Chapter Eleven
CHAPTER ELEVEN
From: [REDACTED]
To: [REDACTED]
Subject: Re: McFeely’s
Yes, I’m aware of the existence of McFeely’s. No, there are no real empaths working there. Yes, impersonating an empath is a crime.
In the past, however, McFeely’s has proved useful when it comes to entertaining certain clientele. In the present, at least one of their employees is a person of interest.
The club should be left alone, for the moment.
Reece was halfway through his second Shirley Temple and considering a third when Diesel joined him at the bar. He stayed standing, and up close Reece could now see that the smile he was offering was hedged with a tiredness that hadn’t been there in November. “How you doing, kiddo?”
“Ben makes the best drinks,” Reece said. “What’s wrong?”
Diesel startled. “That obvious?”
“Real empath,” Reece reminded him, pointing to himself with one hand as he pulled a maraschino cherry off the ice by the stem with the other. Ben had added several extra cherries, because he was the best bartender in Seattle. “I can listen. I know I talk constantly and I’m super annoying, but I can be a good listener.” He bit the cherry off the stem. “I’d love to listen, honestly. It’s—been a while since I got to be an empath like that.”
“If you like to listen, you really should work here.” Diesel clapped him on the back. “And you’re not even close to annoying. Trust me.”
Not a lie. It was a brief touch through layers of clothes, and months ago Reece wouldn’t have picked anything up. Now, though, he caught a flash of something—compassion, maybe, sweet as the cherry in his mouth.
And instead of being able to enjoy it, Reece’s stomach soured with guilt. Diesel had no idea an empath had just read his emotions without consent. Just one more reason Reece shouldn’t be around normal people, even ones as nice as the staff at McFeely’s.
Diesel gestured toward the other side of the warehouse. “I need to keep an eye on the cameras for a bit. Want to join me? It’s quieter.”
Reece squished his guilt down best he could, picked up his drink, and followed Diesel. More people had joined the dance floor until it took up most of the room, and there wasn’t a way through without crossing it. Reece wove his way through the crowd of dancers, gaze darting right and left under flashing lights. The music was good but louder now, especially under the speakers over the dance floor.
Someone bumped into him from behind, and Reece got another distant flash: euphoria over despair, someone dancing, maybe drunk, trying to forget how bad things were. He gritted his teeth and tried to focus. It was pretty easy to keep his eyes on a guy Grayson’s height in a pair of bunny ears.
They went through a doorway and into the hall, and then Diesel led the way down the hall. They passed a brightly colored sign that said Wellness Room—Staff Only Please, Thank You for Understanding! It was covered in smiley faces and stickers.
Diesel stopped at the next door and opened it, revealing a closet-sized space with three flat-screen TVs. The big bouncer who had let Reece in earlier was lounging in one of the room’s two oversized office chairs, watching the screens.
“Thanks, Rocky, I got it,” Diesel said.
Rocky flashed them a peace sign and stood, adjusting his bunny ears as he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
“He looks tough,” Reece said.
“Tough as nails,” Diesel agreed. “He’s also got a huge crush on Ben.”
That made Reece grin. “So what’s eating at you?” he asked, as they sat down.
Diesel watched the TVs for a moment. The closest one showed the street and sidewalk just in front of the warehouse’s front door. “Um. Well. My therapist disappeared a couple weeks ago. Actually, you might even know of her, since she’s also an empath. Cora Falcon?”
“Oh,” Reece said weakly. “Yeah. I know her.” Cora had been a veterans’ therapist, specializing in PTSD. Diesel was an ex-marine; Reece could guess why he might have been her patient.
“She was amazing,” said Diesel. “She was helping me move past—well. The past. But the hospital said she moved. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. And now—”
He closed his mouth.
“What?” Reece said.
Diesel sighed. “Just someone from my past, that I knew in the military. He’s been hanging around, showing up here a lot. Always hinting that he’s got some amazing job and I could too, if I wanted to learn more.”
“But you don’t want to learn more,” Reece guessed. “You’re happy here, at McFeely’s?”
“People try to be kind here, and there’s not enough of that in the world.” Diesel shook his head. “A lot of people would think I’m being stupid, though. Keith—that’s the guy’s name—he drives a brand-new Hellcat; he clearly is getting paid.” He tilted his head, bunny ears and all. “I like my hybrid, though. Or biking, that’s even better for the planet.”
“You’re not being stupid, and that’s really hot,” Reece admitted. “Can you talk to Evan? I think between the two of us, we could get through to him on carbon emissions. He pretends he’s so stubborn but he really does listen.”
“Does he?” Was Diesel smothering a smile?
“Yeah, he does,” said Reece suspiciously. “Why?”
Diesel shrugged, and oh, he was definitely smothering a smile. “It’s just sweet: you’re this snack-sized perpetual grouch, but Agent Grayson comes up, and all of a sudden, you’re lit up like rainbows and kittens. Or you were. You’re kind of glaring again now.”
Reece narrowed his eyes.
Diesel put his hands up in surrender, though his smile hadn’t disappeared. “Anyway, you caught me brooding because Keith reminds me of some shit from the past right when I have to find a new therapist. But I’ll be fine; I’m heading to Vancouver for a few days, it’ll be a perfect chance to clear my head.”
Reece gratefully latched on to the subject change. “What’s in Vancouver?”
“International car show,” Diesel said. “One of the manufacturers is a new electric car company from Vietnam and I have a guaranteed test drive.”
“Are you kidding me?” Reece said. “Oh, I am jealous .”
“I know, right?” Diesel sounded genuinely excited. “They’re going to have models we don’t have here in the States yet. I actually won a whole package: VIP pass, hotel—can you believe it? I never win anything.”
“Okay, you have to talk to Evan,” Reece said. “I bet we could get him to a car show—”
There was a knock on the door, and then it swung open to reveal Rocky. “We got a situation trying to form,” he said. “Group of dicks talking shit to Ink. Ben’s pissed and two seconds from taking them all on by himself.”
Reece started to stand. “I can—”
“You can sit back down,” Diesel said, getting to his feet. “Rocky’s going to send the staff outside for a breather while we take care of this.”
“But—”
“Your sister made me guard an office with you in it to keep you away from violence, and I’m pretty sure I will be in for a world of regret if Agent Grayson finds out I let you near a fight,” Diesel said. “We’ll take care of it, and you can wait here, okay? Unless you’re going to break another historical window and rappel to the ground if we leave you to your own devices for a moment?”
Reece flushed. “There aren’t any windows in here,” he said grumpily.
Diesel gave him a smile that was annoyingly effective at making Reece smile back, and then disappeared through the door with Rocky.
Reece tucked his feet under him to sit cross-legged in the big desk chair. Maybe Grayson had texted again with some kind of goddamn explanation for why he wanted Reece to stay at McFeely’s.
But as Reece went to pull out his phone, his gaze was drawn to movement on one of the monitors.
His eyes widened.
At the far end of the screen, the front half of a white Hellcat was pulling into view.
Was this the asshole who’d been harassing Diesel? When Diesel was one of the only people in the city Reece knew genuinely liked empaths? Who, despite knowing Reece only hours, had stood guard at the office door to protect him when violence had broken out at McFeely’s in November?
Reece got to his feet. There was a faint ringing in his ears, but he ignored it. Whoever this dick in the Hellcat was, they were going to have a conversation.
He opened the door and hurried into the hall. Even if this was just a temporary club, there would be a door somewhere where the staff could step outside for a smoke break, to make a call, or to get some fresh air. Sure enough, at the far end of the hall was a door with a lit Exit sign that had been propped open a few inches by a large rock.
He slipped out the door and onto a patch of pavement hemmed in by the sides of the warehouse. Someone had dragged a picnic table under a shelter not far from the door, and even though a light but icy rain had started again, at least seven people had crowded around it, squashed tight to each other’s sides in the cold. Two women in bunny ears were kissing, someone had a joint, and Ben was passing out steaming paper cups of what might have been coffee, lots of smiles and laughs from around the table.
Reece hunched into his sweatshirt and darted past the group, around the side of the building. As he broke into a jog, heading down the long side of the warehouse toward the part of the street where the Hellcat had been, Grayson’s text flashed through his mind.
I need you to trust me: go straight to McFeely’s as soon as you see this. Once you get there, STAY there.
Yeah, well, Reece was staying here. He was still on the property, wasn’t he?
As he rounded the edge of the warehouse, he saw a man in a camouflage jacket and balaclava standing next to the Hellcat, typing into his phone with gloved hands. There was a tense set to his shoulders that was familiar.
Reece skidded to a stop. “You.”
The man jerked around in surprise.
“You were outside my building.” Reece pointed at him. “And now you’re here ? Are you following me?”
“I—”
“You could have just talked to me.” The man blinked behind the balaclava as Reece stepped closer, gesturing at the warehouse. “Do you know how many people are in that club? How many people might have been freaked out if you came in after me?”
A group of women were walking toward the warehouse doors, and all of them had turned their heads in Reece’s direction. The man in camouflage quickly stepped forward, putting a hand in the center of Reece’s chest and shoving him back, behind the side of the warehouse and out of sight.
“Keep your fucking voice down,” he said, pushing Reece up against the wall with a hand on his neck. “They said you’d come with me without a fight. That you’re the one we need. They told me exactly what to do, and unlike their other soldiers, I know how to follow orders, see? That’s why they chose me.”
He had thick gloves on, a mix of emotions coming through like a staticky radio station—greed, anticipation. Fear.
An ache lanced through Reece’s chest. “Hey, you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said, looking up and past the balaclava into the man’s eyes, which were pale in the outdoor lighting and narrowed to angry slits. “I won’t hurt you. I just want you to leave Diesel and McFeely’s alone.”
The man yanked his hand off Reece like he’d been burned. “How are you reading my mind?”
“I’m not,” Reece said. “I’m just trying to keep people safe. If you want me to come with you, I will.”
“You’re supposed to be easy,” the man snarled. “Stay out of my head .”
And then he pulled a gun.
Reece’s world shrank, the road and warehouse disappearing as his vision tunneled to only the weapon. Pain erupted in his chest, radiating out like fire from a phantom bullet wound that would tear skin, rend muscle, shatter bone.
This is how Evan would have felt, on that rooftop of Stone Solutions, if the corruption had taken hold and I’d made Cedrick Stone pull that trigger.
This would have been Evan’s pain, if I’d made Stone fire that gun on that rooftop.
A man was shouting. In the distance, there were more shouts, more screams, layered over the pounding of feet, growing louder. Reece couldn’t understand any of it. Couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could only stare at the gun.
I almost shot Evan.
Almost murdered him.
The gun abruptly vanished from his line of sight.
Reece sucked in a breath as he heard the gun clatter to the sidewalk, the world rushing back so fast his head spun.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot—”
The words weren’t coming from Reece. His gaze zeroed in on the ground. His would-be kidnapper had hit the sidewalk, curled in a ball with his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth as frantic pleas came from his lips.
But there were more people shouting, screaming even, a stampede of sprinting feet. Reece looked up just as the entire group from the picnic table sprinted past, some holding on to each other as they ran. Their faces were locked in expressions of terror; Reece was surrounded by it, tasting it, drowning in it.
He froze. His gaze went back to the man rocking in fear on the ground. He was also terrified.
As terrified as Reece.
Oh no.
He became aware of the buzzing along his skin, his hands vibrating in their gloves, his nerves standing at alert. Aware of a feeling of fear too big to contain, spilling out of him and catching others in its orbit.
Like Cora had been able to project her fury onto three SWAT teams.
And Reece was outside a packed club of innocent people.
He took off at a sprint. He ran to the opposite end of the warehouse, and then down the blocks until he reached his car. He leapt into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and slipped his key into the ignition.
Nothing happened.
He frowned. He bent down over the passenger seat and fumbled to pull up the carpeting from the footwell. A moment later, he had the panel off and was staring into the compartment. Goose bumps prickled on his arms.
Someone had completely disconnected the battery.
Someone didn’t want him driving away.
“Too fucking bad,” he muttered aloud, as he reached for the wires. A minute later, he had the wires reconnected. He tried the key, and this time the engine sprang to life.
Somewhere behind him, he heard the roar of a supercharged V8. He glanced up at his rearview mirror and saw a white Hellcat swinging around the corner two blocks behind him.
Well, shit. Reece didn’t take the time to replace the panel—or even use his turn signal—before pulling away from the curb and speeding off into the night.
Jamey was back in Port Angeles, almost to the hotel to get Liam, when a familiar number flashed on her caller ID.
“The fuck is going on, Stensby?” she said, instead of hello, as she answered.
“This isn’t Officer Stensby,” said the voice on the other side of the phone. “I’m afraid he’s unavailable right now. Is this Detective St. James?”
She paused. That accent was incredibly familiar—a little more subtle, the voice more of a tenor than bass. But familiar. “Grayson?”
“Not Evan, no,” said the man. “I understand Officer Stensby sent you on a wild-goose chase to Port Angeles. Or a wild-empath chase, let’s say.”
“Who the hell is this?” she snapped. “Why are you calling from Stensby’s phone?”
“Officer Stensby has made some unfortunate decisions lately. Including sabotaging your brother’s brakes.”
Jamey’s heart leapt into her throat. “What?”
“Apparently Officer Stensby punctured the brake fluid in Reece’s car earlier today. It’s likely all drained out by now,” said the stranger. “I have a personal interest in Reece’s safety, so if you could get in touch with some of the folks back in Seattle and see if anyone can find Reece before his brakes fail, I’d be real appreciative. I imagine you don’t want him to die either.”
The line went dead.