He ran a finger over the keyboard again, as his gaze went to the walls. There was no trace of Owens left in the office. Even Whitman’s art had already been hung up, every last one of beautiful Washington scenery—no. Every last one of mountains.
Her colleague had been dead only hours and Whitman had already moved into this office on the twenty-first floor. With its view.
Reece considered the computer screen.
And then he typedmtrainier21into the box.
The screen began to load.
Reece jerked back in surprise.
Don’t ever try to use your insight on purpose.
He could practically hear Grayson’s drawl echoing in his mind, like some kind of cowboy conscience. Maybe the Dead Man knew what he was talking about. Maybe insight could be dangerous.
Or maybe not. Because as Reece squinted at Whitman’s monitor screen and the icons scattered over a picture of her crossing the finish line of a race, he realized he had no idea what to even look for. So maybe an empath could get into her laptop, but it would take a detective like Jamey to know what to—
Like Jamey.What would Jamey do?
Reece chewed his lip, but that was easy. Jamey would first want to know what Whitman had just been doing. She’d go straight for recent documents.
It took a couple tries, but he finally managed to click on something that brought up a list of recent files. He clicked on the top one, a spreadsheet titledTrigger Points.
But it was just a spreadsheet of names, many of which even he recognized as other empaths he’d met or heard of. It was sorted by city, with Seattle at the top.
Cora Falcon: John Camden; Javier Falcon; Sarah Goldberg Falcon; Cristobal Falcon; Mia Falcon-Oakely; Demarco Jones...
The list of names tied to Cora went on and on. Her fiancé, her parents, her brothers and sisters and friends. All of the entries in the spreadsheets were full of names, every empath tied to a veritable village of people.
Except him. Because right under Cora’s name was his, tied to only one other.
Reece Davies:Briony St. James.
The cameras were still down.
In the security room of Stone Solutions, Chief of Security Wayne Smith smashed a few buttons on the keyboard for the tenth time and cursed.
Pierce had sworn he was working as fast as he could, but the only useful tech rat, Egner, the head of IT, had been sent somewhere off-site by Dr. Whitman and he still wasn’t back. It was going to be Smith’s ass on the line if anyone figured out that the security cameras at the back of the building and every camera on the twenty-first floor were down during a meeting of all the AMI hotshots in the city. For crying out loud,Beau Macywas here.
And Harthan and Boone werestillout on their break. They’d gone just minutes before the cameras went down and left him in this mess short-staffed by two guards. When they finally did decide to show their faces again, he’d tell them they could go ahead and show themselves right back out and not come back.
Smith was reaching for the phone to call Pierce again, to threaten to have his pay docked, when the door opened. Smith turned, snarl on his lips—
But it was a young woman, vaguely familiar-looking, with shiny hair, red lips, and a perfectly tailored little skirt suit. Probably rich and probably with AMI; he better find some manners.
“I’m sorry, miss, but this room is off-limits.” Smith turned, trying to block the monitors with his body. “If you’re looking for the bathroom—”
“Are you the head of security?”
Smith gave a single nod. He tried to keep his voice polite. “No visitors in here.”
But she slipped into the room, shutting the door behind her. “I have to talk to you.”
Who the hell did she think she was? “I just told you we can’t—oh!” He straightened as he finally recognized her. “You’re Beau Macy’s daughter!”
Her lips pursed. “Gretel Macy. Yes. But I also have a blog,Eyes on Empaths—”
Smith snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah yeah yeah, I read it. Everyone here does. I liked the story about the empath who mind-controls pumpkins.”
