Page 58 of Pulling Strings

The investigator moved to the far edge of the table, forming a corner in our triangle. There wasn’t a third chair, so she remained on her feet.

“Would you like to hear our terms?” she asked Talbot.

He opened a hand in reference to me. “Would we?”

I shrugged.

“Go ahead then,” Talbot told her. “Impress us.”

The subtle twitches on Holland’s face betrayed growing irritation. She’d lost her chance to speak to me without the legal bouncer running interference. I wasn’t sure why she thought this talk would be any more successful than the last two but, if she didn’t want Talbot here, I did.

She began again. “If Fitch goes to trial tomorrow—”

Talbot held up a hand. “That’s so very informal, don’t you think? What say you refer to him as Mister Farrow from here on out?”

The investigator’s cheeks flushed. Cute when she was angry. Any emotion beyond the polished Capitol mask was refreshing. I remembered her better without it.

“This is a high-profile case,” she said. “The world is watching, and they want restitution for the Bloody Hex’s myriad of crimes. If left to the mercy of the court, Mister Farrow is a likely scapegoat.”

Talbot had taken a legal pad and pen from his case and was jotting rapid notes. “Careful, Miss Lyle, it almost sounds like you don’t want to see him convicted.”

“I don’t.”

Talbot’s smug look shifted into surprise. “Then we have something in common,” he said. “Continue.”

Holland bent over to grip the edge of the table. “The Capitol wants justice served to those who deserve it, but we feel Mister Farrow could more effectively further that cause alive than dead.”

“Is that a fancy way of saying it takes a criminal to catch a criminal?” Talbot asked.

“I suppose so,” Holland replied.

The lawyer looked across the table at me. “Has she mentioned this to you before?”

I nodded.

“And what did you tell her?”

“I’m not interested.”

Talbot laughed, a melodious sound.

“Bold man,” he said. “Brave man. But, before we dismiss the investigator’s kind offer, answer me this.” He turned back to Holland. “Miss Lyle, I can see quite plainly what you stand to gain by employing my client’s aid. What’s in it for him?”

Holland stood straight and crossed her arms. “He would live, for one thing.”

Talbot chuckled. “A boon, to be sure. What else?”

“Life in prison.”

The lawyer sucked a breath through his teeth.

When Holland stopped for his protest, he waved a hand. “Go on.”

“We could arrange private housing.” A question hung in the investigator’s voice like she was making things up as she went. “Limited contact with other inmates—”

“My client is a young man, Miss Lyle.” Talbot, in contrast, sounded like he was holding back a laugh. “You expect him to agree to spend the rest of his many years in prison? Surely you have something more enticing than that.”

Another pause. Holland reached under her sunglasses to rub her eyes.

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