Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
Case Number: 2282023
Reporting Officer: J. Stensby
Incident: Assault on the rooftop of [REDACTED]
Details of the Event: ...[REDACTED] was on the roof as well, kneeling next to [REDACTED]. His hands were on his head in a position of surrender. There was blood all over [REDACTED] face.
I wanted to bring in [REDACTED] but was told not to interfere, arrest, or even question him. We were never told why [REDACTED] was on the roof, or why he got away with it.
—SEATTLE POLICE DEPARTMENT REPORT
Reece awkwardly braced his knee against the door, using it to balance his box of craft supplies as he fumbled in his pocket for the key to Liam’s studio—about to be Reece’s studio, at least for the next six months.
When Jamey had broached the topic of Liam moving in with her when his lease expired, she’d been adamant that Reece didn’t have to move out.
Liam knows you live here , she’d said. He knows what he said yes to. You don’t have to go.
She’d been nervous but excited, happy in a way Reece hadn’t seen her in years. If Liam had someone he trusted to sublet his place, he’d asked, would you two still be waiting another six months to live together?
Oh no , she’d said. He’d move in tomorrow.
Which was how, one week later, Reece was letting himself into his new apartment. On the fourth floor of a high-rise.
Downtown.
The keys jingled in his unsteady hand as he unlocked the door. My new place is downtown , Reece had texted Grayson. Downtown where there are lots and lots of people.
Good , Grayson had texted back. You’re an empath, you need people around for all that empathizing.
Except no , it wasn’t good. Reece had seen what corrupted empaths were capable of, and it was lurking inside him too. He was too dangerous for downtown.
But Jamey and Liam were nearly giddy. Reece had heard Liam lie loud and clear about the rent, giving a figure that was probably half of what the lease actually cost, because he wanted to move in with Jamey so much he was trying to secretly subsidize the rest so Reece could afford it. How could Reece change his mind and keep them apart?
He stepped fully into the studio, letting the door swing shut behind him, and surveyed his new place. A kitchen area was built in along the wall to the right, with shiny new appliances and two stools at a bar-height counter. There was a wide couch and good-sized TV, and a tall folding screen in the corner to block off a double bed. Big windows directly in front of him, a sliver of ocean visible between buildings but the view mostly of another high-rise, probably also filled with countless innocent people.
No, Reece could not actually afford to live here, in any sense of the word.
His arms were now unsteady too. He set his box down on the coffee table, hearing the crochet hooks clink together. Pick a hobby to be your anchor activit y, his new therapist had said. It will help you manage your anxiety.
Reece hadn’t mentioned that the level of anxiety he was currently managing was might turn into an evil doppelg?nger of yourself at any moment , but he’d dutifully picked up six different arts and crafts, just in case.
He walked over to the window, glancing down through rain-streaked glass. Despite the December cold, several people were walking on the sidewalk four stories down. A couple was laughing as they darted down the street, trying uselessly to dodge the rain before they climbed into an Escalade together. Three people in fancy coats stood in a tight knot, holding cups from the coffee shop in the bottom of the high-rise across the street and taking selfies, while a fourth man in a camouflage coat and black balaclava was leaning against the wall next to the coffee shop’s decorated windows, talking on the phone, outwardly relaxed but his inner mood betrayed by the tense set of his shoulders.
Reece touched his pocket, like a reflex, feeling the outline of his own phone. He’d been so close to calling off the whole move earlier that he’d found himself texting the Dead Man for reassurance.
But that’s why you’ve got my number, right? Grayson had said. There is nothing you can do that I can’t stop. You can never be more dangerous than me.
Reece leaned his shoulder against the window, eyes still on the street. The Escalade had pulled away from the curb, and the man in camouflage was looking up the side of the building, phone just visible against his ear as he gestured with a gloved hand at Reece’s building.
Grayson’s text had helped, the reminder that there was an empath hunter out there who could—and would—stop Reece if he turned. But as dangerous as Grayson professed to be, Reece was the one who could be walking among those people below like a wolf among sheep. Who could take complete control of someone else’s emotions with nothing more than his touch. Who could fill them with unwavering devotion to only Reece, fuel their strength with rage, then use his thralled army to tear the city apart—
The studio door opened behind him, his thoughts fading as Jamey’s and Liam’s voices filled the space.
“...can turn the dining room into your office.” Jamey had Reece’s duffel bag on her shoulder, a laptop bag on the other shoulder, and was carrying a stack of boxes higher than her head. Her ringlet curls were still perfectly in place and she wasn’t the slightest bit out of breath. “For when you work from home.”
“Our home.” Liam was the same height as Jamey but carrying half as many boxes, looking at her with poorly hidden awe.
Reece folded his arms. “Should you be carrying that much where other people can see you?”
“I’ll just say it’s clothes or something.” Jamey set the stack on the ground with a heavy thud that made it clear nothing as light as clothes was in the boxes.
“When you’re also carrying a duffel?” Reece pointed out.
“No one was around,” Jamey said. “Look, it’s nice to not have to hide for once.”
Reece could grudgingly accept that. She’d never told anyone about her unnatural strength and senses until Liam.
Liam set his boxes next to hers. “I think it’s hot.”
Not a lie. Reece made a gagging sound.
“Mature,” Jamey told him, as she picked up two of the boxes Liam had carried and headed over to the kitchen, her movements confident and familiar, because she’d been here far more than Reece. There was a clink as she set the boxes on the counter. “Have you been in the kitchen yet this morning, Reece?”
“It’s a studio,” Reece said. “So technically I’ve been in all of it just by walking through the door.”
Jamey raised her hands over the bar-height counter to show them a bright green plant in a cheerful pot. “But you haven’t seen your housewarming gifts?”
“Housewarming gifts?”
He headed to the kitchen area, Liam with him. And sure enough, tucked behind the counter’s edge, next to the sink, was a giant basket with a bow.
“Who is this from?” Reece said incredulously.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jamey said. “Who knows you’re moving today, knows you would want a basket made of ethically sourced sustainable bamboo from a locally owned business, and has the kind of Southern manners that require giving housewarming gifts?”
“This is why she’s the detective.” Liam glanced at Jamey, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “ Was a detective,” he corrected, “and now is going to do some other super-badass thing,” he added, which drew a little smile from Jamey.
Reece reached for the basket and pulled it over to himself. “You think Agent Grayson sent this?”
“A peace lily and vegan candy.” Liam took the plant from Jamey. “I could see myself buying these for another man.”
Reece side-eyed him. “You could?”
“Sure. If he was my boyfriend ,” said Liam, which made Jamey snort.
Reece huffed. “You can get each other plants and candy even if you’re just friends.” Or frenemies, or mortal nemeses, or whatever he and Grayson were. He ran gloved fingers over the basket’s bow. “I mean, obviously you don’t actually believe there’s a chance Agent Grayson is even, like, bi or whatever. Um. Do you?”
“Where on earth would I have gotten the idea that the two of you have a relationship that’s not completely straight?” Liam said dryly. “Could it be the giant hoodie he gave you? Or is it that he calls you Care Bear ?”
“He loaned me that hoodie,” said Reece. “I’m going to give it back.” Lie. Well, shit. “And Agent Grayson probably calls all empaths Care Bear,” he hurried to add.
“Gay, straight, bi, none of the above, it doesn’t matter,” Jamey said. “Grayson is literally the most emotionally unavailable man on the planet. He is the last person an empath would get involved with; he doesn’t have feelings.”
Possibly ironically, the reminder gave Reece feelings.
“He could be into Reece for non-feeling reasons,” Liam said.
Reece furrowed his brow. “Like what?”
Jamey and Liam gave him identical stares.
“Oh. You mean— oh ,” said Reece. “Look, that’s not the first place my empath brain goes, okay? But yeah, lust and all that can be separate from emotions. Not that that’s the case here,” he hurriedly added.
“He’s still the Dead Man,” said Jamey.
“Still an empath hunter—and you’re an empath,” Liam said. “Would the two of you be against the rules, like a no fraternization with the enemy type of thing?”
“Whoa whoa whoa, how did we get from peace lilies to taboo hookups?” Reece said. “He needles me about the empath sweet tooth and it’s an easy-care plant. That’s all this is.”
“What’s Grayson up to right now, anyway?” Jamey said.
Reece shrugged lightly, like he wasn’t usually wondering the same thing at any given moment these days. “Classified Dead Man business he thinks I shouldn’t know about, probably. Why?”
“Aisha Easterby asked if I could give her a ride to the airport at an illegally early hour tomorrow,” Jamey said. “I got the sense it’s for something related to their whole—” she waved a hand, faux-casually “—investigating empathy-related crimes, protecting the world, whatever she and Grayson do on that whole super-secret Vanguard team.”
Jamey was trying to play it off like she didn’t care, but Reece caught the note of longing underneath, how much she missed detective work. A pang of guilt hit him; if it hadn’t been for him breaking and entering into Stone Solutions in November, trying to learn how another empath had been twisted into a killer, Jamey would still be a detective. “It doesn’t really seem super-secret when we’re talking about it over caramel corn made with plant milk,” he said, trying to match her casual tone. “But I still don’t know who to thank for the new gloves or the therapist, so maybe they are pretty secret.”
“You have a spot on that team if you ever want to join,” Liam said.
“So Grayson said.” Jamey’s gaze had gone to the gift basket. “But I’d have to trust him to work with him, and that’s never going to happen.”
“Not like you trust Lieutenant Parson anymore either,” said Liam. “The force wants you back, though. Stensby keeps asking me about both of you.”
“Aren’t they all just glad I’m finally gone?” said Reece. “The only thing Lieutenant Parson ever said to me was you need to learn to keep your damn mouth shut .”
Liam coughed.
“Don’t say it.” Reece pulled the gift basket closer. “Ooh, gelatin-free gummy bears.”
“And this is the problem, right here,” said Jamey. “No, I don’t trust Parson anymore, but I trust Grayson even less. He’s sending housewarming gifts when I know he’d slap handcuffs on Reece again without hesitation.”
“Maybe we should be glad about that,” Reece said pointedly, meeting her eyes as he pulled the gummy bears out of the basket.
It had been just Jamey and Reece for years, until Jamey had started dating Liam. He’d gotten a crash course in putting up with your girlfriend’s high-strung empath half brother , but unlike any of her prior boyfriends, he’d accepted their weird, messy world—and become part of it. He was Jamey’s confidant now; knew all about her enhanced strength and senses, her innate resistance to empathy.
But Liam didn’t have any of those defenses. Reece wanted to believe that even if he became fully corrupted, he would still never hurt Liam, but how could he know for sure? He needed Grayson between him and the world, willing to do whatever it took to protect Liam and others from Reece.
He frowned harder than he probably needed to at the gummy bears, still sealed away in their packaging, which slipped uselessly against his gloves.
Liam gestured at his hands. “You know I don’t care about the gloves, right? You don’t have to wear them just because I’m here.”
“What if I trip and accidentally touch you without them?” Reece said. “I would know every single thing you’re feeling.”
Liam shrugged. “I think it would bother you more than me.”
Not a lie. Reece frowned. “How?”
“I’m really into your sister.”
Jamey laughed and leaned in to kiss Liam as Reece groaned. “You two are so gross.”
There was no response, because they were still kissing .
“Oh my God, get out ,” said Reece. “Thank you for carrying my stuff, now go slobber on each other somewhere else.”
The studio felt very empty after they’d left. Reece pulled off his gloves, tossing them on the kitchen counter before grabbing the basket and carrying it over to the couch. Outside the rain-streaked windows, the nearby buildings were shiny black against the wet, gray afternoon. He needed to start unpacking, but instead he pulled out his phone.
If you need me, call me , Grayson had texted, when he’d left Seattle three weeks ago.
Any reason? Reece had asked.
Any reason.
Reece was taking him at his word and texting him daily. Maybe it was weird, and a little bit pathetic, but the Dead Man wasn’t the bogeyman anymore; these days, he was the only thing that seemed to make Reece feel better.
But as he unlocked his phone, he found he had an email: a single line from a gibberish address.
We’re watching you.
Reece frowned. Threats and hate mail didn’t usually make it to him. People tried to send them, he knew that much, but Jamey routinely added all kinds of filters to his accounts to screen it out. But someone had gotten through to his email address to send this; maybe a reader of the Eyes on Empaths blog—their whole schtick was, after all, that they had their eyes on empaths —or maybe it was still fallout from having his face plastered all over the news the day Hathaway died.
It was a shame that people got so worked up about empaths; Reece was way too familiar these days with how bad stress was for your body. If the sender of the email had used a real email address, he had lots of good websites for meditation and mindfulness he could have shared.
As he went to hit Delete on the email, Grayson’s voice echoed in his mind, words he’d once said from the passenger seat in Reece’s car as they’d driven to a coffeehouse.
If anyone’s ever bothering you, you should tell me about it.
Reece paused. Then he shook his head. Even Grayson probably couldn’t find this person so that Reece could recommend a therapist.
He opened his texts, but just sent a quick message instead.
Reece: Gift basket?
He kept his ears open for any sounds of people around, maybe footsteps overhead or a voice in the hall, as he settled into the couch. But beyond the occasional honk or shout from outside, it was quiet, like the high-rise’s residents were at work—like he was in a building with normal people who could keep a job, who weren’t just anxious, unemployable pains-in-the-ass.
Reece set his phone on the coffee table and picked up the remote, opening his favorite streaming service on Liam’s television, the one that had recommendations tailored for empaths. Actors faking recorded emotions paled in comparison to the real thing, but at least it would be noise. He flipped through shows, letting the previews play.
He paused on some kind of Western in black-and-white. He watched for a moment as a cowboy on a horse tipped his hat at a woman in a bustled dress.
He wouldn’t mind hearing Grayson’s deep Texas drawl right about then.
On-screen, the scene changed. The cowboy was now stepping into the center of town, reaching for his holster. Shit, shit, shit . Fiery pain tore Reece’s chest in the path of a phantom bullet, like burnt flesh and torn skin and shattered bone.
The same pain he would have caused Grayson on the roof of Stone Solutions if Reece had made Cedrick Stone pull that trigger.
Reece’s chest burned, his head too light and black dots creeping into the corners of his vision as he scrambled for the power button, his arm not wanting to work—
A flag popped out of the end of the gun, inscribed with the word bang .
“A joke,” Reece said out loud, like his racing heart cared. “Fake gun. Fake .”
He smashed the power button anyway, shutting off the television. He tossed the remote somewhere at the end of the couch as he flopped back against the cushions, the studio gone silent again, making his rapid breaths seem even louder.
Jesus. He couldn’t even handle a fake gun these days.
He flung out a hand toward the coffee table. Most people Reece met were sick of him within minutes; he couldn’t blame them, he was made of sarcasm and anxiety, it was an acquired taste. But Grayson had said he didn’t think Reece was annoying, had told him to text for any reason. And maybe Grayson had also said the Dead Man didn’t have friends, but Reece didn’t have friends either, except for Grayson now. He could send more bullshit texts, or reread old ones, or—something. Anything that reminded him that Grayson was alive and unhurt and would help.
As Reece’s hand closed around his phone, it buzzed with an incoming text. He raised it to his eyes.
Grayson: Housewarming gifts are customary.
His heart rate seemed to slow, just seeing Grayson’s words on-screen. He could almost pretend he could hear that drawl, even if Grayson couldn’t possibly believe Reece was actually that gullible.
Reece: Please. You just wanted to send me BEARS.
Grayson: Admittedly a bonus.
Reece cracked a smile. He let his head fall back against the couch, taking a few deep, slow breaths as he reread Grayson’s words. They made Reece feel less alone, even if he had no idea where Grayson actually was.
Reece: So where’s the Dead Man tonight?
Grayson: You know I’m not gonna tell you. Where I go is classified.
Reece: Can I guess? Are you at the graveyard? Hanging out with your zombie pals?
Grayson: You’re about as far off as you could be.
Reece furrowed his brow. What would Grayson think was the furthest thing from graves—oh. Of course.
Reece: Maybe sky-zombies are a thing. Zombies on a plane.
Grayson’s next message took a moment to come in, like he hadn’t expected Reece to get it right.
Grayson: You’re good at guessing games.
Reece was excellent at guessing games, thank you very much, not that he should be advertising that to the Dead Man.
Reece: Just got lucky.
Reece: So where are you flying to?
Grayson: You already got more than enough information for one night.
Reece: Night? It’s late afternoon by my watch. You’re on East Coast time, then?
Grayson: Care Bear. Be a good empath and stop guessing national secrets.
Reece snorted. His gaze lingered on the nickname for a moment. Did Grayson call all empaths Care Bear? He had to, didn’t he? Why would Reece have anything that was special, that was just for him?
He set the phone down, taking a slow, deep breath. He rolled onto his side on the couch, eyeing his duffel full of clothes on the floor where Jamey had left it. After a moment, he bent down and unzipped the duffel. He didn’t have a ton of clothes, so it was easy to find what he wanted: an oversized University of Texas zip-up sweatshirt, still soft with newness. He pulled off his own raggedy hoodie and tossed it to the side and then slipped Grayson’s on over his T-shirt instead.
Jamey was right; an empath pining for the world’s most emotionally unavailable man would be the icing on Reece’s endless cake of bad decisions.
So it was a good thing Reece was smart enough to keep everything platonic. Grayson was a friend . Reece could platonically text Grayson while eating candy from Grayson’s platonic gift basket in the hoodie that he had borrowed from Grayson. Platonically.
No feelings involved. Totally fine.