Page 95 of Capitol Matters

I pulled open the driver’s door and paused with my foot on the running board. A clash with Grimm was inevitable. If he’d finally decided he was done with me, or that his experiment of taking a kid from a good life and loving family and turning him wholly bad was a failed endeavor, he was welcome to put me out of my misery.

In fact, it was about damn time.

Twelve years earlier

The sun glared down on me where I stood before the vending machine with a ratty dollar bill in my hand. It was midday at the Lazy Daze Motel, and no one was around. Smoothing the crumpled bill against my leg, I considered the options currently stocked in the machine. Donovan wouldn’t eat anything spicy, so the hot fries and fire blasted chips were out. Candy guaranteed a stomachache, leaving only the pretzels we were both sick of. But, with the older guys all nursing hangovers, there would be no other offerings until late tonight or tomorrow morning.

Stuffing the money into the bill slot spurred immediate rejection. The dollar was tattered with dog-eared corners and creases that didn’t feed smoothly into the machine. I tapped my foot and tried again with thesame results.

“Fitch Farrow?” a male voice asked. “Is that you, son?”

Startled, I scuttled into the shadow beside the vending machine before spinning around.

A nondescript black sedan parked in the lot behind me. I hadn’t even heard it pull up. A suited man stood behind the open driver door, gaping at me with wide eyes.

I stared back at him while my heart thrashed in my chest.

The investigator scanned the area before he approached, hunched forward with one hand extended like a lion tamer entering the beast’s cage.

“Are you hurt?” he called over.

I shook my head but didn’t budge. My suddenly knocking knees wouldn’t let me take a step.

The motel room two doors down swung inward, revealing Grimm wearing the same disheveled clothes from the night before and his long hair in tangles. He squinted at the brightness outside, then spotted me.

“Goddamn it, boy,” he slurred. “You’d better get back in your room, or I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.”

I hugged my arm around my chest, reminding myself of the bruises that proved he wasn’t bluffing.

“I need backup.” The investigator’s voice drew my attention to where he stood, fumbling with a walkie talkie. “He’s here.” While one hand clutched the radio, the other made its way to his duty belt to free his pistol from its holster.

Grimm muttered a curse. “What are you waitingfor?” He gestured to the investigator. “Kill him already.”

Panic swelled in me as I looked back and forth between the two men. The investigator aimed his gun at Grimm, who lingered in the doorway.

The investigator was right to call for aid. He was outnumbered, and the decision to stand and fight could be his last. I could help. I could knock Grimm back and run to the patrol car. But escape would mean leaving Donovan behind, sitting on the bed in our motel room, waiting for me to return and finish our game of Go Fish.

“I said kill him!” Grimm barked.

I’d forgotten how to breathe; going dizzy in the heat with the dollar bill stuck to my sweaty palm.

The investigator got on the walkie again, rattling off what sounded like an address. Help was on the way, but it couldn’t get here fast enough.

“Fitch?”

Grimm emerged from the shelter of his room to stand on the sidewalk with both hands raised. Except it wasn’t Grimm anymore. Head to toe, every appearance had changed to match my father’s. He had a swoop of blond hair the same as mine, suntanned skin, and hazel eyes full of light.

The sight drove a whimper from me, and I feared my knees might give out entirely.

It’s a trick.

A disguise.

Dad’s dead.

“He’s gonna hurt me, Fitch.” Did the voice sound like my father? I couldn’t remember. “I need your help.”

The investigator kept his gun leveled at Grimm—myfather.

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