Page 59 of Pulling Strings

Talbot clicked his pen.

“Someday,” she said slowly, “in the future… I’d like to see Mister Farrow on the investigative team.”

“Bullshit.” The word burst out of my mouth.

Both Holland and Talbot looked at me.

“That would never happen.” I pinned the investigator with narrow eyes. “They wouldn’t even put me in a room with you without ten kinds of handcuff and chain fuckery. You think they’d trust me to work with you? Power on and all?” I huffed a laugh. “Not in this lifetime.”

Her jaw tightened. She resituated her glasses on the bridge of her nose, trying to restore the composure that had flagged since Talbot Collier arrived.

Rounding the table, she came close to me and bent in to speak in a low, stern voice. “Your father was one of the greatest investigators the Capitol has ever seen. You could carry on his legacy. You used to want to.”

I bristled. “You’re either desperate for staff, or recruitment standards have fallen dramatically in recent years. What’s the matter?” I sneered. “Does nobody want to work hard and die young anymore?”

She bit back a reply, shaking her head.

“Don’t condescend to me, Investigator,” I told her. “I know you think we criminals are a dumb bunch, but I assure you there are exceptions.”

Holland straightened, looking almost wounded. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Fitch—”

“Well, Miss Lyle.” Talbot cleared his throat. “As fortuitous as it was to meet you here, I came to speak with my client privately. I should thank you, though, for giving us so much to talk about. And I’m eager to get started. So, if you don’t mind, there’s the door.” He gestured to the exit with a smile firmly fixed on his face.

The investigator’s head swiveled from the lawyer to me. “About the plea deal—”

“We’ll be in touch.” Talbot gave a cheeky wave, causing Holland’s posture to go stiff-backed and rigidas she stormed out.

When the door slammed shut, the lawyer turned his attention to the piles of paperwork on the table. He arranged and straightened them for several seconds before I spoke.

“Just between you and me, man, I don’t think the pimp daddy vibe is best for your business model. Nobody wants to go to trial thinking they’re about to get fucked.”

Talbot’s eyes went wide with surprise. I thought I may have offended him, but then he rocked back in his chair with a resounding belly laugh.

“Oh, Fitch,” he said between chuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

The lawyer changed from his Batman villain outfit to casual jeans and a cowl neck sweater. Wavy brown hair fell to his shoulders, and he traded warm yellow eyes for cold blue ones.

“Grimm?” I yelped. “How?”

I aimed a thought at his briefcase, trying to mentally shove it off the table. The effort echoed in my brain, hollow, and the case remained unmoved. Still no magic for me, yet the other man had managed to waltz in here in full illusion.

Grimm reached into the bag I’d failed to unsettle and pulled out a laminated card. It looked mundane, so it stunned me when he explained: “Visitor pass. And I happened to grab a spare.” Fanning the card revealed an identical second, white with Thorngate’s logo printed on it.

He slapped one card on the metal table and slid it over to me. I lunged forward, straining against the cuffs that secured my wrists. I barely reached it, pinching between my fingertips and pulling it to my waist. Such an innocuous thing but, as soon as I had it in my grasp,I felt weightless, like I’d been perched at the top of a roller coaster hill and was sent plummeting down.

Power sparked alive, and I gasped.

Grimm continued speaking, oblivious to my euphoria.

“I didn’t bring any handcuff keys, but I trust you can manage a few simple locks.”

“Yeah,” I breathed the word, riding a head rush that would have staggered me had I been standing.

I shook myself, trying to organize my thoughts before directing them to my restraints. Lockpicking was a trick I’d learned even before I met the Bloody Hex. My father had a few pairs of handcuffs and let me practice, touting it as basic self-defense.

It was harder than it should have been, shaky as I was, and beset with a migraine out of nowhere.

“Is this it?” I asked as Grimm repocketed his own pass. “We’re leaving?”

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