Ace in the Hole by Ava Drake Page B

directly off the stage and up the main aisle of the auditorium to a crowd line that had been set up outside. He’d gone off plan by exiting through the crowd, but he had to make a snap decision and avoid those reporters.
    It was hot as hell outside, the height of the midafternoon heat, and now he got to shake a few hundred sweaty palms. Awesomesauce.
    He was a strong man with an iron grip, but after a hundred or so people did their damnedest to crush his fingers in the name of machismo, he was close to crying uncle. Cripes. How did politicians do this day in and day out? No wonder they opted for kissing babies. Little rug rats didn’t try to break their metacarpals.
    He’d almost reached the end of the line and Tucker waiting at the door of the SUV when a fast-moving body came flying out of the crowd at him. He caught the movement out of his peripheral vision, and his bodyguard instinct took over.
    He whirled and absorbed the hit, grabbing what turned out to be a young man and using the kid’s momentum to carry them both to the ground, roll, and pin the kid under him all in one fast move.
    He stared down into glazed eyes that showed no awareness of place or self as the young man muttered in an incoherent babble. Drugs or a psychotic break. Stone knew the signs cold.
    Tucker shoved Stone aside—or at least tried to. But he shielded the kid from his security man until he could bite out, “He’s no threat, Tuck. Stand down.”
    Tucker stopped. “You sure?”
    “Look at his eyes.”
    A brief pause. “Got it.”
    Together they helped the young man to his feet. A woman stepped out of the crowd, wailing in panic. Stone muttered, “And there would be the mom. A hundred bucks says the kid went off his meds.”
    “Not taking that bet,” Tucker replied.
    The very fact that the young man stood passively between them now, mumbling to himself as if barely aware of them, confirmed Stone’s suspicion. Screams and shouts erupted around him, but Stone was only vaguely aware of the noise. He was wholly focused on the target and safely suppressing any additional outbursts.
    A pair of policemen rushed up aggressively, Tasers drawn, and Stone physically stepped in front of the youth to protect him from the cops. He bit out to them that the young man was not dangerous and was likely mentally ill. It took a few tense moments to get them to focus on him and stand down enough to listen to what he was saying. But eventually they lowered their weapons.
    By the time he got through to Miami’s finest, the mother was beside him, hysterically explaining the same thing and begging the police not to kill her baby. Stone put his arm around the distraught woman’s shoulders and guided both her and her son away from the police.
    Christian rushed forward, and Stone pushed the pair at him, murmuring, “Get them inside and away from the police before the kid does something stupid to trigger a violent response.”
    Christian hurried mother and son away, and for the first time since the kid came out of the crowd, Stone looked up and became aware of all the people staring and pointing their cell phones at him. Aww, hell.
    To take matters from bad to worse, a reporter stepped forward and jammed a microphone under his nose. “What just happened, Senator? Will you press charges?”
    He didn’t stop to think. He just said scornfully, “Of course I won’t press charges. The way we treat the mentally ill in this country is deplorable. We could all use a little more compassion and a whole lot more funding for treatment and care of them.”
    He spun, muttering over his shoulder at Tucker, “Get me out of here.”
    The ex-Marine hustled him into the waiting SUV. This one was set up like a limousine with only one bench seat in the rear, set well back from the side doors. He stretched out his legs and rolled his head, trying and failing to release the tension from the appearance.
    After a short delay, Christian slipped in the back beside Stone and reached