17. QUESTIONS NO ANSWERS
Nash didn’t ask what I intended to do about Jax’s goons, or missing Ripley, or Maggie. He remained as quiet as a hired chauffeur, dropping me off in the parking lot by the docks and leaving with the scarcest goodbye. He was hurt, probably angry, but I was too tired and wounded myself to dig into it.
At the houseboat, Donovan was fast asleep, apparently not worried enough to wait up, and Maggie was reposed on the couch painting her toenails. With both options for beds occupied, I stumbled in and laid on the floor, wet from the waist down and sore all over.
The next morning, I woke to Maggie trampling me in her search of our barren cabinets and reminding me I needed to replenish the groceries. Between a trip to the supermarket and a lengthy afternoon nap, I wasted most of Saturday.
Sunday morning, Donovan and I rescued the Porsche from where it had been left behind at Lazy Daze. I told him as little as possible about what had happened at the motel. Unlike Nash, he had follow-up questions and a few ideas about what I should do next.
Since my brain had been too rattled by Jette’s assault to form any productive ideas, I took Donovan’s suggestion to try to scout the gang’s known hideouts and see if I could stumble onto where Jax’s lackeys might be keeping Ripley. I knew they weren’t at Bitters’. I was the only one storing a prisoner there.
While at Lazy Daze picking up my car, I realized Donovan and I had not been the only ones to move out. All the gang members’ old rooms were vacant except for the one housing a family with a young child who I startled with my shouts and pounding on the locked door.
I canvassed the warehouse where Grimm had dumped the storage unit victims, and a few nearby buildings in the industrial district. I even stopped by the Blooming Orchid and found Isha frostier than ever and even less helpful than she had been with Holland’s investigation.
Out of options, I ended Sunday in a slump that was not improved by the knowledge that Jax had been transferred to Thorngate over the weekend and was no longer within reach. My hopes were further dashed when I arrived at work Monday morning to the news that the stinky shapeshifter had not, in fact, made the move to prison. He escaped en route in the middle of the day Saturday, doubtlessly aided by his cronies who would have been dead Friday night if I hadn’t spared them for the sake of gathering information .
Information I hadn’t gotten and was beginning to fear I never would.
“Where were you Saturday afternoon, Farrow?” Tobin squinted across the cramped room at me.
“At home, thanks for asking,” I replied.
The four of us had piled into Holland’s office. Vesper and I occupied the guest chairs while Felix and Tobin stood, and Holland sat across the desk from us with her head propped in her hands. From the worry lines stretching beyond the frames of her sunglasses, she, too, had a pretty shitty weekend.
My eye had lost most of its puffiness, but color splotched around it, purple and red that spread from my eyebrow to my cheekbone. The cause of the injury would be the snooty investigator’s next question. Not because he cared about my well-being, but because it made me look like a fight club survivor, and it was suspicious as hell.
Instead, he surprised me with a follow-up. “I don’t suppose you have someone who can support that alibi.”
I sneered at him. “Yeah, my browser history. Pretty sure I was working out a boner at that exact time.”
“Guys, come on,” Holland groaned.
“No, fuck him,” I said. “I didn’t know about the kitty cat’s big adventure till this morning. Why would I help him? He tried to kill me.”
“He’s right, Toby, there’s no motive.” Vesper jerked her thumb toward me. “Plus, if any of the transport guards saw his blond ass, I’m pretty sure they would’ve mentioned it.”
Felix tipped his head in mute agreement as he passed the Magic 8-Ball back and forth between his hands.
“Can we turn this conversation to something productive?” Holland sounded weary. “Jaxon Rhodes was not proven connected to our missing persons cases, so whether or not he’s in custody should not impact our investigation.”
“I know what might aid our investigation,” Tobin said. “Looking for him in any of the Bloody Hex’s haunts. Wasn’t that information you were supposed to bring to the table, Farrow?”
I balled my hands inside my suit coat pockets. “You can stop riding me anytime, buddy.”
Holland motioned for silence. “We should look into gang hangouts for evidence on the missing persons.” She looked at me. “And that is something I hoped you could help with, Fitch.”
A huffed breath left me. “Me, too, but I’m pretty out of touch these days.”
Vesper aimed a skeptical glance my way. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I don’t know where they are anymore.” A lesson I’d learned while burning through a whole tank of gas Sunday.
Tobin crossed his arms with a snort. “Some expert you are.”
I leaped up, nearly tipping the chair in my rush to be on eyelevel with the investigator. “Keep being a dick,” I snarled. “I’ve seen people killed for less.”
Holland rose, as well, and pounded her palm on the desktop. “I will not stand by for this childish pissing contest. You two can go slug it out in the parking lot if that’s what needs to happen, but not on company time. For now, can we all just get along and do our damn jobs?”
Unhinged Holland was my favorite variety, but I was too keyed up to appreciate it. With Tobin inches from me, looking as smug as ever, I needed space. No one spoke as I fled the office without a backward glance.
Residual anger made my whole body hot, and I shirked my suit coat halfway down the hall. It dragged along the floor as I made rapid progress to the administrative wing and Maximus Lyle’s office. Tobin was right. I was no kind of expert on the Bloody Hex, but I was one up on the investigators in knowing the mastermind of the growing disaster was hidden in their midst.
I hadn’t made a habit of giving Grimm the courtesy of a knock, and I didn’t intend to start now, so I flung a hand toward the door and opened it at range, making quite a grand entrance as I sauntered through.
“Good morning, Fitch.” Grimm sat at the desk, done with this conversation before it began if the strain in his voice was any indicator. “If you’ve come to complain, you should know that Holland beat you to it.” He indicated the desk phone with a bounce of his peppered brows. “She’s concerned you aren’t fitting in here. Says you’re causing dissension in the Department. I only wish I could tell her how deeply I relate.”
I stopped in my tracks and flung my suit coat into a nearby chair.
“I didn’t come to talk about the Department or Holland,” I replied. “If she wants to fire me, at this point, I would welcome it. Maybe then I could catch a fucking break.”
At the rise in volume, Grimm winced and gestured past me. “Close the door, please.”
Without turning, I swept my hand and slammed the door into its frame. Wall-mounted pictures wobbled on their hooks. Grimm remained nonplussed.
“Miss Lyle can’t fire you, Fitch,” he said. “That sort of thing would have to go through me, and it won’t. But you could try not to make a target of yourself. For everyone’s sake.”
My refusal to sit or respond to his statement made my thoughts on that clear.
Grimm sighed. “Very well. What brings you in?”
“Ripley’s missing.”
I might as well have told him it was going to rain. It elicited the same mute reaction I’d gotten when warning him about the investigators looking into my abductions and paying Isha a visit. He didn’t care about any of it.
“Five days now,” I added, hoping the passage of time would drum up his interest. “I think one of your underlings had something to do with it. Jaxon Rhodes?”
Grimm watched me with Maximus’s gray eyes. The reading glasses he’d donned must have been bugging him because the man behind the illusioned mask didn’t need corrective lenses.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said.
I walked closer to the desk, bending to put my hands on the corner and my face nearer Grimm’s line of sight. “He says he’s running the gang now. Would you know about that?”
The older man sniffed. “He’s been given a measure of authority, yes. I needed someone to oversee matters outside these walls.” He waved vaguely to the room around us. “I find my time rather consumed these days.”
“And you picked him?”
Call it cannon fodder, infantry, or reinforcements, it didn’t matter. A bad hire was still a bad hire. I didn’t think the gang was desperate or dense enough to induct the feral cat into its ranks, certainly not to put him in charge.
“Avery made that decision.” Grimm gave a tight smile. “I trust his judgment.”
“You shouldn’t,” I replied.
“More than I trust yours.”
We stayed in a deadlock, fueling each other’s anger until I caved at last.
“Fine.” I dropped into the chair on top of my crumpled suit coat, resigned to wrinkles for the rest of the day. “Did you help him escape the prison transport?”
“Fitch, I’ll be blunt with you.” Grimm bridged his fingers. “I’m not involved in the day-to-day of the Bloody Hex anymore. I have ascended to a higher calling. This is my focus now. I don’t waste much thought on petty crimes or the disappearances of fully-grown men.”
“They’re gonna kill Rip for his Hex mark,” I protested. “Made a pass at me, too.” And Donovan, by proxy, but the further I could keep him from Grimm’s notice, the better.
“And yet, here you stand.” He thrust both hands at me in a welcoming gesture. “Having taught them a lesson they won’t soon forget, I hope?”
I frowned and looked aside. “Something like that. ”
“You understand the way of things,” he said. “So does Ripley. You keep what you are able to defend.”
Anger spiked so fast and hot that I couldn’t stop myself from blurting, “What about you defending your damn gang? If you want to keep us, that is. Maybe you don’t.” That last bit was an unwelcome realization. Things had changed so much over the past two months that I could no longer guess Grimm’s intentions for the Bloody Hex. He’d certainly stepped back. Had he given up?
He peered at me over Maximus’s tortoiseshell glasses. “Why should I defend those who openly defy me, threaten my life, or support someone who does?”
Those first two were for me, the third undoubtedly for Ripley. So, our gang leader held a grudge, after all. It pleased me to see it.
“Growing pains, right?” I taunted. “Those were your words. Just me doing what young bucks do.”
He replied without hesitation. “Mister Vaughn is no young buck and, if twelve years in prison didn’t cure his rebellion, I fear nothing will.”
His eyes were frigid through the mask, chilling me as deeply as ever. If Ripley’s abduction was a punishment, then I was next in line. And, while I’d foiled Jette and York’s efforts once, it had been by a narrow margin. I wasn’t eager to try my luck again.
With nothing left to discuss, I stood to leave.
“One more thing.” Grimm pulled open the desk’s top drawer. From inside, he produced a square of paper about the size of a postcard. “We got these back from the printer this morning. Planned to send you one, but I don’t seem to have your forwarding address.”
With the card held aloft, he watched me, waiting as though expecting me to supply my whereabouts on the spot. Fat chance.
“Mark your calendar.” He held the square of paper out for me to take, and I curled a finger to draw it through the air into my grasp.
I inspected the card, embossed with slimline lettering announcing Holland Lyle’s 27 th birthday. Location: Maximus Lyle’s house. Date: this coming Saturday. So much for the standard two-weeks’ notice.
Fine print detailed arrival time and a black-tie dress code, plus a champagne reception and full dinner to be served.
My lips pursed. “Looks delightful.”
Grimm bobbed his head. “It promises to be quite the event. I expect to see you there.”
I pocketed the card with a snort and started toward the door, but the older man’s voice chased me.
“You could invite Nicholas. Shall I mark you down for a plus one?”
The words resounded in my brain. Bringing Nash to Holland’s party may have been a novel thought if Grimm hadn’t been the one suggesting it. From his mouth, it sounded like an invitation to lead a sheep to slaughter.
Grimm continued in a contemplative voice. “He needs to get out of that bar more often, don’t you think? And you two make such a lovely couple.”
I spun around, flushed with heat that must have been steaming the air above my head. The finger I stabbed at Grimm had force behind it, enough to rock him back in his padded desk chair.
“Get fucked,” I spat.
He took the opportunity to recline and cross one leg over the other. “ Are you a couple yet?” he mused. “Or is it premature for that? I suppose it’s not like you to make things official.”
The rage that had simmered on the backburner of my mind since overhearing Pippa’s concerns Friday night began to boil over. This was why I was a menace. This was the reason I shouldn’t come around Bitters’ anymore. Because I was tethered to this asshole who made good on thinly veiled threats. Nash’s name on Grimm’s lips was like a nail in a coffin.
“If you so much as look at him sideways, you’re done,” I hissed. “You’ve taken enough from me. I get to have this.”
Grimm raised his palms in surrender. “By all means. Have it.”
He gave a smile and dismissive wave, pretending he didn’t care at all. Having been yoked with Donovan’s fate for the past twelve years, I knew better than to believe Grimm didn’t know how to direct me. Another person added to my circle was another life resting in my hands.
By the time I made it into the hall, my stomach was roiling.
It was the dumbest thing I could have done—admitting I cared about Nash. And I couldn’t take it back. I couldn’t unsay it or unsee Grimm’s ensuing smirk. If he hadn’t known before, he did now. I was invested, more taken with the red-headed alchemist than was good for either of us. If anything, it proved Pippa right, but I meant what I said, even if I shouldn’t have said it.
I got to have this. I wanted it. And now, more than ever, I was responsible for it.