Page 75 of Capitol Matters

The people near enough to notice the disturbance fell silent. Across the fountain table from me, baseball-bat-wielding car destroyer Tobin Moreno snickered into his cup of bubbly.

“You can have all you want, dickbag,” I snapped at him. But my pulse pounded.

Another rapid glance found Jacoby Thatcher observing from across the room. I should have known Maximus wasn’t the only one taking precautions to secure the outcome of the vote. Grimm was scheming, too, and had made a deadly move at the latest and most strategic moment.

What could I do? Convince the waitstaff to dump the fountain’s contents and refill anew? Make more of a spectacle of myself by shouting to the crowd that the drinks were contaminated? Either of those things would earn Grimm’s wrath because—as Ripley pointed out—we both worked for him, and my sabotage of his last-minute murder plot would be seen as exactly that.

So, I stood by as more people helped themselves to the free-flowing champagne. I wasn’t even sure it was deadly. If it was, since when did I care whether a bunch of Capitol snobs lived or died? I told Nash he’d forgotten who I was. Maybe I’d forgotten, too.

A presence at my back gave me a start and I spun tofind Holland closing in. “You all right?” She frowned. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

More like the living dead and her pain-in-my-ass boyfriend.

The investigator reached toward the fountain.

“You said you were going to wait till after the speech,” I reminded her.

“I need a glass for the toast,” she said. “Mister Thatcher suggested it.”

My fists clenched. I didn’t bother looking Grimm’s way this time because I knew he was watching.

If this was a test, I was about to fail.

“I really think you shouldn’t.” I stepped in front of the investigator. “Get something from the bar instead. They’re practically dozing off over there.”

A tip of my head indicated the mixologists wearily rattling steel shakers.

Holland huffed a laugh. “You toast with champagne, Fitch. Not gin and tonic.”

“Is that your order? It’s on the menu.” I leaned away and hoped she would, too, but we weren’t dancing anymore, and she didn’t have to follow my lead.

Holland’s fingers hovered inches from grabbing a glass. I’d let a dozen other people drink the swill, but she was different. She remembered a better version of me, and I couldn’t help but hope that memory might revive something I’d believed long dead.

I needed to stop her.

Thoughts tangled until the internal chaos burst out. I thrust an open palm toward the tiered fountain, generating a blast of energy that shoved it over backwardin a cascade of glass, foamy liquid, and clattering metal bowls.

It rained down on Tobin, who’d hung around long enough to get drenched in the onslaught. Holland leaped back and clapped both hands to her mouth, abashed as if she had somehow caused the collapse.

Bystanders scurried with yelps and shrieks. Anyone who wasn’t already gawking turned to stare as I remained in place while champagne rushed over my shoes like a low tide.

While most people ran from the scene, Maximus and Thatcher closed in. Thatcher took the lead, huffing and puffing. He grabbed my arm and yanked me around, targeting me with rage like I’d never seen in the weaselly man. Grimm’s temper bled through the façade.

“What in God’s name has gotten into you?” he exclaimed.

I looked down at my wet feet, picking one up and watching the liquid drip from it.

Grimm—he may not have looked like himself, but I knew him best this way—shook me hard. “Tell me that was an accident,” he said in a lower voice. Before I could respond, he carried on. “No, don’t. Because I saw the whole thing. A thorn in my side is what you are. A stupid, arrogant—”

“Mister Thatcher.” Maximus entered our proximity. “I wasn’t aware you and Mister Farrow were so well-acquainted.”

Grimm’s grip on me relaxed. His features ran the gamut from realization to shame and made a quick correction to composed before he pulled away,smoothing out the crease he’d pressed into my suit coat sleeve.

“Are you hurt, Mister Moreno?” Maximus asked the investigator currently picking glass shards out of his glossy black hair.

Tobin stood. Champagne soaked large splotches of his gray suit, concentrated mostly on his pants and sticking them to his legs. He glared at me before responding to the older man. “Only my pride, sir.”

“Apologies, Maximus,” Grimm said after a pause. “I know how important this event was to you. I hate to see it ruined.”

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