“Run, June.” I pick her up and sprint across the room. Her giggles echo in my ear, and soon I’m laughing, too. I feel a twinge of pain in my knee and my heart pounds in my ears, but I keep moving. “We can’t let him get us.” “Closer,” June squeals. I duck behind a tall canvas sitting on a wooden easel just as Dallas launches the brush covered in yellow at us. He misses hitting us, but a drop gets on June’s ankle. “You snooze, you lose, Lansfield,” I say, and we take off toward the other side of the room. “Damn, Maven, I didn’t realize you were this quick,” he says, and it adds a pep to my step.
