingly.

Except, Jasper might know Baz rejected him. If he let it ring out... maybe Jasper would be more inclined to believe Baz just slept through the message.

He let the phone drop onto the mattress, burying his face back into a pillow. If he followed his athletic instincts and years of training, he would've filled his whole damn bathtub full of ice and let it numb him down.

That hadn't happened. There was an 89% chance he was unconscious as he let himself fall into bed. Everything hurt. A Costco tub of Tigerbalm wouldn't be enough to soothe the ache, but it could be a start. He'd smell like menthol for weeks.

The phone rang again, somehow more urgently. Baz got his groan out before hitting answer.

"What?" he asked. He wanted to snap, but not even his throat wanted to cooperate.

"What did you do last night?" Jasper demanded.

What had Baz done last night? In his half-conscious daze, the whole party felt simultaneously like a dream and a million years ago. Had any of that actually happened? Was it possible Baz simply got hit by a bus and limped home to have a fevered dream of making out with an international supermodel?

That was what it felt like and getting hit by a bus sounded more plausible than the night he really had.

"I got you a stupid box that didn't even look that old, to be honest." Baz rolled over, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye. The sun was definitely up, but not high enough that it was acceptable for Jasper to interrupt Baz's sleep.

"Turn on the TV."

"I don't have a TV. Just tell me what—"

"Rei Collingwood is missing."