Chapter Sixteen
A new senate bill would keep Americans safer from the dangers of empathy. Don’t let others into your heart: say YES to S.B.
—Stone Solutions–sponsored ad
From the coffee shop, Grayson drove over to Stone Solutions in Bellevue. The receptionist directed him up to the eighteenth
floor, where they’d apparently set up a temporary CEO suite. He found Vivian Marist tucked away in the office area, seated
behind a large desk. She was on the phone, but looked up as he walked in.
“Taye, love, I’ve got company,” she said in an undertone. Talking to her secret boyfriend, Assistant Director Jacobs of the
FBI, then, and Grayson probably hadn’t been supposed to hear that.
He waited politely, gaze going to the walls. He recognized the art as some of the Washington scenery that had hung in Vanessa
Whitman’s office, though Whitman hadn’t had one of the telltale television-sized monitors mounted on the wall. He stepped
forward, running fingers under the edge until he found the power source.
The screen lit up with the empath tracking map, blue dots spread across North America, three red dots clustered together to the side out in the ocean. Alex, Cora and Reece. Locations unknown.
Marist set the phone on the desk and looked up at Grayson. “I hope you’re here to tell me Mr. Davies is in custody.”
His gaze darted over the blue dots. Ten of the dots should have shown today as en route to Bellingham, Washington, but St.
James and Dr. Easterby’s plan had worked, and all of them were showing right at home. “I’m afraid things are a bit more complicated
than I first realized.”
“Aren’t they always when it comes to you and the empaths,” Marist said flatly.
Grayson ignored it. He was here for information, not to make friends. “You got an empath tracker map installed in here?”
Marist nodded at the screen. “That one was Cedrick’s. It survived the—well, you know. The fire.” The one your brother set hung in the air between them. Her face was impassive, but there was a hint of challenge in her eyes. Whose side are you really on? she might as well have said out loud.
Grayson ignored that too, turning off the screen and back to her. “I heard Dr. Nichols was presumed dead.”
“And?” she said measuredly.
“Just wondering if you’ve heard any different.”
“Your brother destroyed Polaris after you told us he was dead,” she said more sharply. “And you’re asking us to tell you about Victor?”
Grayson tilted his head. “How much did you know about Dr. Nichols’s work at Polaris?”
Her jaw tightened, her hesitation short but unmistakable. “I never asked for details.”
“But you might’ve heard a thing or two.”
“I don’t give credence to rumors,” she said, but with less conviction. “Are you asking about Victor for a reason?”
“If you’ll recall, one of my conditions for taking on the role of the Dead Man was that Dr. Nichols use Polaris’s resources
to research how to reverse the corruption in empaths,” Grayson said. “I need a copy of that research.”
“Everything was destroyed when Polaris went into lockdown,” Marist said.
“I know,” Grayson said, “but I don’t believe for a moment that Dr. Nichols didn’t have backups. Who did he work with most
closely outside his little empire?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say.”
“I’m sure you could try,” Grayson said.
She pursed her lips. “Holt, perhaps,” she finally said. “The three of us used to chat quite regularly, dinners and such. Victor
and I have never been what you’d call friends, but he and Holt got on very well—as well as Victor ever got on with anyone, at least. He certainly never had any shame asking
Holt for EI funding or backing.”
“Would that funding or backing have led Dr. Nichols to send Director Traynor a copy of his research?”
“It’s possible.” Marist drummed her nails on the desk, her expression pensive. “Victor doesn’t have much trust in the cloud.
If he did make a copy of his research for Holt, he likely sent it on an external drive.”
Like the one Grayson and Reece had found in her office, hidden behind one of her photographs.
But then she surprised him. “And you deserve to know: Nichols had an external drive with quite a lot on you. I have a copy in my office in Vancouver.”
Not anymore, she didn’t, not after Reece had stolen it.
There was a hint of distaste on her face.
She didn’t seem to be Nichols’s biggest fan; maybe she didn’t look at the drive often and hadn’t realized it was gone yet.
“A number of folks have wanted to study the Dead Man,” Grayson said.
“And it’s not like I’ve got feelings about that. ”
Marist’s gaze flicked over him. “He was obsessed with the idea of trying to duplicate you.”
“I’m a pretty good empathy defense,” Grayson said. “I’d think all of Stone Solutions would want the same.”
“Not all of us,” she said more tightly. “I may not be one of your empaths, but I am capable of empathy. What happened to you
should never be duplicated.”
“I’d say thank you,” he said, “but I know you don’t just mean what happened in that bunker. You think Alex shouldn’t’ve changed
me. You think he’s a parasite.”
She met his eyes, her own cool and blue. “If he is and you’re his victim, you’re not exactly going to be able to see that
yourself, are you?”
Grayson leaned against the window. “Alex has his issues these days,” he admitted. “But growing up, he was the kindest kid
brother anyone could ask for. So if you’re looking for a monster, find out who had our parents murdered to change Alex into
what he is now.”
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment.
“Would you like me to have someone check if Holt received a package from British Columbia at his DC office recently?” Marist
finally said.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I’ll start my search here,” he said, “with EI’s Seattle office.”
Maybe Reece hadn’t committed the murders he was being blamed for, but he was dangerously close to initiating a murder spree
that started with Holt Traynor.
He leaned against the kitchen wall, narrow-eyed gaze on Traynor where he stood by the built-in dinette in the kitchen.
Alex and Cora sat at the table themselves, across from each other like adorable bookends, belying that they were dangerous murderers themselves.
Cora had sent the thralled Officer Kosler out to the yard, ostensibly to patrol for danger but probably to keep some distance from Reece’s hair-trigger projections. Reece couldn’t blame her.
“Where has Vanessa Whitman been since November?” Alex asked Traynor.
“A private Stone Solutions hospital in Kirkland.” Traynor was bouncing on the balls of his feet with his eagerness to answer
Alex’s questions. “That’s where they take anyone injured in empathy-related incidents.”
“So is Cedrick Stone at this hospital?” Reece barely recognized his own voice with its dark, gravelly edge.
Traynor looked at Alex. “You owe Reece and Cora too,” Alex said coolly. “Do whatever they say and answer anything they ask.”
Traynor turned to Reece, who had to tighten his jaw to squash the flare of anger. Last time he’d met Traynor’s eyes, it had
been at a warehouse in Vancouver, where Reece had been uncovering his involvement in plans for Evan Grayson’s death. “Cedrick
isn’t in Kirkland,” said Traynor. “He’s being treated at Orion.”
“What’s that?” Cora asked.
“Stone Solutions’ corporate lodge,” Traynor said. “It’s where leadership goes on retreats and for their anti-empathy training.
It’s very nice.”
“You’ve been?” Reece said.
“Oh yes,” said Traynor. “Stone Solutions spends a lot of money on me so that I’ll keep their money flowing in.”
Reece took a breath through his nose. Being reminded that the American government was in bed with corporate America wasn’t
going to help his temper.
“Where’s this Orion Lodge?” Alex asked.
“British Columbia,” Traynor said. “I don’t know exactly where—they always took us by helicopter—but it has spectacular mountain
views and was close enough for day trips to Whistler.”
Cora propped her chin in her hand. “You were skiing while Cedrick Stone was having my fiancé tortured to death and Victor Nichols was experimenting on the empaths in Polaris.”
She looked at Alex. “Why is this asshole alive again?”
“I would like to know the same thing,” Reece said tightly.
“Because he’s going be useful.” Alex’s voice had an edge of anger to match theirs. “Aren’t you, Holt?”
“Yes, sir,” Traynor said eagerly. “I was careful never to get details about the Polaris experiments from Victor, you know.
Plausible deniability is very important in our field.”
“What about the details of the experiments on the Grayson brothers?” Reece asked, cold and quiet, before he could stop himself.
Alex glanced at him. There was no way the other two empaths hadn’t guessed at Reece’s complicated feelings where Evan Grayson
was concerned, but Alex only looked back at Traynor expectantly.
“I signed off on those,” Traynor said earnestly. “Charles said I needed to. But I was careful not to ask questions or get
details there either.”
Reece’s blood pressure was high enough he swore he was seeing a red tint to his vision. “Charles?”
“Charles Stone,” Traynor clarified. “He wanted to know if corruption was a fixed state or if a corrupted empath’s powers could be increased through additional trauma.
” He leaned in and added, “It’s tough to find something that could further traumatize an empath who’s already corrupted, but Charles knew the Grayson family had been close to each other and thought using Alex’s brother might work.
And given Evan has his enhancements and is able to withstand significantly higher amounts of pain—”
Reece had to go or Traynor was going to wind up a bloody corpse on the floor.
He shoved off the wall and didn’t stop, his feet taking him straight out the French doors and onto the deck, then down the
stairs to the lawn that rolled down to the lake’s edge. He crossed the lawn and stepped out onto the dock, shoulders heaving
from the force of his breaths, gaze fixed on the green hills on the other side of the water and the houses dotted in among