Page 30 of Pulling Strings

I snorted. “I’m sure they don’t. But neither does the Capitol, so I’ll take my chances with the devils I know.”

Her brow furrowed. “This discussion is only happening as a favor. I have limited time to persuade you—”

“To play nice?” I grinned wolfishly. “I’m rarely nice.”

Holland took another step, coming within arm’s reach of me. “To save yourself from the guillotine. Surely someone who values his life the way you apparently do must appreciate that. And this is a lucrative offer. You could change your life, Fitch. Right your wrongs.”

Footsteps echoed toward us. Two, maybe three people approached.

I muttered a curse. Was it too late to bolt for the parking garage? Take Holland down then rifle through her suit coat for the keycard?

Why had I listened to her? Or responded at all? I must have wasted a dozen opportunities to escape while she gave her sales pitch and my father’s ghost looked on.

Holland’s face paled. Tugging back her sleeve, she glanced at her watch. “This offer also has an expiration date,” she said, rushing. “As soon as the public finds out you’ve been captured, they won’t rest until they have your head. I need you to make a decision. Now.”

11

In Processing

“Fitch?” Holland prompted while my mind raced.

Like most criminal outfits, the Bloody Hex had an unspoken cover-your-ass policy. Anyone who fell behind was expected to catch up on their own. In my time with the gang, I hadn’t seen many—any—grand rescue efforts. They may have been able to bust me out of Capitol custody but might be more willing to cut their losses and move on. There was no shortage of lowlifes ready to fill my seat in the Hex hierarchy. Like I’d told my brother: the gang would survive.

The footsteps were close now. Amazing how loud such a small sound could be in a vacant building.

I glanced across the bullpen to a metal door on the far side. A wired glass window provided a narrow view of the hallway beyond. The elevator to the parking garage laid past that.

Before me, Holland’s expression wavered between frustration and irritation. She looked ready to say my name again, but I spoke first.

“Thanks for the offer, Investigator, but Capitol work isn’t for me. Also, sorry about this.” I lunged forward, grabbing and turning her into my chest. Her spine slammed against me as I looped my arm aroundher neck.

She grunted, tucking her chin to keep my elbow from closing around her throat. Basic self-defense training informed her of what I already knew. If I could restrict the blood flow to her brain, she’d fall unconscious in seconds.

Holland threw an elbow that grazed my ribs. I responded by lifting as much as I was able, driving her onto her tiptoes to try to sink the hold.

“It was nice seeing you again, Miss Lyle,” I whispered in her ear. “We should do it again sometime. My place, though. Yours sucks.”

With one forceful squeeze, my arm slid under her jaw. I started a countdown till she would go limp but, three seconds in, instead of rendering the investigator unconscious, I made her disappear.

Smoke wisped past my nose as my arms tightened around empty air. I stepped back, searching for the vanished woman. By all accounts, I was alone in the bullpen, but the shadows under the big metal desks made me wary.

Then I spotted her, a silhouette becoming rapidly three-dimensional. In her outstretched hand, I recognized the shock collar remote the commandos had done their best to wear out on the ride here.

I clenched my fist and reeled back, ready to swing on her, but jolting electricity silenced every thought. My sore muscles contracted, and I hit the ground hard. I curled into a shuddering ball of pain at the investigator’s feet.

By the time I could relax enough to breathe, even my bones ached.

I stayed on the floor, panting while glaring up at Holland. Shadow magic was difficult to pull off in direct light, and a disappearing act should have beenimpossible. It would have been, last I knew. But, like she said, it had been a long time.

“So, you did have the leash.” My teeth chattered. “Smart girl.”

Voices rose from behind us in a chorus of shouts as three guards charged in.

I rolled onto my back and raised my hands.

Holland pocketed the remote, then folded her arms across her chest. “Get him ready for processing,” she told the guards hauling me to my knees. “I’ll arrange a transport to Thorngate first thing in the morning.”

“Thorngate?” I repeated.

---