“Is Detective Briony St. James here?” he asked, his voice as devoid of emotion as his expression.
Nice to know the night could always get weirder. “I don’t think there any detectives here right now,” Diesel said honestly.
The officer didn’t ask for more information. He simply turned and got back in the car.
But he didn’t drive off, and a few moments later, he got back out of the cruiser, and this time two men in private security guard uniforms also got out. The group left the cruiser illegally parked and strode right up to the club.
As the officer reached for the door, Diesel cleared his throat. “All of you like empaths, officer?”
Empaths were a federal, not state or municipal affair, and the Seattle cops had always left McFeely’s alone. If that was going to change—
But the officer’s expression shifted for the first time, his eyes lighting with the fervor of a cultist. “Devoted to them,” he said rapturously.
All right, then. Even cops could be fetishists. Diesel opened the door to let the three of them inside, then went back to manning his post.
Chapter Twenty-Three
...that year also saw the hit single “Into Your Emotions,” the first song by an all-empath boy band to chart in the US. Their follow-up songs, “Don’t Hurt Me Baby (I’m a Pacifist)” and “Inner Beauty Is Hot,” also charted overseas.
—excerpt fromGrungy Feelings: A Memoir of a 1990s Subculture
Reece was still at the oversized wooden table, face buried in his folded arms, when the conference room door was flung open, not with a fearful nudge but with the confident shove of a man who had nothing to fear.
Gretel’s words rushed back to Reece:You’re out because someone ordered it, and the rumor is it’s someone even Stone Solutions can’t fight.
Reece didn’t look up. “So is it Mr. Dead Man? Agent Dead Man? Pretty Soldier Sailor Dead Man? We’ve never really settled on what I should call you.”
The lazy drawl filled the room. “You find Dr. Whitman?”
Reece winced. Of course Grayson somehow knew why he had come to Stone Solutions. “Feel like pretending I didn’t commit a misdemeanor trying to talk to someone who’s nowhere to be found?”
“Sure. Because technically your stunt was a felony.”
Reece groaned and buried his head farther into his arms. “Is Jamey really suspended because of me?”
“I could fix that,” Grayson said, which was a yes. “But she doesn’t want my help.”
Reece winced again. “I’m the worst brother in the world.”Lie.No comfort; he deserved that to be the truth.
“All little brothers are pains in the ass,” said Grayson. “I’ve known at least one who’s got you beat. Come on, let’s go.”
Reece raised his head.
Grayson was holding open the conference room door.
Reece exhaled in a rush and got to his feet. He walked the few steps toward the door and then paused, barely a foot of space between them. He tipped his head back—way back—to look up at Grayson. He searched Grayson’s face, but there were no emotions, no hints, nothing Reece could interpret as a feeling.
“So am I under arrest?” he finally asked.
Grayson looked down at Reece without moving away. “Don’t you think I would’ve left you to the guards’ tender care in that case?”
He could have. Or Grayson could have cuffed Reece again himself, subdued him without so much as a grunt of effort. But he hadn’t done either of those things—he’d come to rescue Reece, and now they were again close enough to touch. And without his gloves to block that touch, Reece would have felt Grayson’s warmth against his fingertips.
Not dead, no matter what people called him.
“I don’t know,” Reece said honestly. “I don’t think I know anything anymore when it comes to you.”
Grayson’s gaze darted over Reece, lingering on his cheek. “They got rough with you.”
