Page 71 of Twisted Shadows
“These look real,” Reece said, as Grayson picked them up. “Big, though—those would fityou.”
He was right, and he was right that the gloves were the real deal. Grayson could smell the coppery metallic scent, feel the stiffness under his fingers.
“I’ve never met an empath who’d need that size gloves,” Reece went on. “What are they for?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Why?” Reece said suspiciously. “You think it’s something I won’t like—oh.” His voice had tightened. “Of course. They’re not for empaths; I bet Stone Solutions makes these for people who have to handle empaths. Mr. Airsoft Manager was probably supposed to be wearing these when he dealt with me.”
Grayson stilled. “How—”
“That wasn’t insight.”
Reece hadn’t flinched as he said it. But still. “You came to that conclusion real quick,” Grayson pointed out.
“Well, yeah,” Reece said, like it was obvious. “I was manhandled onto a roof last month by non-empaths wearing empath gloves. It left an impression.” He looked up at Grayson with big, earnest eyes. “I’m not using insight,” he said again. “But I’m glad you’re checking.” More quietly, he added, “I keep telling you I want you to watch me, Evan. I know I’m dangerous and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Reece had successfully lied to Grayson before, but Grayson hadn’t known his tells then. Now he still hadn’t flinched, and his queasiness on the airsoft course had been real, Grayson was certain of it.
“You’re right,” Grayson admitted. “Stone Solutions has a line of gloves intended for folks who handle corrupted empaths and they come in larger sizes. But you can’t order any kind of real empath gloves online, and those are all made right here in Seattle. These were shipped from BC.”
“For all the good it did them,” Reece said bitterly. “This guy still trusted his own brand more than the scientists. A mistake.”
He turned away, toward a filing cabinet. “Want to bet Mr. Paranoid Airsoft Manager doesn’t trust the internet and keeps everything on paper?” Grayson heard a drawer open behind him. “Bingo, he has a file on me. Ugh, withpictures—can I burn this?”
“Let me take a look through it and then I’ll buy you the matches myself.” Grayson set the gloves to the side, going through the rest of the contents of the box. No note, packing slip, or explanation. They were packed in tissue paper that could have come from anywhere. But this had been shipped from Vancouver, meaning the most likely place it could’ve come from was Stone Solutions Canada.
He straightened up. “What do you think about—”
He paused.
Reece had vanished.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cute but Concerning: An examination of the legal potentialities of the common law doctrine of attractive nuisance as the substantive basis of tort liability in matters of empathy.
—RAINIER UNIVERSITY LAW REVIEW, VOLUME 24, ISSUE 2
Diesel frowned ashe replayed the previous night’s security footage for a third time. Reece had burst out of the building and gone straight up to the guy leaning on the Hellcat. The man wore a balaclava, but from his height and breadth, it could have been Keith, showing up for—what, exactly?
The camera didn’t have sound, but Reece was clearly pissed. Not afraid, though, even when the man—twice Reece’s size—shoved him back around the side of the warehouse.
Diesel switched cameras, frown deepening as he again watched the asshole in the balaclava pull a gun on Reece.Thenthe fear on Reece’s face was clear, but it was the man in the balaclava who hit the ground a moment later, trembling. At that same time, all of the staff outside had broken into screams too and gone sprinting off into the freezing night. They’d come back maybe twenty minutes later, confused at their own terror and paranoia, no ideas beyondmaybe it was the weed.
Diesel wasn’t so sure. He paused the video on Reece, who was staring down at the man in shock. “What happened to you last night, kiddo?” he muttered out loud.
There was a knock on the open door. Diesel turned to see Ben, balancing a box half his size. “You’re supposed to be on your way to Vancouver and that cool car show,” he chided, as he wedged his foot on the door frame and got his knee up under the box to support its weight.
“I’m still going.” Diesel closed the video and stood. “Show doesn’t start until tomorrow—I’ll leave early in the morning.”
“Your hotel package starts tonight—”
“But it’ll keep. And give me that.” Diesel reached out for the box swamping Ben.
“You deserve a break more than anyone I know,” Ben protested, letting him take it out of his hands. “There’s at least a dozen of us here right now to get this place ready for tonight. Frodo is scrubbing down the bar himself. We were all so excited that you won this trip—why aren’t you taking it?”
“I will,” Diesel promised again. “But just wanted to check on this place or I’d be all distracted up there anyway. We still don’t know what spooked you last night.” And someone had held Reece at gunpoint. Diesel wanted to show that to Frodo, the owner of McFeely’s, before they told the staff, who’d probably be equal parts freaked and furious. Ben especially; he was sweet but also loyal, and he didn’t tolerate people messing with his friends. Something clinked in the box as Diesel hefted it up. “What’s in here?”
