Page 4 of Pulling Strings

My stomach flipped.

I stepped back, straining to see the adjacent corridorthat led to more offices and maybe a conference room or two. “I don’t suppose I could catch him in the hall?” I wondered aloud.

“I’m afraid not.”

Trying again another day or even tonight when Warren was cozied up at home, would have been preferable, but the meetingwasthe vote, and it couldn’t be undone. If the job didn’t get done now, Warren Reeves would be alive, and I would be as good as dead.

Something besides disdain flickered across the older woman’s face. She gave me another once-over, and her eyes narrowed. “Though, I’m happy to let him know you came by.”

She didn’tlookhappy to do anything. Rather perturbed, suspicious, and fearful as her hand gripped the phone’s receiver.

“I didn’t catch your name.” She failed to mask the tremor in her voice.

Had I ever wanted to be famous? Or infamous? There was a big difference.

I had fans, sure—mostly loony toons who saw me as a champion of Grimm’s political agenda. Fucking me seemed to be on the bucket lists of people with certain fetishes. I was in no position to kink shame, but having some twink stop in the middle of a blowjob to mansplain autassassinophilia was not my idea of a good time.

Fear, though. That was the reaction I usually got. Dawning realization that they’d seen my face on the news and not for any good reason.

Reeves’s secretary displayed the growing panic of a cornered prey animal. Her eyes were wide and her saggy cheeks paled as she poised to leap from her swivel chair and run—where? She couldn’t get past me if she tried. Her only option for retreat was into her boss’s adjoiningoffice where only a flimsy wooden door would stand between her and me.

Lying about my identity or assuring her I’d come for someone else would do little to ease her mind. Instead, I raised my hands in the universal sign of surrender.

“Don’t worry about it.” I flashed a tight smile. “I’ll reach out to Warren on my own.”

Her gaze traveled upward to my fingers bedecked in black ink. Both the tell-tale rings on every digit and the Bloody Hex’s cursed mark were now on full display. Any suspicions she’d had about my identity were confirmed.

The secretary snatched up the phone.

“Security!” she shouted into the receiver, her voice a strangle. “There’s an intruder in the building!”

The line was dead, of course, but that wouldn’t keep the prairie dogs in the rooms around us from hearing her cry of alarm.

I stumbled back, my stream of thought slowed to a trickle. A sweep of my hand sent a wave of force across the room. Computer screens, keyboard, pens, post-it notes, and the phone went flying off the desktop, crashing into potted plants lining the windowed wall beyond.

“Help!” the secretary screeched, lurching back and nearly falling over her chair. “Someone help!”

The dam in my brain that had been holding in any good ideas opened, letting loose a barrage of thought.

Shut her up.

Snap her neck.

Kill her.

Run.

I took off.

I dashed out of the office, around the corner, then down the neighboring hall. My heart thumped rabbit-fast and air hung in my lungs, fluttering like moth wings.

Reeves’s secretary kept shouting. I didn’t need to look back to know that heads were peeking around doorways, calls were being made from phones I didn’t unplug, and security would soon arrive. On top of that, the odds were good someone had tripped a silent alarm.

The last thing I needed was Capitol investigators flooding the building on the word that Fitch Farrow had been sighted. They would tear this place apart room by room if it meant taking me into custody, and from there…

From there, my life became a domino chain of consequences I wasn’t prepared to face. I needed to get this over with. Fast.

I sprinted down the long hallway until the whine of a vacuum cleaner drew my attention. A maid stood ahead of me, her blue shirtdress emblazoned with the logo of Top-Notch Cleaning Co.

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