Chapter Twenty-One
Dear Mr. Davies:
The Department of Transportation for the City of Seattle thanks you for this letter suggesting additional locations for breakers.
Your concern that these speed bumps be “large enough they make drivers slow down” but “not so big that they unpleasantly jostle
anyone” has been noted.
We will add this to your ongoing file of requests.
—Excerpt from an eight-month-old letter
Between the bruises from the brawl and the questions turning over his mind, it’d taken Grayson a while to fall asleep after
McFeely’s. He woke to his alarm at dawn and glanced at his phone, but it just confirmed what he’d expected. Reece hadn’t responded
to his texts. Staring at the messages wasn’t gonna change that. He set the phone back down and got up.
He watered the peace lily and then poured some of Reece’s cashew milk into a mug and stuck it the microwave, scorching it before adding a packet of instant coffee.
He drank it while standing at the kitchen island, gaze on the big windows.
Outside, the lightening sky was thick with clouds, and the rain had become a scattering of small wet snowflakes that melted as soon as they touched the windows.
The street four stories below was less full than usual, smarter souls deciding not to chance the snow, perhaps. There were
just a handful of cars parked in front of the open coffee shop across the street: two midsize sedans, a black Tahoe and a
convertible—top up, of course, but still an optimistic purchase for Seattle.
His gaze went from the window back across the studio, to his phone by the bed. But Reece wasn’t gonna be awake this early
and likely wasn’t gonna text even when he did wake. There was no point in waiting; better to head out now, while the snow
was still light and wasn’t sticking to the roads.
Grayson got dressed, grabbed the phone and two protein bars, and took the elevator down to the parking garage to squeeze himself
into the Smart car. His head brushed the roof as he turned the key and the engine came to life, not with the deep rumble of
his truck but with a motorcycle’s urgent tenor.
He was tearing open a protein bar and mostly on autopilot as he put it in Reverse and hit the gas. The tiny car flew out of
the parking space with a screech, so fast he barely managed to turn the wheel in time to save himself from clipping the Mercedes
behind him.
He slammed on the brake, idling in the middle of the garage.
You’re supposed to watch that engine, said a little voice in his head. This time it didn’t sound like Grayson’s own voice. Probably better not to think too hard
on whose voice it did sound like.
He looked out the windshield. Outside the garage, the gentle snow was still coming down. Not hard enough to stop the ferries,
but he was on his own schedule, and driving the whole way would give him time to think.
Assuming you stay off your phone and drive responsibly and don’t send the damn car flying straight off the road into the ocean, said the suspiciously familiar voice in his head.
Grayson pressed the gas again, much more gently this time, and headed out from the garage.
Growing up with Reece had taught Jamey to recognize emotions the way other big sisters might have learned their little brothers’
favorite cartoon characters. So when she woke before her alarm, she recognized the tightness in her chest and the queasiness
in her stomach all too well.
She was uneasy.
She threw on one of Liam’s sweatshirts and slippers and headed to the kitchen on light feet. Gretel was still asleep on the
couch, so Jamey kept her movements as quiet as she could as she prepped coffee.
It had just started brewing when her phone started ringing. Jamey quickly silenced it, glancing at the caller ID.
Liam. Thirty minutes earlier than he had been supposed to check in.
Shit.
She stepped back into the bedroom, closing the door and putting the phone to her ear. “Babe, what’s going on?” she said softly.
“The empaths aren’t here.”
She swore softly. “You’re sure?”
“Ten empaths all together are not going to be subtle,” he said grimly. “Any chance they just all overslept?”
“They’re more likely to have shown up early. Empaths hate worrying or inconveniencing others.” Jamey blew out a breath. “Maybe
they’re waiting at the wrong place?”
“I’m heading to the terminal for the Alaska state ferry,” he said. “If they’re not there, I’ll check other docks.”
“Okay, but be careful,” Jamey said. “I’ll do some digging here.”
She stared at her phone for a minute after Liam hung up. Then she called Officer Stensby’s number.
The line rang and rang in Jamey’s ear. “Pick up already, you little shit,” she muttered, her eyes narrowed.
Finally, the line clicked on. “Detective St. James,” said that lighter, tenor version of Grayson’s drawl. “To what do I owe
this unexpected—and early—pleasure?”
“You know exactly what.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.” Alex sounded both sleepy and honest. “I’ve heard what AMI says about us, but respectfully, ma’am, you’ve
got an empath brother. You know we can’t actually read minds.”
“Where are they?”
There was a pause. “You mean Reece?” Alex finally said, sounding genuinely confused.
“Obviously that’s not— Actually, yes, I would very much like to know where the hell my brother is.”
In her ear, Alex yawned. “He went out.”
“Bullshit,” Jamey said. “Reece is never up this early.”
“We were surprised too, though in hindsight, we probably shouldn’t’ve been.” In the background, she heard his footsteps now.
Crossing a hardwood floor, from the sound of it.
“We,” she repeated meaningfully.
“Yes, we,” Alex said, more slowly. “As in myself and the lovely Ms. Falcon.” He paused. “Who else do you think is here?”
Jamey frowned. Alex could be full of shit, of course, but he sure wasn’t acting like someone who’d lured away ten of his fellow
empaths the night before.
But if the empaths hadn’t gone with Reece, Cora and Alex—
“Reece was with you until this morning, though?” Jamey said as her thoughts began to race. “And Cora is still with you now?”
On the other end of the phone, something opened and closed, a refrigerator by the sound of it. “You do know your voice is
bordering on concerned?”
Alex was starting to sound more awake. Jamey cleared her throat. “Hazard of being a big sister.”
“I see where Reece learned to deflect with sarcasm.” He was pouring a glass of something, but underneath the sound of a filling
cup was something else. She strained her ears to catch it: a sharp and echoing caw, more than one at once, repeating over and over. “While I have you, any chance you’re in touch with Gretel Macy?”
Jamey glanced at the closed bedroom door. “Why would that be any of your business?”
“Someone out there is framing us for the murder of her parents. Considering what happened to my parents, I’m taking it a bit personal.”
That was interesting. Jamey had seen the picture of Alex and Gretel at a hotel restaurant a few weeks ago. Alex had thralled
Officer Stensby and that former army major turned airsoft course manager that night, but he’d let Gretel go unharmed. “We
could all be working together to solve the murders, you know,” Jamey pointed out.
“Which would be mighty fine, right up until you and Evan lock us away with a freak like Dr. Nichols again.”
“We don’t want—”
“My apologies for hanging up on you, ma’am, but I’m sure you understand my need for discretion.”
“Alex—”
He’d already cut the line.
She palmed the phone for a moment. Hardwood floors, a fridge, gulls. Far from conclusive, but maybe they were in a residential
house near the water? She filed that thought away to examine more closely later. For the moment, she needed to find ten missing
empaths.
She stepped out from the bedroom. On the couch, Gretel’s eyes were open. She seemed to be staring out the window, watching
the snow.
“I made coffee,” Jamey offered.
Gretel’s gaze turned her way, eyes deeply bloodshot with purplish circles underneath. “That sounds great,” she said, hoarse
and quiet.
“Cream and sugar?”
Gretel nodded. Jamey ducked into the kitchen, pouring coffee into two mugs. Taking Gretel Macy to search for missing empaths
would be a disaster of epic proportions. Except Jamey also knew what it was like to lose parents, and simply could not leave
her by herself.
She stepped back into the living room, handing Gretel one of the mugs over the back of the couch. “I have to make a trip to
Bellingham. You up for it?”
But Gretel shook her head. “I wish I could,” she said, sounding honest, as she took the mug. “But I have to go see our lawyer
today.” She swallowed. “Only my lawyer now, I guess.”
Jamey bit her lip, then said, “Will you come back afterwards?”
Gretel looked up. “Here?”
“Where there’s murder, there are often other crimes,” Jamey said. “I don’t know yet if that’s true for Charles Stone, but
I’m certain that if he has any idea you suspect him, you’re going to be in danger too. I said I’ll help you, and I meant that.
I can give you the spare key.”
Gretel swallowed again. “Okay,” she said with a watery sort of smile. “I’ll come back. Thanks, Jamey.”
Reece frowned as he followed Traynor’s Tahoe around the bend of I-5, heading through Tacoma with no signs of slowing. “Where
the fuck is this bank?” he said out loud.