Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER TWELVE
It’s World Traffic Safety Awareness Day! What’s that? World Traffic Safety Awareness Day isn’t a real holiday? Well, I’m sure we can all agree IT SHOULD BE.
#SafetyFirst #SafeDrivesSaveLives #DriveLikeAnEmpath
—EXCERPT FROM REECE DAVIES’ SOCIAL MEDIA
Reece tore past another warehouse and made a sharp right to cut across a parking lot with a concrete mixer and three eighteen-wheelers. A Smart car had about seventy horsepower to a Hellcat’s seven hundred; he was never going to win a head-to-head race. His only hope was to lose his pursuer.
His phone was ringing in the center console. He ignored it, his tires squealing as he wove around a sandbag pile and took another corner at a frankly unsafe speed, popping out on a four-lane road lined with strip malls. His stomach swooped as he had to pump the brake pedal twice—which, what the hell, he checked all his fluids and wires weekly at minimum—but then they caught as they were supposed to. Thank God for small mercies; he drove on.
His phone was ringing again. He again ignored it, as up ahead, the industrial area was giving way to shops and traffic lights. He had to make a choice: suburban streets that would grow more crowded with shops and residents, or the feeder highways that eventually led to I-5. He winced, and then chose the ramp, skidding under an overpass for a sharp left and then up onto the highway.
He cut across the lanes to drift behind an eighteen-wheeler, keeping pace to hide his tiny car in between SUVs in the lanes on either side of him. He glanced in his rearview mirror to see if he could spot the Hellcat’s headlights.
Nothing but midrange imports, so far as he could tell.
The ringing of his phone yet again was very loud as he let out a small breath. He took the ramp for I-5 north toward downtown; as the interstate spread out, he slowed to match the semi in front of him as they crested a hill.
And that was when his brakes gave out completely.
Reece’s eyes went wide.
He jammed his foot down on the brake, which went to the floor without slowing the car in the slightest.
“Shit.” He pumped it again, the brake moving uselessly through the air. “Shit, shit .”
The road was turning downhill and he was trapped between the SUVs, rolling too fast toward the back of the eighteen-wheeler. Sucking in a breath, he jammed his foot down on the accelerator and jerked his car through the tiny opening in front of the SUV on his left.
The SUV honked but Reece ignored it. At least he was out from behind the semi, but now he was going even faster, cruising downhill at seventy miles per hour with no brakes.
He ran through his options in a panicked list. Nothing but concrete blocks on the left; if he hit them, he risked careening over them and into oncoming traffic and could end up killing someone else in a head-on collision. If he pulled his e-brake, it would slow the car but possibly lock his tires and send him spiraling out of control, again risking a crash and hurting someone else.
There had to be a way off the highway without hitting anyone else.
Red taillights were lighting up around him as cars slowed. More honks split the air as he swerved around a Prius going only sixty in front of him and cut off a BMW in the middle lane. Fuck. The shoulder on his right was also full of concrete blocks—was there a goddamn stretch of I-5 that wasn’t under construction? He could steer into the concrete and scrape his car along the side, slowing himself with friction, but still too much potential for causing an accident if someone rear-ended him. Maybe he’d get an opening in the blocks and could hit grass, roll his car, no risk to anyone but himself—
There was a new horn, loud and long, and then a souped-up engine opened up somewhere behind him, even louder than the Hellcat had been.
Reece’s eyes widened as a black truck flew past on the left and then cut sharply in front of him, filling his vision with the lights and tailgate of an F-150.
His voice came out as a strangled whisper. “Evan?”
Then Reece’s phone rang again, and this time, he grabbed it, glanced for a split second at the Caller ID he knew he’d see, and hit speakerphone.
“Evan.”
“Don’t. Hang. Up.” The F-150 stayed directly in front of him, matching his pace and leaning on the horn so that cars moved out of the way. “Status of your brakes?”
“Gone.” How the hell did Grayson know that? Where the hell had he come from?
“Stay behind me.” Grayson’s drawl was as calm and flat as ever, as if they were chatting on Reece’s couch, not flying toward downtown Seattle with no way to stop. “When do we get a good exit?”
“No exits,” Reece said immediately. Too many curves and stoplights, too many chances to hit other cars, other people. He wracked his memory of airport drop-offs. “We might get a grass shoulder at some point, but no telling for how long before the construction starts up again. And we’re heading toward downtown, there’ll be even more cars, more construction, and I could hurt someone—”
“You’re not going to,” Grayson said, steady and still calm. “I know your empathy is sending you into a panic attack at the thought of other people in danger, but you’re too good a driver and I’m between you and everyone else. We’re gonna get you stopped. It’s gonna be okay.”
Grayson’s voice filling his car was the North Star Reece hadn’t realized he needed. His panic was easing enough for him to concentrate on Grayson’s words. He was right; if traffic came to a sudden stop, Reece would crash into the bed of the truck, and no, he didn’t want to hit Grayson’s truck at seventy miles per hour, but there would be a whole bed between them. No one else would get hurt.
They worked a path over to the far-right lane, cars moving out of Grayson’s way or the two of them finding pockets to weave around slower cars. Reece’s knuckles were probably white in his gloves, his hands fused to the steering wheel.
Finally, the concrete blocks gave way to a guardrail. The hillside was steep on the right; once the guardrail ended, he could get his right-side tires on the grass and the friction would help, as long as he was careful not to go up the hill and flip his car. “Here. We don’t have much space.”
He put on his turn signal, and Grayson did too, and together they moved into the shoulder. The guardrail ended, and Reece put his right tires into the grass, but the road was sloping downhill and he wasn’t slowing. Still too fast for the e-brake; he might lock his tires and completely lose control.
Grayson’s voice came over the phone. “Cop up ahead in the shoulder.”
“Shit.” Reece’s stomach plummeted.
“You trust me?”
“Yeah.” Not a lie, some distant part of Reece’s brain noticed.
“Drive into me.”
“What?”
“Carefully, obviously,” said Grayson. “I know you got the skills to do it.”
Oh, this better work. Reece took a deep breath, then pressed on the gas. His car inched forward, the back of the truck rapidly approaching. His roof wasn’t much higher than the top of the tailgate; this was going to wreck the front of his car, but better his headlights than someone else.
The impact rattled Reece in his seat as the front of the Smart car knocked into the F-150’s bumper. But Grayson was still moving at almost exactly the same speed he was, and it wasn’t hard enough to set off the airbags.
Grayson’s drawl came through the phone again. “Ready?”
Reece took a breath as Grayson’s brake lights lit up, only a couple feet away, illuminating Reece and the dashboard in red.
“Keep your foot off the gas.”
And as Grayson’s truck began to slow, Reece’s Smart car slowed with him.
“Oh my God,” Reece said shakily, watching his speedometer finally sink. “Oh my God, I think I’m in love with your truck.”
“We can talk about your kinks later. Gotta brake harder or we’re gonna rear-end that cop.”
Reece yanked up the e-brake, which screeched as his car coasted over the shoulder and grass, the friction of the dirt dragging on the Smart car’s tires as Grayson’s truck acted like a giant tugboat slowing a tiny barge. He watched his speedometer fall to twenty, then fifteen, and then finally his car came to a complete stop, half on the grass, the steep hill rising up on his right and cars rushing by on I-5 on the left.
“Evan, Jesus.” He slumped in his seat. “I will never complain about your driving again.”
Lie. Reece couldn’t even groan. He let his head fall forward and land on the steering wheel, taking deep breaths, his heart racing and tears threatening from the flood of adrenaline that had left him shaking.
A moment later, there was a blast of cold air as his driver’s door was opened.
“You know which Care Bear you are? Bad Decisions Bear.”
Reece broke into a laugh as Grayson’s drawl rolled over him, real and unstripped by the phone, unnervingly emotionless, yes, but also familiar, even reassuring. He flopped back in his seat, looking up at the tall, broad silhouette backlit by a streetlamp and the headlights and taillights of I-5.
“That’s not a real Care Bear,” Reece said, like his heart wasn’t still too fast. From adrenaline. Obviously.
“Well, you’re not Good Decisions Bear.” There was just enough light spilling over the grass from the highway that he could see Grayson as he bent forward and held out his hand.
Fuck, he looked perfect.
Reece shook himself. He reached out and took Grayson’s hand, closing gloved fingers around his palm as Grayson’s hand closed around his. With an easy tug, Grayson helped him out of the car. Momentum carried him forward and he landed close enough Grayson had to gracefully dodge so they didn’t touch. But despite Reece’s wobbly knees, Grayson’s grip on his hand kept him steady.
Reece tilted his head back to look up at Grayson, their hands still joined.
“Hey,” said Grayson.
“Hey,” Reece echoed, hyper-aware of everything in that moment, the wintery mist cold and damp against his face, the gust of I-5 traffic rushing by, and most of all, aware of Grayson, only a foot away.
He squeezed Grayson’s hand. “I want to hug you so much,” he said, still breathless.
Grayson raised an eyebrow. “I’d have to carry you off I-5 then.”
“Might be worth it.” Reece didn’t hug him, but he did drop Grayson’s hand, and then put both gloved palms on Grayson’s biceps. “This is a hug, okay? A big my hero hug. I thought you were in Vermont or Maine or somewhere east? How the hell did you find me? How did you know my brakes were out?”
“The tracker that EI wasn’t supposed to put on your car, and then a call from your sister, respectively.” Grayson’s eyes were on his face. “You hurt?”
Reece shook his head. “That was some good driving,” he admitted. “Nice moves.”
“Nice ears.”
Reece’s hand flew to his head and found the bunny ears still in place. “They’re a tribute . To the employee who died at McFeely’s.”
“If you wore them for a high-speed brakeless thrill ride through Seattle, you don’t need to take them off for me.”
Reece snorted. He squeezed Grayson’s arm and then dropped his hand. Reluctantly, because damn, even an empath in gloves could appreciate those arms. And it was definitely shallow physical arm-appreciation, not touching Grayson generally, that was keeping his racing heart from slowing.
Grayson’s gaze followed Reece’s hand as it returned to his side, but his face of course revealed none of his thoughts. He pointed at his truck. “Can I give you a ride?”
Reece glanced at his car. Grayson’s truck had taken minimal damage, while his poor car was crunched against Grayson’s bumper, the headlights smashed, an EI tracker on it, and still no brakes. “Probably a good idea.”
He followed behind Grayson up to the truck. Grayson opened the driver’s door, and Reece leaned in to hug the truck’s door frame. “You beautiful souped-up angel.”
“You know you’ve got your arms around a truck that only gets sixteen miles to the gallon?”
“Don’t listen to Evan,” said Reece. “What’s a girl like you doing with a guy like him anyway?”
“Planning to steal her away?” Grayson said. “Again?”
“I didn’t steal your truck that night,” Reece said indignantly. Lie. He winced. “I mean. I gave her back. And look, I’m not even asking for the keys right now. I can admit that I’m shaken enough that you’re probably the safer driver. For now. Come tomorrow—”
“Not in your wildest dreams,” said Grayson. “Get on in, it’s freezing out.”
“Freezin’,” Reece repeated, as he levered himself up onto the step into the tall truck. He glanced back over his shoulder. Like this, he was a couple inches above Grayson, and it was easy to look into those vault-like hazel eyes. “I could just sit in the driver’s seat and not move?” he said sweetly.
“You think I won’t move you myself?”
Don’t say it, don’t say it— “I thought you were saving that kind of thing for our hypothetical hate-sex.”
Son of a bitch. Was he ever going to be able to be remotely smooth around Grayson?
But Grayson wasn’t mocking the world’s most awkward empath. He only casually leaned on the side of the truck, gaze flitting over Reece. “You do realize that every empath on this planet has a million reasons they don’t want even hate-sex with the Dead Man?” he said. “No matter how hypothetical?”
“What, because of the empath hunter thing?” Reece scoffed. “That’s not a deal-breaker.”
“Empath specialist . And how is that not a deal-breaker?”
“You could have worse jobs,” Reece said. “Like a billionaire hoarding money while other people starve. That’s way worse.”
“I can’t help but notice that once again, you have all the self-preservation of a lemming.”
“I can’t help but notice that you said empaths don’t want it . What does the Dead Man want?”
“Are we back to you assuming there could be more to the Dead Man’s life than the job?”
They were almost level like this, their mouths nearly aligned and close enough Reece could have leaned forward and kissed him.
And then blacked out and fallen on his face. But still.
“I didn’t ask about the Dead Man’s job,” Reece said. “I asked what you wanted.” He hesitated. “Are you able to want things?”
“Wouldn’t matter and never will,” Grayson said enigmatically. “You getting the rest of the way in? Or am I gonna have to move you after all?”
Reece had more questions, but he let it go for the moment and crawled into the truck, awkwardly maneuvering over the center console until he was in the passenger seat. The hillside was close outside the window as he grabbed his seat belt and buckled it. It was warm in the truck’s cab, cozy and familiar, and he shamelessly turned on his seat warmer and cranked it up. “What about my car? It’s not going to be towed to Tacoma again, is it?”
“No.” Grayson slid into the driver’s seat in one graceful movement, pulling the door shut with a thud. “Mr. Lane has a cousin with an auto-repair shop in the Central District.”
“He does?”
“Did you think folks call him Diesel for his muscles?” Grayson had his phone in hand. “Your car is going to their shop. I want someone I can trust looking it over.”
That was a relief. The overhead light went off, darkening the truck cab so they were lit only by the glow of the dash and control panel. “I don’t know what happened. I check everything weekly—”
“Officer Stensby punctured your brake fluid and sabotaged your brakes.” Grayson was still typing in his phone. “And now he seems to have disappeared.”
“Oh.” Reece wrapped his arms around himself. Up ahead, the police car was still parked on the shoulder, lights whirling under the streetlamp. He hadn’t liked Stensby either, but Jesus. At least Reece hadn’t tried to kill him. “So was the guy in the Hellcat his friend or something?”
Grayson looked up from his phone and over at Reece. “Hellcat?”
“At McFeely’s.” Reece gestured up ahead. “Is that cop about to come up here and ask what’s going on?”
“No. I took care of that,” Grayson said, because of course he had. “What happened to you at McFeely’s?”
“I know you said to stay, and I swear I was listening to you, but that guy could have hurt Ben or Diesel or the others, so obviously I had to—”
“Reece.” Grayson’s voice was still as dead as his nickname, but he’d pitched it quiet enough it wasn’t jarring. “Were you in danger?”
Reece hesitated. He looked over at Grayson. “I—”
I was being followed but I can’t tell you because I think you only want to protect me because your brother changed you like I changed Jamey and I sent other people into a panic on accident and I definitely can’t tell you that either—
“No.” Lie. Reece forced a smile. “No danger. Ignore me, I’m shaken from losing my brakes.”
Grayson’s gaze lingered on him for just a second more. Then he reached for his door panel.
All around Reece, there was a chorus of snicks as every lock in the truck engaged.
Reece’s mouth fell open in outrage. “Did you just lock me in ?”
“Sure did,” said Grayson, in the exact same tone of voice he’d used to ask Reece if he’d been in danger. “Because I’m the Dead Man, and you’re an empath lying to me.”
“I’m not —”
“You just flinched again because you hate the way lies sound,” said Grayson, which was gallingly true. “So yeah, you’re lying to me, and you’re hiding something, and I haven’t forgotten you’re walking a fine line between pacifist and killer and I’m the last thing between you and the rest of Seattle. And this is reason number million and one that no empath could ever want even hypothetical hate-sex with me: I will never be safe for you.”
Reece looked away, out the windshield, watching the swirl of the cop car’s lights.
“I’ve got a city to protect, seat-warmers, and no ability to feel impatience,” said Grayson. “So the next move is yours, Reece.”
Reece blew out a long breath. He should be furious. He should be terrified. But the part of him that had been wound tight since he’d learned about the concept of corruption had loosened, just a little.
He didn’t want Grayson to be safe for him. He didn’t want Grayson to fall for his lies.
Reece was dangerous; he wanted the Dead Man to be even more dangerous than he was.
“There’s been this guy hanging around my building,” he said, the truth spilling out of him at barely a whisper, but Grayson would be able to hear it just fine. “He turned up at McFeely’s tonight. He wanted me to go with him, and he pulled out a gun, and my memories of what I almost did to you came flooding back.”
“What did that do to you?” Grayson said, still quiet and still patient.
Reece swallowed. “I don’t know, exactly. But the next thing I knew, he was just as scared as I was, and so were the other people nearby.” He let his head fall back against the headrest. “So I ran.”
“Why?”
Reece glanced over at Grayson in confusion. “So I wouldn’t be influencing them anymore—why else? I had to keep everyone safe from me.”
Grayson nodded slowly. “And the Hellcat?”
“Chased me. My battery was disconnected when I got to my car; I think I wasn’t supposed to leave. I lost him somewhere back in Kent.”
“You lost a Hellcat. In your Smart car. Bet this guy is pretty pissed right now.” Grayson tilted his head. “How long had he been following you?”
“I don’t know,” Reece admitted. “I first saw him Friday, then again Saturday night.”
“Before Detective St. James left? Your sister went to Port Angeles knowing you were being watched?”
“No.” Reece wrapped his arms around himself. “I didn’t tell her.”
There was a pause. “Did you tell anyone?”
Reece made a face. “No.”
There was another, longer moment of quiet. The cop car had cut its lights and was driving up the shoulder, away from them and toward the exit. Grayson glanced out the windshield, then back at Reece. “You up for dinner? Give me a place that’s open late and vegan-friendly. I’m buying.”
Reece blinked at the subject change. “The Dead Man just caught an empath lying to his face again and now he wants to take said empath out to dinner? How does that not make you the Bad Decisions Bear?”
“We’re not done with this conversation,” Grayson said, which was ominous. He put the truck back in gear. “But I came straight from Burlington and all I’ve eaten is a pack of mini pretzels.”
“So I was right about Vermont,” Reece said, as Grayson picked up speed and merged back onto I-5. “And you were lying about having endless patience.”
“At least I make good decisions.”
“Oh please. You just merged without a turn signal—you make terrible decisions.”