“Because I wrote it.” Grayson glanced at the closed office door. “Where’s the empath?”
“Supply closet,” Smith stammered. “Locked in.”
“Guarded?”
“Y-yes, three guards, I—” Smith licked his dry lips and tried to find words. “Sir,” he tried again, trying to straighten and finding his legs shaky. “I promise we won’t let that empath hurt anyone—”
“Not my concern.”
“No?”
“No.” Grayson was gracefully sliding the heavy coat off his shoulders. “He’s got a way of poking his nose where he shouldn’t and this office is about to be off-limits.”
Chills broke out across Smith’s skin. “Why?”
Grayson calmly tossed the coat to the side. “Some parts of my job I don’t share with empaths.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Empaths Don’t Come with Terms of Service (Even If No One Reads Them): Why empathy is more dangerous than letting your phone, tablet, smart watch, computer, internet browsers, apps, chats, virtual assistants, location sharing, GPS, and social media record your life. Read our five-part series, live on the blog this week!
—Gretel Macy, blogging forEyes on Empaths
Jamey was alone in the locker room, out of her suit and into her jeans, when Aisha Easterby called. Jamey balanced the phone in the crook of neck and her foot on the bench as she laced her boot. “You better be calling to tell me Reece is okay.”
“I am. And he is. Grayson’s handling everything.”
A rush of air left Jamey. She dropped down to sit on the bench. “Is Reece hurt?”
“Bruised and scraped. Security was rough with him. But Grayson will handle that too.”
Jamey scoffed. “How? Give them gold stars?”
Easterby coughed. “Not exactly.” On the other side of the phone, she cut her engine. “He’s not the enemy, Detective.”
“I’m not a detective anymore.”
“You want Grayson to fix that?”
Jamey huffed. “I don’t want any favors from any of you. You lost Reece.”
“He’s—” Easterby took a moment. “—tricky to keep eyes on.”
Jamey stiffened. That wasn’t an apology. That was a warning. “You want to lock Reece up.”
“No!” Easterby paused. “Well...yes. Sort of. Grayson wants to move him to a safe house.”
A safe house. Away from the violence, the press, from all the things that would hurt him. But how many strings would be attached? And would Reece ever come back?
“No,” Jamey said shortly. “I don’t trust anything related to Stone Solutions.”
“It’s not part of Stone Solutions. It’s not on any records—it’s just Grayson’s.”
“Nice try,” said Jamey. “But I don’t believe Evan Grayson has a safe house. He’s a one-man battalion; he doesn’t need one.”
“You’re right. He closed on it thirty minutes ago.”
Jamey paused.
