Page 7 of Capitol Matters

We found the rogue zombie dumpster diving behind a strip mall. She was unharmed but sporting a blood mustache that didn’t bode well for an unknown someone.

After squeezing in three hours of sleep, I made it to work on time. Even a bit early. I was showered, shaved, and dressed in the suit I’d worn to court a few weeks ago. Holland Lyle hadn’t specified a dress code, but I’d seen enough investigators—my own father, for one—to know it was nota blue-collar gig.

While she’d left wardrobe to my discretion, Hollandhadbeen specific about how I should arrive on my first day. Don’t come into the building. Definitely not through the front door. Wait in the parking garage by the elevator. She would meet me there.

Across the musty, cavernous space, I spotted said elevator. Its beat-up beige door was lit by a flickering overhead light. That, plus the pile of dead crickets swept into the dusty corner made the whole scene look shady as hell. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was some back-alley drug deal, not employee onboarding.

Grit crunched underfoot as I walked toward the designated meeting place. I wanted a smoke, but my hands were full of the to-go cups of coffee currently scalding my palms through their paper sleeves. It was a real kiss ass move, but also part of the act.

Capitol Fitch was a curated character. He showed up where he was supposed to, when he was supposed to. He played for the team, had good posture, and better breath. Those were the sacrifices I was willing to make to keep my cover intact and my head on my shoulders. If I got caught double-crossing the Capitol, I doubted they would waste time with another trial. In fact, Maximus Lyle might put me down himself out of spite.

I’d nearly reached the elevator when it dinged its arrival. The door slid open, revealing Holland in a houndstooth corset top and black slacks.

My eyes traveled down then back up her lithe form, ending on the aviator sunglasses obscuring her eyes.

She gave me a similar onceover, which I interrupted by offering one of the coffee cups.

“Morning, Investigator.” I smiled. “Caffeine?”

“What is it?”

“Latte, half-caff, no foam,” I recited, feeling almost as ridiculous as I had when I requested it in the café earlier.

“How’d you know my order?” She took it reluctantly.

I raised a shoulder. “Same thing you got when we met a few weeks ago. You seem like a woman of habit.”

“You remembered that?”

“I take good notes.”

What I had thought would impress her instead caused her to squint at me like I was a stalker she’d caught rifling through her underwear drawer. That wasn’t to say I hadn’t done a bit of snooping in my recent downtime. I had familiarized myself with her work schedule—simple sleuthing since nearly everyone else was staying home in fear of the plague.

Following her one evening took me to her house. Not the one she’d grown up in, where we’d played together as kids. She had her own place near the edge of town and the woods. Dark and secluded, it suited her. It had more windows than I expected, providing views of almost every interior room. If I’d hung around, I could have seen more than her taste in modern furniture, but clear glass worked both ways, so I opted not to linger.

She held the coffee but didn’t drink it, a nervous behavior I was beginning to recognize. My presence was often disarming, but I suspected this had less to do with her proximity to a formerly wanted felon and more with how my first impressions would reflect on her.

She had nothing to worry about. Capitol Fitch had this under control.

“Shall we?” I nodded toward the elevator.

Clearing her throat, she tucked a lock of white hair behind her ear. “Of course,” she said, stepping aside.

Once we were both inside, the elevator car began its rattling ascent. I sipped my coffee while watching her out of the corner of my eye. Silent was my least favorite state of being, but I endured until she spoke at last.

“I apologize in advance. We’re a bit behind with documentation and such, but I didn’t feel comfortable putting you off any longer.” She shifted her weight from one stiletto heel to the other. “I have some things for you to sign, nondisclosures and such, but we’ll tour the department first.”

“Observe the investigators in their natural habitat?” I asked.

She grimaced. “I think not. Most of them are working remotely. They come by to check in, but that’s about it.”

Finally, she took a drink of her latte. “This is good, thank you.”

“Welcome.”

We arrived on the third floor, where the pervasive quiet in the building immediately struck me. The last time I’d been here, protestors littered the front lawn, and members of all manner of media clamored for attention. Even the general din of office work in progress was missing. No one traversed the hall as we stepped into it, and I recalled how easily I’d found a spot to park in the downstairs garage.

“We may get out in a little bit, though,” Holland said, leading the way toward the Investigative Department—though I hardly needed a guide. “There was an accident at a local laboratory late last night, and I need to go by to rule out foul play.”

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