Page 36 of Twisted Shadows
Reece huffed. “You mean AMI thinks that.”
“AMI has a lot of theories,” Stensby said. “They say empaths are probably hiding the truth about all their powers from the rest of us. You know that saying,the best defense is a good offense? They say we need more offense againstyou.”
Reece’s jaw tightened. Stensby was spouting AMI paranoia, but he wasn’t wrong; Reece was probably more dangerous than Stensby’s wildest theories.
He forced a casual tone. “What did you want to say about Jamey?”
Stensby glanced around, which was unnecessary—there was no one within ten feet of them. He still leaned forward and said, more quietly, “Rumor is the department is opening an investigation into her entire career.”
Lie.Now it was Reece’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Are they,” he said flatly.
“That’s what I’m hearing.”Lie.Stensby gave him a sympathetic smile that wasn’t remotely real. “A lot of people are suspicious of her because of you.”
That part was true. It was also something Reece already knew and despised himself for. “And?”
“You don’t seem very upset,” Stensby said suspiciously.
“Because I don’t believe you,” Reece snapped. “Jesus, you’re not even subtle. I wouldn’t have to be an empath to know you’re lying. Why are you making up some department witch hunt over Jamey? What do you really want?”
Stensby’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “I want to know how you weaseled out of a crime that everyone saw you commit,” he said. “You were on thenewsbreaking and entering into Stone Solutions. And then I saw you up on that rooftop, with Cedrick Stone and that big secretive guy. I know he’s the one they call the Dead Man, and I thought he’d arrest you and deal with you, but next thing I know, the whole SPD is ordered to forget any of it ever happened.”
“Well, you’re doing a shit job of that, aren’t you?” Reece said, before he could stop himself.
“I’m not going to forget what I saw, Reece.” Stensby’s eyes had narrowed. “I thought the Dead Man was supposed to protect innocent people from empaths, not the other way around. People say maybe the Dead Man can’t be trusted to do his job anymore.”
Anger flooded Reece’s stomach. “Who the hell is talking like that about him?AMI?” he said, before he knew he was going to speak. “AMI should shut their mouths about Agent Grayson. They have no idea what they’re talking about. No idea what empaths are really capable of. And they better—”
And they better hope I never decide to show them.
Reece slapped a hand over his own mouth before the words escaped. He could feel his blood pressure rising; sweat prickling despite the cold. He mumbled some kind of excuse and stumbled away from the table, not looking back.
Reece found a short hall and the bathroom, a single room that was claustrophobically small and heavily scented with disinfectant. He bolted the door and leaned on the pedestal sink.
His reflection stared back at him from the streaked mirror. His skin was too pale, with a greenish pallor in the fluorescent light and purplish dark circles prominent under his eyes. His pupils were blown, too big for such a bright room, and his hair was sticking to his clammy forehead.
Empaths didn’t make threats. Not even in their heads.
Reece stared into his own eyes. How bad was it really, though? AMI thought worse about him. Wasn’t it exhausting to constantly watch his thoughts, to care so much about the safety of others and never his own? To care so much he concealed his own abilities, just to make others more comfortable?
He reached out to the mirror, touching his gloved finger to his reflected one.
Grayson’s drawl echoed in his mind, louder than his thoughts.
Care Bear, a pair of gloves isn’t what makes you an empath. Your compassion never got left in the glove box of your Micro Machine and towed to Tacoma.
Reece blinked. He stared at his reflection in confusion.
What had he just been thinking about? Gloves? The circles under his eyes? He tried to concentrate, but his thoughts slipped out of reach, the way impressions of a dream might fade the harder you try to give them form.
With a sigh, he gave up. He splashed cold water on his face and then stepped out of the bathroom to find Stensby had vanished.
Grayson strode down the packed corridor, duffel over one shoulder, laptop bag over the other, making his way past gate after gate. As he walked, he called Kenji Ohayashi in Portland.
“Hey.” Kenji picked up right away, sounding surprised. “What’s going on? How’s Burlington?”
Grayson sidestepped a couple with a giant double stroller, quickly twisting so he didn’t bump into their third kid, who was pulling a tiny pink suitcase. “Nine hundred miles behind me.”
“Wait, what? Why is it so loud? Where are you?”
