Grayson reached into the crew cab’s back seat, and a moment later, something soft landed in Reece’s lap. “If you’re taking off the blazer, at least put that on.”
Reece picked it up. A hooded, zip-up sweatshirt with a University of Texas logo, way too big for him. “Is thisyours?”
“I’m cold just looking at you in that T-shirt.” Grayson turned back to the wheel. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but put your seat belt on. I don’t drive like an empath.”
“You didn’t have to tell me that either.”
Twenty-four hours ago, Reece didn’t believe in the Dead Man, and now he had his hoodie. He pulled it over his shoulders, threading his arms into sleeves that were long enough they came down over his hands. The fleece inside was still so soft it was almost silky, not scratchy from a million wears and washings like his own collection. Probably didn’t see much use in the warm places accents like Grayson’s came from.
Grayson pulled away from the curb, and Reece craned his neck to watch out the window as the building disappeared behind them. He’d rather have been in the Dead Man’s truck than in Stone Solutions ever again, but in fairness, some of that sentiment might have been the seat warmers. “I expected you to have some kind of crazy anti-empathy defenses in here.”
“I’m enough.”
Reece snorted. “So where are we going?”
Grayson glanced at him, then his gaze went back to the road. “For a drive.”
Ohno.
Reece lunged from his seat for the passenger door, clawing at the handle.
Grayson calmly adjusted the rearview mirror, like Reece wasn’t fighting with the locked door. “I’m not gonna let you jump out of a moving vehicle. I know empaths have no sense of self-preservation, but I do draw the line somewhere.”
This had to be it, Grayson was actually going to—
“I’m not gonna arrest you either.”
“You should.” Oh great, that wasn’t a lie.
But Grayson shook his head. “Running after Whitman was stupid, but I know why you did it. And I know you’re not trying to use insight on purpose.”
Reece slumped, letting his head fall back against the seat. “But we’re going for a drive?”
“We’re gonna talk.” Grayson headed toward the interstate. “How much do you know?”
Reece ran a hand over his face, his bare palm hot. “I know Cora killed Senator Hathaway.”
“I see.” Grayson’s drawl of course revealed none of his feelings about that. “Have I got Agent Nolan to thank for sharing that knowledge with you?”
Not exactly. Reece shook his head. “Nolan sped it up, but I would have got there on my own eventually. There are only two of us in Seattle, and it wasn’t me, so that leaves her. But I don’t understand why—no,” he corrected himself, “I don’t understandhow. How could it be her? She is pure kindness. I’m telling you that as an empath.”
“I believe you,” Grayson said quietly.
“Then how? How could she—could she have—”
“Corruption.”
The hairs on Reece’s neck stood on end. “What does that mean?”
“It means an empath can wake up the sweetest soul in Seattle,” Grayson said, still quiet, as he took the truck up onto I-5, “and then, by midnight, become a serial killer.”
“Buthow? What could possibly—passing on the right isillegal!”
“Gloveless empaths in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”
“I’d never throw a stone in a glass house. Someone could cut themselves on broken glass. In fact, I don’t think I’d throw the stone in the first place; that doesn’t sound safe.”
“I do believe you’re missing the point.”
