Page 72 of Brother's Keeper

“What?”

She set her feet with an air of defiance I couldn’t help but admire. “You can’t make claims like this and not be able to support them. So, prove it.”

My mind swirled with options. I didn’t have a link to a camera feed like the goons who took Ripley. I didn’t want to relay details on Maximus’s whereabouts and drag Nash into something I should never have involved him with. But it seemed I needed to involve him a bit more.

“I’ll let you talk to your dad,” I began slowly. “But then we need to settle up because I need something—a few things, actually—from you.”

A quick twist of her head caused Holland’s platinum hair to swish across her shoulders. “You are in no place to be making demands—”

“Holland, I have your father,” I cut in. “He’s alive, but that could change if you catch my meaning.” A growl edged into my voice. If I was willing to risk my friends and expose every secret that had kept me safe for months, the least the investigator could do was respect leverage.

The expression that crept across her face was so bitter I could taste it. “So, we’re adding blackmail to the list?” she asked.

“You have people you want to protect,” I replied. “So do I. Let me make a call. You can talk to your dad. Tell him about your engagement since he missed it.”

My hands trembled as I fished out my phone and clicked into my contacts. Scrolling down the list, I foundthe number for the Bitters’ End. I turned the volume onto speaker so Holland could hear without needing to hold the cell or see the screen. Whatever advantage I had would be lost if she snooped the phone number then used her police resources to find the bar. Which was exactly what I would have done in her shoes.

The phone trilled through four rings. I was starting to sweat when Nash answered.

“Damn, Fitch, you finally learned how to dial out,” he teased. “Did you finally pick a spot for our date?”

I cringed at the reminder of missed calls piling up and the promises I’d made last time I saw him. But this conversation harkened back to visits with Donovan during my prison stint. Only instead of grouchy guards standing by, I had a suspicious investigator eyeing me. So, for my response, I went with succinct.

“I need to talk to Max.”

The sound of glasses clinking came across the line as Nash asked, “Why? What kind of trouble are you in?”

“Not the kind of trouble I can talk about,” I said through gritted teeth. “Now, put him on.”

The noise quieted, and I checked to ensure the call timer was still ticking.

Finally, Nash sniffed. “You’re lucky you’re cute or I might not take the time out of my busy night to walk all the way—”

“We both know your place is as lively as a morgue these days,” I cut in. “You aren’t missing anything.”

Holland continued to stand by but held any questions. Not that I would have answered them. I was already showing her more of my personal life than Icared to. It was bad enough that Nash was on Grimm’s radar. I didn’t need the Capitol gunning for him, too.

Rustling and whooshing air accompanied the bartender’s journey to the cellar beneath the Bitters’ End. The creak of the wooden hatch door caused Holland to lean closer.

I turned the cell screen to my chest and cringed as Nash crowed on the other end of the line. “Phone call, inmate!”

“Cut that shit out,” I hissed into the receiver.

A scowl that had overtaken Holland’s expression. She looked ready to snatch the phone from my hands. If she chose to shadow shift, she could have done exactly that, and I would be powerless to stop her.

“Hello?” Maximus sounded drowsy, as though woken from sleep.

Holland pitched forward. “Dad?” she asked.

The shrill pitch of her voice and scrunch of her brows betrayed tentative hope. Grimm’s acting skills may not have fooled her after all.

“Holly?” Maximus replied.

Sorrow, relief, worry… I felt it all poignantly enough that I wondered if Maximus’s empathic magic worked at range. A storm raged on Holland’s face. Her hands balled at her sides, which I took as a sign of self-restraint, though I wouldn’t have blamed her for doing almost anything right then.

It didn’t serve anyone to drag this out. The quicker the investigator could be assured of her father’s safety, the sooner we could move on to prisoners being kept in far less favorable conditions. The image of Ripley,restrained and bleeding, lurked in my mind.

“Ask him something only he would know,” I muttered.

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