Page 78 of Capitol Matters

While he lathered the soap, I thought to ask about his swordfish encounter. I was halfway invested in the story, and he must have had a gnarly scar to show for it but, instead, I spun and braced back against the marble counter.

My gaze angled toward the window. “Say, you’re a tall fella. You seethat window up there?”

He looked at it, frowning. “Yeah, why?”

I focused mental energy on the mechanism holding the glass shut and twisted it. The latch flipped, and I pushed the pane out. It hinged open upward, but not much. Barely enough for my narrow ass to shimmy through. I wasn’t as sure about Daddy Longlegs’s gangly frame.

My thoughts found voice. “Can you fit through there?”

“No,” he replied. A real quitter’s attitude. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I want you to.” I shrugged.

I considered logistics while he gaped at me and the faucet ran full blast. If he climbed onto the counter, he could slide out on his belly and likely land face-first on the ground outside. From there, he would doubtless scramble and run while I figured out how to vault through the same opening.

This was not the first time I found myself wishing I could fly like a comic book hero, but time was wasting, and I would manage.

Daddy Longlegs chuckled nervously. “I don’t think it works that way, uh,” he looked me over, “buddy.”

I pushed away from the sinks, mentally turning the water off as I approached him.

“Don’t back down now,” I said in a low voice. “You know who I am, and I’m not your buddy. So, say it.”

The other man did retreat, nearer to the back wall and the window, which was right where I wanted him.

“Say what?” His eyes darted in a futile search for help as I closed in.

He’d started this. Reminded me of my role in this place. Capitol Fitch was a trick I’d played on myself because what Maximus really wanted was his very own puppet. He’d made that clear from the start. Even Holland changed her tune when she saw what I could do. Marionette was ruthless, skilled, and useful. He had what it took to do this job, and the more I tried to separate myself from him, the more I suffered. It had always been that way.

“Say my name,” I growled.

“Marionette?”

“That’s right.” I nodded. “And, if you know that, then you know I’m not bluffing when I tell you I will break you bit by bit. All your fingers, one by one. Toes next. So, would you like a demonstration, or are you gonna get your ass out that window?”

I slid back into my seat at the large, round table as applause swelled from the crowd. The lengthy speech had, indeed, given me enough time to bully Daddy Longlegs out of the bathroom, and feel like a spider myself as I scaled the wall after him. Currently, he dozed in the Bronco’s hatch since I’d come prepared for tonight with chloroform and restraints I hadn’t pilfered from a sex dungeon.

As it turned out, the kidnapper’s favorite sedative was not as fast-acting as film and television led me to believe. What I’d thought would be a quick swipe of therag under the other man’s nose had turned into a full-blown alligator wrestling match in the cargo area. I’d hit my head twice on the roof of the camper shell and torn the sleeve of my suit jacket. A real shame because I looked fine as hell in it, and it was a rental.

It was suspicious of me to return—slightly sweaty and definitely underdressed—but more so to vanish without warning, so I risked it.

Thatcher gave me a lingering onceover, then sighed noisily before guzzling most of a glass of red wine.

Maximus escorted Holland back to her seat. She looked overwhelmed, as if her father’s emotional suppression was wearing off and the full realization of what she’d said was dawning all at once. Whathadshe said?

“Good job,” I told her and hoped that would be the end of it.

Maximus lowered himself into the chair across from mine. He met my eyes, then glanced aside at Daddy Longlegs’s empty seat. He seemed to want some kind of confirmation, so I gave a scarce nod.

Reaching for my Old Fashioned found it still empty, and I grumbled a curse.

“You ready for that drink now?” I asked Holland.

I was halfway to standing before she answered, “Oh my God, look!”

I tracked hergaze and pointed finger to where a woman stooped over on the dance floor, mid-retch. Vomit splattered the ground, causing the crowd to lurch backward.

She wasn’t the only one.

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