Page 60 of Capitol Matters

The timing was vague enough to make me itchy, but my brain barreled past such concerns and into wondering how and where I would get my next victim.

“Then you put them in storage with the others,” Vinton concluded.

No. Not storage. But coming up with an alternative was a problem for future Fitch. This job already had enough steps to keep me busy and so many ways it could go wrong.

Two hours. That wasall the time Vinton was able—or willing—to give me.

The deadline had me speeding across town Sunday afternoon while my latest victim rolled around in the back of Donovan’s Bronco. The short, squatty woman was perhaps more upset to miss out on the lobster roll she’d just ordered than to be puppet-walked away from the beachside food truck where I’d found her. The meal hadn’t gone to waste, though. For all the mental fuss she put up as I moved her stiffly through the crowd, I managed to get her to the Porsche’s driver’s side window with her paper tray balanced for delivery to my eager hands.

Conveniently, Lover Boy’s fuzzy pink handcuffs and ball gag were still in the floorboard. They kept the woman quiet and restrained until Vinton rendered her mostly dead. Now, silent as the grave took on a new meaning. So much so that I could hearmyself chewing the last few bites of the lobster roll.

On the weekend, Maximus would be at home. That was what I banked on since driving Sleeping Beauty to the Capitol building and offloading her in her current state was a recipe for disaster.

Assuming the political titan hadn’t relocated in the past decade, I knew the way to his private residence. Not that it was hard to find. He wasn’t exactly hiding out in the most ostentatious property in the city. At the end of a private drive, it was more a manor than a house. Three stories tall and surrounded by immaculate gardens, it also boasted beach access and a dock. Years ago, my family had attended countless dinner parties here. The adults raided the wine cellar while we kids hunted shells by the water or played pirates aboard the Lyles’ sailboat.

Stopping in the guest lot in front of the house, I scanned the exterior and found it largely unchanged. Bright white brick surrounded shuttered windows and a vast front porch supported by columns. Remembering a time when I’d been excited to come here made my sudden sense of dread a surprise. I should have been ready to get this over with. Half of the job was done; all that remained was a bit of show and tell, then figuring out where to ditch Sleeping Beauty. Not at Lock n’ Roll, that was for damn sure.

Instead, I sat in the car with the engine idling, feeling uneasy and decidedly unwelcome.

I’d used fifteen minutes getting from the motel where I’d met Vinton to this edge of the suburbs. Chatting with Maximus would be a nonevent and left me ample time to get a memory potion from Nash beforeSleeping Beauty roused from her necromantic slumber.

But it wasn’t that simple. Doctoring a dead body risked their living doppelganger being seen in the world. Releasing Sleeping Beauty after I provided proof of her “death” created the same problem.

So, I had one hour and forty-five minutes to figure that out.

Killing the engine, I stepped out of the Bronco. Donovan’s keys jingled as I walked the path lined with domed shrubs and exotic flowers. Some floramancer worked hard to keep up with this place. Probably a member of the Capitol’s groundskeeping staff.

Remembering a certain floramancer lawyer I knew brought a smile to my face. Just the boost I needed as I ascended the steps to stand before the massive, double-door entry. Light from the foyer’s chandelier sparkled through the faceted glass panels, a good sign for my hopes of finding Maximus at home.

Pressing the doorbell set off an elaborate chime. I tapped one foot and shook Donovan’s keyring again, practicing dialogue in my mind.

Should I be proud? Remorseful? Matter of fact?

“Come with me, Mister Lyle.”

“Mister Lyle, I have the item you requested.”

“Whaddya think, Mister Lyle? Did I do good?”

Had I earned a scratch behind the ears? Or the privilege of continuing to be his murder monkey for the next two weeks?

My nose wrinkled. Why did I think it would end in two weeks? Grimm never ran out of enemies. Why should Maximus be any different?

The sound of the deadbolt clicking over prompted me to draw a breath. I had yet to decide what I was going to say, but it didn’t matter because it wasn’t Maximus who opened the door.

Holland stood before me with her head tilted and platinum hair hanging loose. This made twice that I showed up somewhere expecting a man and got a woman instead. Not that I would complain aboutthisview. The investigator wore a slinky, off-the-shoulder shirt that drew my eyes immediately to the hollows of her collarbones. She stared at me, and I stared back, lost for words.

“Fitch?” She leaned forward, looking past me as though checking for additional guests. Finding none, she straightened and frowned. “What are you doing here?”

I coughed out the breath that had lodged in my throat. “Is your dad home?”

“Who is it?” A male voice called from inside as Preston the human ambassador walked into view.

Preston’s carefully coiffed hair gleamed in the golden glow of the chandelier. He was buttoned up in a starched blue Oxford with a white collar, and the obligatory American flag tie pin.

“Fitch Farrow. We were just talking about you.” His smile looked more like a sneer as he finished his approach. “It must be true what they say: Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.” He laughed, stopping beside Holland and slipping an arm around her waist.

The comment stunned me enough that I chuckled in response. Even Holland looked shocked, leaning away from her partner to fix him with a wide-eyed stare.

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