Chapter Twenty-Eight
. . . I’m willing to admit that I don’t have the first clue how Alex Grayson turned Evan Grayson into the Dead Man, but it hardly
matters. We might not know how it was achieved, but we know he can no longer be swayed by emotion. We can be certain that
in any situation, Agent Grayson will always follow the most logical path.
—Confidential communication between the Empath Initiative and Stone Solutions
Jamey’s house was bustling that night. Liam and Gretel were sharing the kitchen table, bent over Beau Macy’s laptop. Aisha
and Diesel were in the living room, Gretel’s printouts from Stone Solutions spread out over the coffee table.
Jamey herself was pacing the hall. She’d had no word from Grayson since he’d left that morning for Port Angeles, and her last
text to him still sat on her phone unanswered. She looked at her other unanswered calls and texts, to Reece, to Cora, to Alex.
She didn’t like this at all.
Gretel had heard her dad imply there was something suspicious about an 8-K Stone Solutions had filed in October, which detailed the acquisition of three small manufacturing companies that made materials for the gloves.
And just a couple of days ago, the empaths had interfered with a delivery of heavy metals destined for the empath gloves,
sending the ship off to a wind farm in California instead.
Could there be some kind of connection, maybe the shipment coming from one of the new acquisitions? The empaths had gone into
the delivery room during their break-in at Stone Solutions, but the head of security, Wayne Smith, had said there was nothing
in there. So where had the empaths learned about the shipment?
If only she could get one of them to pick up, for this and so many other reasons.
Or if only she could find them.
She sat down on the shoe bench by her front door and put her head in her hands. Her mind replayed the sounds she’d heard in
the background during her call with Alex that day: hardwood floors, a refrigerator, gulls.
The picture of a residential house near the water rose in her mind again, something upscale with those floors and the waterside
location. She turned the image over in her mind. She’d never met an empath who cared about luxury; would corrupted empaths
really be any different?
“Think, Jamey,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t think like your average Joe; think like an empath. If they don’t care about
luxury, why would Alex, Reece and Cora hide in a high-end house?”
Because they think it’s the last place anyone will look for them.
She ran a hand over her hair. But why? Why would an upscale residential home by the water be the last place anyone would look for empaths? Hell, how did they even know about a place like that unless it was—
She shot to her feet. “Jason fucking Owens’s house.”
Aisha looked up from that couch. “What was that, Jamey?”
But Jamey was already moving. “Liam, I’m taking your car,” she called over her shoulder, just catching the noise of assent
as she grabbed the keys on her way out the door.
One moment, Grayson and Reece had been careening down the mountainside through the staticky snow, the wind loud enough to
hear over the engine, the red-orange glow of the laboratory fire long gone behind them.
Then a branch had shattered the windshield, the truck had started slipping, and Reece had suddenly yanked the steering wheel.
There had been a crunch so loud it hurt Grayson’s ears, the impact rattling the entire cab. The air bags had gone off, knocking
Grayson’s head against the back of the seat, and whatever cocktail of drugs was still in his system finally overwhelmed him
and the world went dark.
When he opened his eyes, the truck was cold as ice, and snow had built up in a layer on the windshield.
“Reece?” He shoved the airbag aside. “Reece.”
He sat up, looking over to where Reece was slumped in the driver’s seat.
Not moving.
Grayson’s mind was rapidly piecing everything together, the branch, Reece suddenly turning the truck, the impact—
The impact that had hit on the driver’s side. Reece’s own side, protecting Grayson from the worst of the collision.
“Reece,” Grayson said again, uselessly. Why had he turned the truck? Grayson was so much bigger, so much stronger—he could’ve taken the hit. And now Reece was out cold—maybe worse—
Well, no reason to worry about his knockout touch now. His arm shot out over the console to find Reece’s neck, his fingers resting against his jugular.
A pulse.
Alive.
Grayson twisted, unbuckling his seat belt so he could move freely. Subfreezing temperatures, unceasing snow, and Reece unconscious:
He had to get the truck running to get them out of the storm, or at least get some heat.
But the situation was pretty grim. Grayson reached around Reece to try the truck’s key first, but not a single light came
on, and the engine wouldn’t turn over. He rummaged over the airbag and in the glove box, because Reece had to have a flashlight
somewhere, but all he came up with was the bear hat and the headband with bunny ears Reece had worn at McFeely’s.
The clouds blocked any moonlight as Grayson opened the passenger door and stepped out into the snow, which was deep enough
to reach his thighs. He pushed through it on shaky legs to the front of the truck to investigate, feeling carefully around
with his half-frozen fingers. Seemed like the collision had impacted on the driver’s-side corner, and Reece’s quick maneuvering
had probably saved their lives, but whether the engine had taken damage and what kind wasn’t gonna be clear without light.
All right. Truck wasn’t gonna start. Snow wasn’t gonna stop. Grayson could carry Reece, but carry him where? Grayson had been
unconscious for the trip that had hauled him here from Port A and had no idea how long or far they’d traveled.
Olympic Mountains, Reece had said when Grayson had asked where they were. Really fucking far from anything.
Reece knew where they were, but Grayson was gonna need him to wake up to tell him.
Grayson carefully made his way around the tree through the snow and got the driver’s door open. He reached for the unmoving
silhouette outlined in the driver’s seat, his hand touching Reece’s cheek. Not a scarily powerful corrupted paranormal in
that moment, just an unconscious, injured empath whose body temperature was probably dangerously low.
You got to check him for injuries, his mind pointed out. That’s gonna mean touching him. A lot.
Grayson blew out a breath. So he’d have his hands on Reece. It would be fine. The Dead Man was a professional.
Keeping his touch light and gentle, he ran his hands over Reece, assessing and searching. There was a bump on his head, and
his neck was probably gonna hurt, but nothing felt broken or alarmingly swollen. His cold, wet clothes, however, confirmed
what Grayson had earlier suspected: The tumble Reece had taken into the snowdrift had soaked him through. How long had they
both been unconscious, with Reece freezing in wet clothes?
Snow was coming into the truck through his open door. He shouldn’t move Reece in case of injuries, but it was looking like
they were gonna have to hunker down in the truck through the storm with no heat, waiting for morning or Reece to wake up.
Even empath blood wasn’t gonna save Reece from possible frostbite.
Grayson’s hand came to rest on Reece’s cheek again in the dark. “I’m not too proud to admit it should be you awake right now,
not me,” he said a little helplessly to Reece. “You might know how to get the truck running or where we should go. I might’ve
called you Bad Decision Bear, but—”
Memories abruptly came crashing back. Grayson had bought Reece the bear hat in Vancouver, but Reece had bought him something that night too: a big-and-tall sleeping bag, so that Grayson would have a warm place to sleep when he caught a nap in his truck.
It had been in the back seat when Reece had stolen the truck from him.
Was there a chance it was still there, something to keep Reece warm until he woke up?
Grayson got out of the truck and opened the back door. The only light came from the glow of the snow, but he got the seats
up, and when he stuck his hand into the dark storage compartment under the seats, it landed on the sleeping bag. He pulled
it out and put the seats back in place, then unzipped the sleeping bag and laid it out on the back seat. He was already shivering
himself, but he’d deal with that after he got Reece settled.
Grayson would have to get him out of the wet clothes first, though. In other words, get him out of all his clothes and manhandle him into the sleeping bag.
Grayson took a breath through his nose.
Professional. Yes he was.
It wasn’t easy to strip off the wet clothes, especially when Grayson needed to move achingly slow and careful, trying to jostle
Reece as little as possible. He spread the clothes out on the passenger seat best he could; pointless, because they weren’t
gonna dry in these temperatures, but it didn’t hurt to try. Then he carefully lifted Reece out of the driver’s seat.
It took a lot more awkward maneuvering, but he finally got Reece onto the back seat on top of the unzipped sleeping bag, and
all the truck doors securely closed around them. Grayson was shivering harder, and more concerning, Reece’s skin was icy cold
under Grayson’s already cold hands. He knew more about surviving heat stroke than frostbite, but getting Reece warm as fast
as possible was probably the most important thing right now.
There was, of course, something Grayson could do to warm Reece more quickly.
He could get in the sleeping bag with him.
Your clothes are wet from snow too, a little voice in his head pointed out. You have to take them off. If you’re in there, with all that skin-to-skin contact, one of two things is gonna happen: Reece
is going to stay unconscious until you stop touching him—or he’s gonna get used to your touch and wake up.
And if that happens, you’ll never get that power back. You’ll never have that defense against him ever again.
Grayson touched his fingers to Reece’s lips, feeling the cold blue, even if he couldn’t see it in the dark.
Reece’s life was in danger. So he could risk losing his last Dead Man defense against corrupted Reece. Or he could risk losing
every version of Reece—forever.
Grayson reached for his own shirt hem, and a moment later, he’d shed his damp fatigues. He crawled onto the back seat, balancing
on one arm as he slid the other arm beneath Reece. As carefully as he could, he pulled Reece up and over, rolling them both
so that Grayson was the one on his back on the sleeping bag that was open on the truck’s back seat, now with Reece sprawled
directly on top of him. He shifted Reece so that his head was set on Grayson’s chest, and then reached for the sleeping bag’s
edge, pulling it over them.
It took a few tries, especially with his own cold, unsteady fingers, but Grayson managed to get the zipper aligned. “I’m real
glad right now that you insisted on getting the big-and-tall size,” Grayson informed Reece as he pulled the zipper all the
way up.
The back of the sleeping bag came up around his own head like a hood, and he made sure the front of it had Reece fully covered,
all the way over the top of his head. It was a tight fit—and no, Grayson would not think about tight fits right now, not with
Reece right on top of him—and their skin was cold together. But Reece, in his concern for Grayson, had picked a thick, warm sleeping bag designed for freezing temperatures; if anything could warm them up, this would.
Grayson wrapped his arms around Reece—trying to warm him up, that’s what he was doing, that’s what this was, and where the
hell else was he supposed to put his arms anyway?—and pulled him up just a little higher, tucked up under his chin.
What if Reece wakes up like this? said the little voice in his head. Immune to your Dead Man touch?
Well. Grayson would just cross that bridge if they came to it.
At least it would mean they were both alive.
Outside the truck, the wind was still howling, rushing through the trees like an eighteen-wheeler blowing past on the highway.
Inside the truck, Grayson couldn’t even see the front seats anymore. The snow had coated the windows, so that everywhere he
looked was either black or faintly white. But he could feel Reece on top of him, the rise and fall of breath, the soft, cold
skin under his hands, the hair tickling Grayson’s collarbone.
He heard his own quiet voice in the truck cab. “Probably good I don’t have feelings. ’Cause if I did, I bet I’d be having
a lot of them right now.”
Why was he talking? Reece couldn’t hear him. But words were falling from his lips all the same. “And I haven’t said thanks.
For coming for me—for saving me. I owe you, Care Bear.”
I’m not your Care Bear anymore, Reece had said.
Grayson tightened his arms.
“The hell you’re not,” he whispered into the silent truck.