Page 45 of Twisted Shadows
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot—”
The words weren’t coming from Reece. His gaze zeroed in on the ground. His would-be kidnapper had hit the sidewalk, curled in a ball with his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth as frantic pleas came from his lips.
But there were more people shouting, screaming even, a stampede of sprinting feet. Reece looked up just as the entire group from the picnic table sprinted past, some holding on to each other as they ran. Their faces were locked in expressions of terror; Reece was surrounded by it, tasting it, drowning in it.
He froze. His gaze went back to the man rocking in fear on the ground. He was also terrified.
As terrified as Reece.
Oh no.
He became aware of the buzzing along his skin, his hands vibrating in their gloves, his nerves standing at alert. Aware of a feeling of fear too big to contain, spilling out of him and catching others in its orbit.
Like Cora had been able to project her fury onto three SWAT teams.
And Reece was outside a packed club of innocent people.
He took off at a sprint. He ran to the opposite end of the warehouse, and then down the blocks until he reached his car. He leapt into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and slipped his key into the ignition.
Nothing happened.
He frowned. He bent down over the passenger seat and fumbled to pull up the carpeting from the footwell. A moment later, he had the panel off and was staring into the compartment. Goose bumps prickled on his arms.
Someone had completely disconnected the battery.
Someone didn’t want him driving away.
“Too fucking bad,” he muttered aloud, as he reached for the wires. A minute later, he had the wires reconnected. He tried the key, and this time the engine sprang to life.
Somewhere behind him, he heard the roar of a supercharged V8. He glanced up at his rearview mirror and saw a white Hellcat swinging around the corner two blocks behind him.
Well, shit. Reece didn’t take the time to replace the panel—or even use his turn signal—before pulling away from the curb and speeding off into the night.
Jamey was back in Port Angeles, almost to the hotel to get Liam, when a familiar number flashed on her caller ID.
“The fuck is going on, Stensby?” she said, instead of hello, as she answered.
“This isn’t Officer Stensby,” said the voice on the other side of the phone. “I’m afraid he’s unavailable right now. Is this Detective St. James?”
She paused. That accent was incredibly familiar—a little more subtle, the voice more of a tenor than bass. But familiar. “Grayson?”
“Not Evan, no,” said the man. “I understand Officer Stensby sent you on a wild-goose chase to Port Angeles. Or a wild-empath chase, let’s say.”
“Who the hell is this?” she snapped. “Why are you calling from Stensby’s phone?”
“Officer Stensby has made some unfortunate decisions lately. Including sabotaging your brother’s brakes.”
Jamey’s heart leapt into her throat. “What?”
“Apparently Officer Stensby punctured the brake fluid in Reece’s car earlier today. It’s likely all drained out by now,” said the stranger. “I have a personal interest in Reece’s safety, so if you could get in touch with some of the folks back in Seattle and see if anyone can find Reece before his brakes fail, I’d be real appreciative. I imagine you don’t want him to die either.”
The line went dead.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It’s World Traffic Safety Awareness Day! What’s that? World Traffic Safety Awareness Day isn’t a real holiday? Well, I’m sure we can all agree IT SHOULD BE.
#SafetyFirst #SafeDrivesSaveLives #DriveLikeAnEmpath
