Chapter Twenty-Six
Formidable though he may be, the Dead Man has a fatal weakness as surely as Achilles: he will always choose to act as a guardian
of the empaths, even when it poses a risk to himself.
A stupid and worthless flaw. The empaths only fear him. They’ll never reciprocate his protectiveness.
—One-year-old text from Victor Nichols to [REDACTED]
Sean Lennox, head of Charles Stone’s personal security, looked over the message he’d just received with a flash of irritation.
Snow increasing. Communications limited.
“Get it the fuck together,” Lennox snapped at his phone. The snow was still mild enough on the east side of the sound. He
ducked under the roof of one of the structures that made up the former pulp mill north of Everett and put his phone to his
ear as he made his scheduled call.
“Ah, Sean, right on time,” Charles Stone said, as he answered. “I always do appreciate your punctuality.”
“Yes, sir,” Lennox said. “We’re ready to transport the empaths to the Olympia facility, but that team is pushing back.”
“The snow is picking up in the mountains,” Charles said. “I’m choosing to see it as an excuse for a slight change in the plans.”
Lennox raised his eyebrows. “I was under the impression Dr. Nichols wanted to keep a tight schedule,” he said delicately.
“Well, yes,” Charles admitted. “But you see, I take pride in correctly predicting the tides of public opinion, and I feel
that Seattle may still need a little more nudging in the right direction.”
Lennox was pretty sure the right direction was just another way to say supporting the big anti-empathy senate bill, but he liked his paycheck enough to keep his mouth shut.
“I’m afraid Victor will need to wait one more day for the rest of his guests,” Charles went on. “He’ll understand that the
weather simply doesn’t permit us to deliver them yet anyway.” He cleared his throat. “We will be moving them to a different
location, however. Prepare the vehicles.”
“Yes, sir,” Lennox said. Whatever the boss man wanted.
Grayson had been right: Reece had found the maintenance vents comfortably big enough to fit him. He crawled the length of
the old EI building on hands and knees, then kicked off the metal cover at the end and ducked out onto a landing in the fire
stairs. He used Grayson’s flashlight to make his way down the stairs to the ground floor and the exit, his empathy on high
alert for any sense of others’ emotions moving in his direction.
But as he stepped outside, he was still alone.
Twilight was falling, giving him cover as he darted across the parking lot and into the trees, the jumble of emotions in the facility behind him fading with distance as he hurried back to the truck he’d carefully parked offroad, where it wouldn’t be seen.
He levered himself up into the truck and slammed the door, then blew out a breath.
That had been easy.
He went to start the engine, then paused.
That had been too easy.
He sat back against the driver’s seat, gaze going out the windshield to the darkening trees. More than two dozen people arriving
together, all of them itching for a fight, and yet none of them had chased him? None of them were following, none searching
the grounds?
No. There was a much more likely explanation.
Reece had never been the target.
He put a hand over his mouth, where his lips still tingled from their brush with Grayson’s.
You have to get out of here, Grayson had said.
Whatever Grayson had heard, he’d thought it meant danger to Reece. Reece had assumed that meant the newcomers were from Stone
Solutions.
But if Reece hadn’t been the target, then maybe it wasn’t Stone Solutions that had arrived. But then who had Grayson heard—
Do you want to be a lab rat?
Reece’s eyes widened.
Not Stone Solutions.
Polaris.
And if Reece hadn’t been their target—
You know something you ought to tell me? Grayson had asked.
Aw, baby, Reece had said. You really got to accept that I’m never gonna tell you shit.
Son of a bitch.
Reece was scrambling back down from the truck before he’d realized he was moving.
What are you doing? some part of him screamed. You know what Nichols is capable of. You have to get out of here.
Reece was already back in the tree line, gaze on the parking lot as he scurried along the edge. He could feel the people again,
little suns of emotion up ahead.
Grayson hadn’t known what Reece was talking about when he mentioned the maps in Traynor’s office. If Polaris hadn’t come for
Reece, if Grayson had been the target all along, then maybe someone else had put them there, to lure him to Port Angeles.
And Grayson had had no idea he was in danger because Reece had refused to talk to him.
Reece moved across the slippery wet snow, closer to the building.
Evan is a big boy, said the voice. He can take care of himself. He tells you that all the time.
Not this time. He was outnumbered and had walked right into a trap.
He doesn’t feel fear.
No.
But he could feel pain.
Reece skidded to a stop in the mud at the tree line’s edge. Up ahead in the EI parking lot were three black SUVs and one unmarked
van. The doors of the van were open, and two burly soldiers were stuffing a limp body into the back.
“Evan,” Reece said, the name coming out in an exhaled rush, like he’d been gut-punched.
But before he could take even one more step, the soldiers had jumped into the van, slamming the doors.
And then the vehicles were on the move, taking Grayson with them.
The driveway was empty when Jamey returned to her house, the patchy layer of snow undisturbed by tire tracks. She had just pulled out her phone to call Gretel when she heard a car coming down her street. A moment later, the white BMW coupe was pulling in next to her.
Relief washed through Jamey as she got out of Liam’s Corolla. Gretel was getting out of her car as well. “Long time at the
lawyer’s?” Jamey asked as she made her way toward Gretel.
“Well,” Gretel said cagily, “I had to make another stop too.”
Wet snowflakes fell on Jamey’s hair as she peered inside the car and saw several accordion folders stacked on the passenger
seat. “What’s all this?”
“Research.” Gretel added ruefully, “You probably didn’t know what you were getting into when you agreed to help an obsessive
neurodivergent blogger.”
Jamey snorted. “I said I’d help. I meant it. Are you hungry—”
“I picked up dinner too.” Gretel was folding the driver’s seat forward and reaching into the back seat, lifting a stack of
Styrofoam containers in a plastic bag that smelled amazing. “You like tikka masala?”
Inside the house, Jamey set the stack of folders on the dining table. “Liam is on his way here,” she said. “He’s bringing
a couple more friends, people I trust. They’ll want to help too.”
Gretel was by the couch, opening her bag, but at that she looked up and over at Jamey. “Your friends would help me too?”
“Of course.” Jamey tapped the folders. “You said there might be something fishy about one of these filings, an 8-K?”
“That’s what I heard my dad imply on his call.” Gretel pulled a laptop out of her bag. “This was his,” she said as she crossed
to the table and set it down next to the containers and folders. “My dad also mentioned he had talked to another shareholder
that I know. We can look through his emails.”
Jamey raised her eyebrows. “Do the cops know you have your dad’s laptop?”
“Nope.” Gretel smiled without humor. “You’d think it’d be obvious that I might have borrowed it, but everyone in Seattle thinks I’m a useless figurehead while an AMI team does all the actual work on my blog. Well.” She cleared her throat. “Almost everyone, I should say. Reece knew the truth.”
Jamey swallowed. “Yeah,” she said. “A lot of people underestimate him too.”
“I bet,” Gretel said lightly. “Is Liam bringing Reece over tonight?”
“Um . . . no,” Jamey said awkwardly. “But—”
“Because you’ve never actually mentioned where Reece is.”
Jamey hid her wince. “He’s . . . traveling. Out of town.”
“Is he.” Gretel folded her arms. “Speaking of empaths, how about Cora Falcon? I haven’t seen her lately either.”
“Oh.” Jamey cleared her throat. “I, um. I’m not sure. Maybe the hospital knows?”
“Right,” Gretel said, drawing the word out. “And by chance do you know an empath named Alex Grayson?”
Shit. They stood there for a moment, on either side of Jamey’s cozy dining table, their gazes locked. “Why do you ask?” Jamey
finally said.
“I’ve been noticing things lately, things that don’t add up around the empaths. Then today Vivian Marist made some comments
that seemed . . . odd,” Gretel said. “Is there something more to know about Reece and the empaths, Jamey?”
Jamey bit her lip.
The silence fell again.
Eventually, Gretel sighed. “All right, I do get it,” she said, sounding more resigned and rueful than angry. “Eyes on Empaths hasn’t exactly been a beacon of positivity in your life. If it was my brother, I wouldn’t tell me anything either.”
Outside, another car was pulling into the driveway. Jamey nodded toward the door. “That will be Liam and our friends.”
Gretel looked out the window, then back at Jamey in confusion, the overhead light catching the circles under her eyes. “One of your friends is the hot McFeely’s bouncer?”
Outside of Everett, in the woods on the same property as the abandoned pulp mill, Alex crouched next to Cora behind the tree
line, watching the guards opening the back doors of a windowless van.
“There,” he said quietly.
A large man, armed with an equally large gun, was trying to direct empaths toward the van. One of the empaths, probably half
the man’s size, was shaking her head rapidly and pointing at the gun in fear.
As Alex watched, the man backhanded the empath, sending her staggering into the others, who instantly crowded around her like
worried ducklings.
Anger flooded him, in tandem with Cora’s hissed breath. “I’m going to make that man break his own teeth,” Alex said under
his breath.
“I want my shot at him first,” Cora said through a clenched jaw. “But what’s happening here? Where are they taking this many
empaths?”
The guards seemed to have gotten tired of waiting. They were grabbing the empaths, who were utterly without defense, limp
and unresisting as the guards forced them into the van.
Alex and Cora exchanged a look. “Thrall or investigate?” Alex whispered.
“Investigate,” Cora said decisively. “This isn’t the head of the snake, but maybe they’ll lead us there. Come on; I have an
idea.”
She ducked out from behind the trees. “Hi, guards!” Cora called brightly as Alex scrambled after her.
All of the guards turned as one to stare at them. “Where the fuck did you come from?” said the big guard with the gun.
“Oh, we got loose last night,” Cora said, still bright. “We were going to run away, but then we realized that your boss might
get mad at you, so obviously we had to come back.”
“What she said.” Alex matched her tone with a sugary-sweet one of his own. “We sure don’t want you to get in trouble,” he
added, all big eyes and innocence and of course, lies. “We wouldn’t ever be able to stand someone else getting hurt.”
“Empaths. Jesus Christ,” one of the guards muttered.
The biggest one gestured with his gun. “Get the fuck over here,” he snapped. “And get in the fucking van with the others.”
“Yes, sir,” Alex and Cora said together, and climbed inside.