Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
...as the debates around the Empath Initiative heat up in Washington, many have opinions about the purpose and future of the nascent agency.
“It’s simply good policy to be sure that our empath policies will first and foremost protect those of us without empathy,” said defense contractor Charles Stone. “After all, the best defense is a good offense.”
Mr. Stone’s son, Cedrick, recently received a large government grant for empathy-related research and development.
—EXCERPT FROM A TWENTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD ISSUE OF THE EMERALD CITY TRIBUNE , “NO END TO DEBATES SURROUNDING EMPATH AGENCY”
Gretel pulled her BMW into the Stone Solutions parking lot, a good distance from the edge of the police tape marking off the front doors. There were cruisers everywhere, along with a fire truck, an ambulance, and a black armored car that might have been a SWAT team.
No news crews. Obviously they’d be trying to keep this quiet—on the heels of an empath breaking in and the questionable involvement of Cedrick Stone in a senator’s death, it didn’t bode well for public opinion if Stone Solutions couldn’t keep out an arsonist.
She stared at the building up ahead. From what she could see, the fires seemed to have been put out, but how much research had been lost? Product destroyed?
She scanned the area beyond the yellow tape. The SPD public relations front man, Liam Lee, her go-to source for information, was usually on-site and easy to spot in the sea of navy and black in his preferred camel coat. Today, though, he didn’t seem to be here. At least she had his number; maybe he’d have a statement for her.
He was also dating Reece Davies’ sister, Briony St. James, formerly a detective with the SPD. Gretel had initially started following Detective St. James’ career thanks to her dad’s ranting about the SPD having an empath’s sibling on the force, but you couldn’t read about all the amazing, almost superhuman things St. James had done and not wind up her fangirl.
Maybe Liam would also loop in Detective St. James to figure out what the hell was going on.
She eyed the SWAT team’s armored car for a long moment and then picked up her phone and looked at her messages again, at the text from Alex: a picture of Officer Stensby and a big blond man in a camouflage coat, the one she’d seen Stensby with at AMI meetings. The two men were standing next to the door of an office with a giant plaque that read Cedrick Stone, CEO .
Alex: I did promise you a story.
The car show had been easy to find online, and was taking place at the convention center. Reece and Grayson navigated downtown from their hotel, the buildings getting taller and the traffic bumper-to-bumper with morning commuters.
“Stone Solutions Canada’s offices are around here too,” Reece pointed out, as Grayson took them down a narrow street between towering glass high-rises. “I suppose they don’t put their Protecting American Minds motto on their Canadian offices.”
“They don’t,” said Grayson, as they idled at a red light. “But be glad we’re checking on Mr. Lane first, because you’re still gonna find Stone Solutions Canada plenty annoying.”
“Of course the empath hunter already knows that.”
“Empath specialist ,” said Grayson. “But I’m warning you because I do need you to remember what being undercover in Canada means.”
Reece furrowed his brow. People were rushing by on the crosswalks, bundled in coats, their gazes on their phones. “You don’t want anyone to know you’re the Dead Man?”
“That’s part of it,” said Grayson. “But more importantly, even if people did know who I was, I don’t have the operational exemptions here that I have in America. The Empath Initiative has no reach here and I don’t have the right to preempt any Canadian jurisdictions.”
“So?”
“So,” Grayson said, “our plan after the car show is to walk into an empath defense office. Undercover. That means no gloves, and it’s still illegal in Canada.”
Reece frowned. “So you could get in trouble if they find out you brought me in with you?”
“I already told you I can take care of myself. I need the empath to stop worrying about others and think about himself for a moment.” Grayson looked over at Reece. “It’s not a stretch to think we might run into something that will piss you off. But if you get in trouble, like you have a bad habit of doing, they’re not gonna be keen to let me pull you out of it.”
“Oh.” Reece squirmed. “Am I too much of a liability to bring? Is it better if I’m not there?” He sighed unhappily. “Wouldn’t be the first time or place that would be true.”
But Grayson shook his head. “Just warning my resident pacifist that I could end up with an argument on my hands. I still think you’re safer with me and it’d be my choice to stay together, because I’m pretty good at winning fights. But if you want to wait in the truck, you can, and my only request would be that you lock the doors.”
Up ahead, the light turned green. “My feelings haven’t changed. I’d still rather be with you,” Reece said quietly, as Grayson drove on. “I’ll just watch my mouth today.”
Lie.
“I saw that flinch,” said Grayson, as he pulled into a public parking garage with an outrageous per-hour price. “And you try to say you’re not Bad Decisions Bear.”
Reece huffed. “How many years ago did you come up with that, anyway?” he said, instead of acknowledging Grayson might have had a point.
“What do you mean?”
“You know,” said Reece. “How long have you been calling empaths Care Bear ?”
Grayson’s gaze darted to him, then went right back to the ramps leading them down into the underground garage as he shrugged vaguely.
“You just missed an open spot,” said Reece. “And what the fuck was that?”
“The spot was too tight. And what was what?”
“Are you kidding me?” Reece gestured at him “You hesitated. It was noticeable enough to see from space.”
“I doubt that.” Grayson turned the corner, then cleared his throat. “And it’s just you.”
“It’s just me what?”
“The Care Bear thing. It’s—I didn’t plan it or anything and—well. It’s just you.”
Reece blinked. And then he felt himself starting to smile.
“You’re about to be insufferable, aren’t you?” Grayson muttered, heading down yet another car-lined ramp.
“Well, yeah ,” said Reece. “The Dead Man gave me a nickname .”
“It just happens,” Grayson protested. “One side of my family’s Latino and I grew up in Texas. I either know you by your formal name or you’ve got a nickname, there’s no middle ground.”
“What do I get to call you?”
“Agent Grayson.”
“Aw, baby, you don’t mean that.”
“You want to go back to being Mr. Davies?” Grayson said, as he finally pulled into an open spot on the fourth level.
“What I want is to drive,” said Reece. “I could have fit us into that open spot on the second floor.”
“I thought you were finally gonna watch your mouth.”
“I thought you were finally going to accept which one of us is the better driver. Guess we both set ourselves up for disappointment.”
Grayson shifted into Park. “You know, most folks would say the last person an empath ought to sass is an empath hunter.”
“Probably,” Reece agreed. “So it’s a good thing you’re just a specialist.”
Grayson cut the engine. “You’re making me consider a career change, sugar.”
Aisha had left Jamey and Liam in Prince Rupert, and now rain lashed the Stone Solutions helicopter as they flew below the cloud line, over the patchwork of islands like scattered puzzle pieces along the BC coast. Evergreen-covered mountains sprouted up straight from the sea, shorter than the Rockies Aisha had left behind but tall enough that snow dusted their tops. Around the islands, the ocean was slate gray, the sky above them hidden by the thick layer of paler gray clouds.
The Polaris Empathic Research Facility—a nice name for the corrupted empath prison—had been built into an abandoned iron-and-copper mine, dozens of miles from the boat routes that traversed the Inside Passage and invisible from air or sea. From land, if you knew where to look, you could find the new camouflaged windows and skylights that marked the empaths’ quarters, that ensured they had light, and views, and fresh air. It had been expensive to create glass that was reinforced with empathy-dampening tech, but Grayson had been clear with the Empath Initiative’s Director Traynor: all empaths had to be treated well, even the corrupted ones, or there would be no Dead Man.
The new requirements hadn’t made Grayson any friends at the agencies, particularly not with Dr. Nichols, who’d run Polaris since its creation two decades earlier. But then, Grayson would tell you himself that he didn’t have any feelings about that.
Aisha breathed through her nose, trying to settle her stomach as the helicopter flew over a rocky beach, inward toward the island’s core, and started its descent. The tops of trees came closer and closer through the raindrop-streaked windows, and she caught a flash of black moving within the green—one of the island’s many bears, perhaps.
“At least the weather’s not bad,” Tasha, the pilot, said.
Aisha turned and stared at her.
Tasha shrugged. “Rain’s not sideways,” she said. “Happens often enough in fall and winter.”
There was a small helipad created on a crumbling concrete foundation that had once upon a time been a lodging house for miners. Today, greenery twisted along the remains of the walls, and two people in slickers and tall galoshes were waiting for their landing. A third person stood apart, a white man with brown hair and glasses, dressed in a long raincoat somewhere between khaki and green and holding a large umbrella open over his head.
Dr. Victor Nichols, who ran the facility. He’d come personally. Interesting.
One of the men in galoshes opened the helicopter’s passenger door. Nichols stepped forward and offered his hand. “Dr. Easterby. This is a surprise.”
Aisha took his hand and let him help her down from the helicopter, not trusting her unsteady stomach or legs. His hand was cold, as were the pale eyes studying her. “My apologies for the short notice, Dr. Nichols,” she said, affecting a courteous tone she absolutely didn’t feel. He didn’t like her much; the feeling was mutual. “Agent Grayson felt the visit couldn’t wait.”
She’d never actually come without Grayson before. There was no cell service, just the company satellites, and for safety’s sake it always seemed better to come with company. But if Marie Pelletier had somehow become corrupted and been brought here, they needed to know. And Aisha wasn’t alone; she had Jamey on her way.
Still, dropping Grayson’s name had the desired effect of making Nichols straighten.
“Of course,” he said, more deferentially. “We’re at his disposal.”
“Great,” she said, smiling blandly. “Lead the way.”
An umbrella was produced for her, and she followed Nichols across the helipad and onto the dirt.
“How long are you staying?” Nichols asked, as they passed the rusted walls and crumbling bricks that used to be a storage facility for equipment.
“I was only planning on the day,” she said. “Agent Grayson is expecting a report tonight.”
In other words, everything better fucking be in order with the empaths, asshole .
Beyond the remains of a handful of buildings was the mouth of the mine—not much taller than Grayson, looking for all the world like a cave or break in the rocks. No hint to all of the surveillance right there at the opening, from drones to infrared technology scanning for body heat, or to the state-of-the-art facility hiding just within.
Aisha’s stomach still hadn’t settled, but the bumpy helicopter ride was most likely to blame. She took another breath and followed Nichols into the mine.
Just beyond the mouth, there was a solid iron door with a touch pad next to the handle. Nichols scanned his thumb, then hefted open the door so they could step into the lobby. There was of course no receptionist, but there was a check-in desk at one end of the lobby, and a white man in a lab coat was behind it, working at a computer.
Nichols looked down at her without smiling. “Did you have a specific request while here?”
“I’d like to visit with the new residents.”
“We’ve only added one empath since your last visit, and that’s Cora Falcon.” Nichols’ mouth had pinched. “Were you expecting someone else to be here?”
Was she? Marie Pelletier had been in Prince Rupert and now she was missing. It was a hell of a coincidence, but surely Polaris wasn’t kidnapping empaths off the street without involving Stone Solutions and the Dead Man?
“No one else,” Aisha finally said. “But I’d like to see Ms. Falcon straightaway.”
Nichols stepped across the lobby to the desk. “We’re visiting our newest guest,” he said to the man in the lab coat, whose eyebrows went up. “Will you page down and let security know?”
Page down ? “I’d rather you didn’t,” Aisha said. “And I’ll conduct the visit on my own, thank you.”
Nichols took a breath through his nose. “Very well,” he said. “I think you shouldn’t have come today. But it’s your funeral, as the saying goes.”
He didn’t waste another moment with her, turning and striding away so abruptly that Aisha felt the raindrops that flew off his coat.
The man on the other side of the desk slid a visitor key card over to her. Aisha could see the badge that hung around his neck now: J. Higgins . “You do know Ms. Falcon is fully corrupted? That she’s extremely powerful and dangerous?”
“I know everything I need to know.” Aisha took the card. “Can I see the roster of empath residents?” Maybe Marie wasn’t going to be on it, but she needed to be sure.
“I’ll pull together an inmate list,” Higgins said, although he hadn’t looked Aisha in the eyes as he said it, and she hadn’t missed his switch from residents to inmates . “Cora Falcon is in medical, sublevel two, end of the hall.”
“Medical?” Aisha said in surprise. “Is she hurt?”
“ She’s fine,” Higgins said testily. “Her victims? Not so much.”
But what the hell is she doing in medical? In the basement? Why didn’t Nichols say anything about this, just now?
Aisha didn’t say it, instead gesturing above their heads. “The empaths are supposed to live on the top level.”
“Where they have the windows and pretty views while the rest of us work in a literal mine?” Higgins scoffed. “There have been a few changes around here the last few weeks. We’re not putting mass murderers in resort rooms anymore.”
Cora is only a mass murderer because Cedrick Stone and his buddies made her one for profit. Aisha bit her tongue. Grayson was going to be very interested to hear about all of this, once she had a cell signal.
She turned her back on Higgins, heading for the elevator in the corner.
Taking Reece to a car show was apparently like taking a kid to a candy store. Or, well, taking an empath to a candy store. A Canadian candy store powered by electric vehicles.
Whatever the country or metaphor, Reece had lit up like the Fourth of July. The show was a big one, with nearly two dozen manufacturers represented, and Grayson found himself being tugged by the sleeve from one end to the other.
“Evan, come look at the hybrids—”
“Evan, we don’t have this tech yet in the States—”
“Evan, they’re doing test drives—”
At one point, Reece dragged him over to a cluster of American brands. As Reece crawled inside a tiny hatchback, Grayson found himself eyeing an F-150 Lightning.
But the Dead Man didn’t get excited about horsepower, or torque, or towing capacity, or the number of electric and hybrid trucks at a show. They were here with a purpose and on a mission.
He stepped forward, to the hatchback, and ducked awkwardly to fit his head in the passenger window. Reece was sitting in the driver’s seat, examining the center console.
“Are we ever gonna look for Mr. Lane or are you fixing to play all day?”
“I’ve been looking,” Reece protested. “I haven’t seen that Vietnamese company yet.”
Come to think of it, neither had Grayson. He straightened up, scanning the room again.
Reece pointed. “There’s an attendant there. I’m going to ask.”
He climbed out from the car. Grayson took a step after him, and then on his wrist, his watch buzzed with an incoming call from Detective St. James.
He kept one eye on Reece and the attendant as he answered the phone. “Grayson?”
“Where the hell are you?” St. James said, her voice layered over a loud motor. “It sounds like a circus in the background.”
“Car show, which your brother is treating like the circus,” Grayson said. “Mr. Lane apparently cut town without saying goodbye and now he’s not answering his messages; it’s making his friends nervous. He’s supposed to be at this show and we’re looking for him. Where are you ? It sounds louder than a car.”
A few feet away, Reece was gesturing to the attendant.
“We’re in the air again,” St. James said. “Keep me posted about Diesel. He tried to keep an eye on Reece when Cora’s thralls were tearing up the club; I like him and I owe him. But I’m about to lose my signal, so listen—Gretel Macy, the Eyes on Empaths blogger, called Liam. She asked him for a statement on why Officer Stensby was at Stone Solutions last night.”
Grayson blinked. “First I’m hearing of that.”
“She says she has photographic evidence, but she won’t tell us how she got it.” St. James hesitated. “You remember that someone with your same Texas accent called me from Stensby’s phone, right? Someone who had gotten Stensby to confess what he’d done to Reece’s car—”
Her words were garbled for a moment, then she came back online. “—and now Stensby turns up at Stone Solutions last night. That’s a lot of empath connections. Could a corrupted empath be involved?”
“One who just happens to sound like me?” Grayson said flatly.
“Well—”
“I know where you’re trying to lead this conversation, detective,” Grayson said. “Except there’s no chance. He’s dead.”
“But are you absolutely sure? There’s no way your brother could—”
“I’m completely sure,” Grayson said, more quietly. “And I can be completely sure because I was there. If you take my meaning.”
St. James went eerily silent. “Are you implying—”
The line went dead.
Grayson waited a moment, gaze on his phone, but she didn’t call back. If she was flying up on the North Coast, she wasn’t likely to get a signal again for a while.
“You were where?”
He glanced up. Reece was standing less than a yard away, arms folded.
“Texas,” Grayson said, fingers tightening ever so slightly on the phone. “You learn anything?”
“There aren’t any Vietnamese manufacturers here,” Reece said. “There were transportation issues due to the weather and the company that was coming had to cancel like a month ago.”
Grayson raised his eyebrow. “So someone promised Mr. Lane a test drive of a vehicle that wasn’t going to be here?”
“Seems like it.” Reece frowned. “But why? Why would anyone lie to Diesel? And where did he go, if not here?” He nodded at the phone still in Grayson’s hand. “What did Jamey think?”
Grayson blinked. “How did you know who that was?”
“Your body language is more relaxed when you talk to Jamey than when you take other calls,” Reece said. “She’s probably the closest thing you get to a peer, isn’t she?”
Grayson blinked again.
“I think if Jamey were here, she’d be thinking that we can’t find Diesel, but we know someone shipped big empath gloves from Vancouver to that airsoft manager, the same guy who was bugging Diesel,” Reece said. “And she’d still want to search Stone Solutions Canada. I think we should go there next.”
He was looking up at Grayson from under the bear hat, eyes big and earnest, apparently unaware of how easily he understood people, even for an empath, or how damn dangerous he could potentially be, even as a pacifist.
But the Dead Man could not—and would not—forget.