25. COMING CLEAN
Holland Lyle’s investigative team was not the support I wanted. It might not have been the support I would get either but, after pacing the houseboat deck for nearly an hour, smoking, swearing, and wracking my brain for better alternatives, I conceded defeat.
I still had her business card crowded into my wallet. Good thing since I hadn’t bothered to add her number to my contacts or commit it to memory. The text I sent was short, the message simple.
Meet me at the docks ASAP. We need to talk.
At nearly nine o’clock on a Monday night, I didn’t know what Holland’s social calendar held or how long it would take her to respond to my summons. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wonder long.
I’d moved my base of operations to the parking lot devoid of Donovan’s Bronco after I sent him and Maggie on a spontaneous joyride. To the suburbs, I specified, where Holland informed me the city’s camera system didn’t reach. I’d call him when he could come back. Or not. I was banking on a lot of uncertainties. Namely that the investigator who had once been my friend could see me as that again.
I sat on the hood of the Porsche, having changed out of my suit into a hoodie and jeans. The chain of cigarettes I’d started when texting Jax’s crew remained unbroken, and I’d taken to entertaining myself by flicking spent butts into the open sunroof of a neighboring car.
When headlights beamed into the lot, I squinted into the beams to make out the shape of Holland’s patrol car. I stayed perched on the red coupe until the investigator pulled her unmarked sedan in behind me, then killed the engine before stepping out.
Her white hair glowed like a beacon in the moonlight as she rounded the vehicle. She, too, had gone for a more casual look—a sweater and khaki pants—which I took as a good sign. No duty belt meant no gun and no antimagic collar within reach, but I wasn’t completely out of danger. Holland’s magic thrived in darkness and shadows, both of which were immune to my powers.
She approached with her head swiveling side to side and a suspicious look on her face. I pinched the lit end of my cigarette to drop the ash, then snuffed it out. I may have appeared composed as I slid off the hood and walked forward to meet her, but my heart was already racing.
“Fitch?” Holland glanced around. With no one else in the lot, we had all the privacy we could hope for. “Why are we here?”
I could have asked if she’d talked to Maximus, but it didn’t matter. What I was about to tell her would undo any good Grimm’s redirection might have done. It was time for this consultant to make himself useful.
“I have information,” I said. “About the case.”
She crossed her arms, defensive and definitely confused.
I coughed a nervous laugh. “Hell, I have information about everything, and it’s all gonna make me look pretty shitty. But, if you’ll hear me out, I think we can come to terms.”
She maintained a guarded posture and cocked her head. “I’m listening.”
“When I came to work for the Capitol, your dad gave me an assignment to help with the upcoming vote. There were eight people he wanted out of the way, and he figured someone with my… colorful history was best used to kill them.” The words tumbled out, bringing more relief than I’d felt in weeks. Something this dangerous didn’t have any business feeling so damn good.
Holland’s exposed eyes narrowed as I continued.
“I didn’t want to. I don’t enjoy the whole Marionette schtick. Never have. It was just necessary.”
“My dad asked you to murder eight people?” Holland asked. She wasn’t as shocked as I’d expected.
I nodded. “In four weeks, yeah.”
“So, the people we’re looking for…?”
“All dead.”
The investigator’s impulse grab for her waist made me wonder what she hoped to have within reach. Handcuffs to slap on me and drag me to the Capitol for questioning? A gun?
“But I didn’t kill them,” I said. An important caveat. “I kidnapped them and put them in the storage units at Lock n’ Roll—”
“What?” Surprise overtook her expression and her body language as she shifted away from me.
“I used that brown car the owner of the place was talking about,” I explained. “It’s a Bronco, by the way. More practical for moving people than, well,” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the Porsche, “that thing.”
“So, you’re Corbin Calloway?” Holland asked.
I raised one shoulder. “Like you said, I had all the books.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
As the night air wound around us, I remembered what she could do. Guns and handcuffs may not have been on her person, but they were in her car, quickly accessed by someone who could sink into shadow at any moment, then sneak up behind me and snap one of those collars around my throat. It must have occurred to her, too. I was the vulnerable party here.
“You were bound to find out,” I answered at length. “With whizz kid Felix at the controls, I couldn’t keep it from you.”
“And you expect me to believe you didn’t kill them?”
“Grimm killed them.”
“Convenient,” Holland said flatly.
“It’s true!” I protested too loudly, perhaps, because she flinched back. I regretted putting out my cigarette, needing something to do with my hands other than wrench them together while I spoke. “Grimm told me we were keeping them in storage until the vote, then we would let them go. I know a guy who makes memory elixirs. We were gonna drug them, then release them. I swear.”
“ Grimm told you?” she echoed. Leave it to an investigator to pick that phrase out of all the rest. “So, you’ve been working for him and the Bloody Hex all along?”
My face pinched. I hadn’t set a limit on this confession and hadn’t thought how much I would have to say to get to what needed to be told. I also hadn’t considered the sting of being faced with my own deception.
“If I could’ve gotten away from the gang, I would have.” I slouched, defeated. “But it’s not that easy. They would kill me first.”
The settling quiet was interrupted by the distant sound of water lapping against the docks and traffic buzzing by on the nearby street. Holland and I stood in the halo of a bug-swarmed lot light. It felt so similar to our chat on the beach outside her father’s home a few days prior but with a much more somber mood.
“I should have known,” she mumbled. The statement wasn’t meant for my ears, but it hurt nonetheless. The investigator regathered herself and came back with conviction. “Do you realize what you’re confessing to? Political sabotage? Conspiracy to commit murder? Treason?”
“I meant to save those people, Holland. I wanted to change.”
“Stop.” She held up her hand. “The sob story may have worked for you in court, but I didn’t buy it then, and I’m not inclined to now. You’re a grown man, Fitch. You knew what you were doing.”
I bit back argument to confess instead. “I was stupid, I’ll give you that. Hell, it’s stupid to tell you this now, but I’m desperate, and I need your help. And you need mine.”
“ Your help?” she scoffed. “If what you’re saying is true, I’ve never had your help. You’ve done nothing but lie to me from the start.”
Whatever levity I’d achieved from my bout of honesty had worn off. I felt low, and deservedly so, but time spent discussing the past would be better spent addressing current problems. One in particular.
“Grimm has the Capitol in a chokehold,” I said. “He’s been in the building with us for the past three weeks, doing your dad’s job.”
Holland shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. How could he possibly—?”
“After the vote, Grimm wanted your dad dead, and he sent me to take care of it. Like I said, I’m not reveling in the murder work these days, so I kept him alive. Now, Max is stored somewhere safe, but Grimm thinks he’s dead.” Like a dam breaking, I’d opened a door I couldn’t close. Not until all the shit that had been building up for weeks spilled out.
“Stored?” Holland’s slim, dark brows raised. “Like you stored the voters?”
It took quick thinking to pull off that dig. Good on her.
“Not exactly,” I replied. There was better food, at least.
“Prove it.”
“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 found the 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 I cared 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.
Holland’s gray eyes fixed on me. “What?”
I shrugged. “That’s what they always say on TV.”
“This is my life, Fitch.” Her nostrils flared. “Not some fictionalized cop drama.”
I bit back a reply as Maximus spoke again.
“Holly, honey, did I miss your birthday?”
“Yeah, but it’s okay, Dad…”
The pain on her face felt like an attack aimed right at me. I’d caused this, but I did it for her. I kept her father alive so she didn’t have to lose him. This suffering was meant to be short term. With Grimm out of the equation, I could ensure it would be.
“Did Preston propose?” Maximus asked.
Moisture beaded on Holland’s lower eyelids. She glanced down, and I followed her gaze to the diamond ring on her hand.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “He did.”
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations, sweetheart.”
I clicked the End Call button, and the line went dead. It took a moment for Holland to register but, when she did, all other emotions were superseded by rage.
“Why’d you hang up?” she demanded.
“You heard what you needed to.” I tucked the phone into my hip pocket.
Her shoulders slumped, and she wiped away tears before they fell from her eyes. “So, what now?” she asked. “The charade is over? You can be the cruel, manipulative criminal you’ve always wanted to be? ”
It was far from the worst thing she could have said.
I nodded. “If that’s what it takes.”
Cars whizzed past on the distant road, head and taillights chasing each other through the darkness.
“Fine,” Holland conceded. “I know what you have to offer. What do you want in return?”
“Donovan. Out of town. Like yesterday.”
“Okay.” She dipped her chin. “Is that it?”
With her father’s survival in the balance, she couldn’t exactly refuse. This next ask was extending my bargaining power perhaps beyond its limits, but maybe if I framed it right…
“My friend’s in trouble,” I said. “That shapeshifting asshole, Jaxon Rhodes, caught him and is planning to kill him. Me, too, if I show up for the meeting tomorrow.”
After supplying the address, Jax’s groupies had texted the day and time. They were in a hurry, it seemed, to slot me in after dinner tomorrow night. Very considerate of them to let me enjoy a final meal.
Holland propped her hands on her hips, likely considering the benefits of sending me to my death and wiping her hands of me for good.
“What does that have to do with me?” she asked.
“I figure I’ll fare better if I don’t show up alone,” I replied. “Much better if I have a squad of investigators watching my back.”
“You want me to send my team into a baited trap?” Refusal burgeoned behind her pursed lips.
I ticked a finger. “I want you to send them to capture Jax and two other escaped convicts. That falls firmly within an investigator’s job description, does it not? ”
Not to mention they needed work since Grimm put the kibosh on the missing persons investigation.
She looked wary as she shifted side to side. “And, if we do these things, you’ll let my dad go?”
“I’ll wrap him up with a bow on top,” I replied. “But, before that, we have to take care of Grimm.”
“Gladly.”
A sigh eased out of me. “Then he’ll be gone, Donnie and Rip will be safe, and your father will be restored to power.”
“And you?”
The silence following that question felt cavernous. I could only ask for so much, and I knew when I’d reached my limit.
I glanced aside. “I will be at your mercy.” Admittedly guilty of a slew of crimes she had already named. That didn’t keep the investigator from reminding me of the stakes.
“Are you sure you want that?” she asked. “By rights, you are owed a lengthy prison sentence, and that’s assuming my father doesn’t demand your head for all this.”
Frightening as it was, that reality also came with a measure of relief. I’d been raised by a cop, after all—taught the differences between right and wrong—and I knew that everything about my life with the Bloody Hex was very, very wrong.
“I deserve it, don’t you think?” I asked to her quiet. “Can’t run from fate forever.”
Another long stretch of silence preceded her reply. “I’ll talk to the team. Tomorrow. You’ll be there, too.”
It wasn’t a question.