It took him to a blog post about Senator Hathaway’s death—damn, Gretel had gotten that story up fast. It was full of ludicrous rambling trying to connect Senator Hathaway’s death with October’s stupid feature story about empaths influencing what people carved on their jack-o’-lanterns. Reece rolled his eyes, and left a pointed comment.
Hello empaths don’t have mind-control powers and if we did, we wouldn’t waste them on pumpkins.
He left a few more choice words and then went back to the search results, and the next hit took him to a page on the Dead Man.
The hairs on Reece’s neck rose.
Why had he been taken to a blog page on theDead Man? Evan Grayson was real; the Dead Man was fake, just a scary fairy tale invented to keep empaths in line. A supposed shadow agent operating outside the law, one who showed up anytime empaths thought about stepping out of line, protecting the public in secret from the so-called dangers of empathy.
The whispers said darker things too, about bodies and violence wherever the Dead Man went. But Reece tried not to hear those, and they were bullshit anyway. All of it was. The Dead Man had been dreamed up by fearmongers who thought empaths might use their powers for harm. He was nothing but myth.
Reece had always believed that.
He stared at his phone.
Possible Dead Man sighting in San Francisco!
Most say the Dead Man is only an urban legend, but our savvy readers know better.Eyes on Empathshas ALWAYS believed the man known as the Dead Man, one Evan Grayson, is out there engaging in heroic anti-empathy work to protect the innocent.
And now, at a crime scene in San Francisco involving a dead empath, a witness saw a tall civilian ordering reporters away. And the witness heard an officer refer to the man as—AGENT GRAYSON.
Are YOU ready to believe?
And as fear began a slow creep up his spine, the phone in Reece’s hand began to ring.
Unknown caller.
Even an empath conscience wasn’t enough to make him answer that. He scrambled out of his car, leaving the engine running as he held the phone at a distance like a poisonous snake and ran for the boardwalk across the street.
Jamey better be getting him a new phone with that ticket to Juneau, because this one was going in the sea.
As he darted across the street, he nearly collided with a fleece-clad jogger coming down the sidewalk at a fast clip. Reece threw himself sideways with a painful wrench, nearly falling as he just managed to avoid making contact.
“Watch it!” the jogger snapped.
“Sorry, sorry.” Reece tried to get his feet back under him as he straightened up on the sidewalk.
But the man had stopped running, eyes on his smart watch. Then his gaze fell on Reece’s hands and the man paled.
Oh no.
“Someone just sent me a text. They know my name.” Beneath his fleece hat, the man’s eyes were wide and full of terror. “They want me to tell the empath that if his phone goes in the ocean, everything I own will follow.”
Reece sucked in a breath.
The man’s eyes went impossibly wider. “Now it says if the empath doesn’t answer their next call, they’ll start with my Audi.”
It was only a car, but Reece couldn’t bear the man’s genuine panic. “Get out of here,” Reece said to him. “Don’t be collateral damage for someone who knows how to threaten an empath.”
The man didn’t need telling twice. He took off at a sprint, leaving Reece alone on the sidewalk, staring at the phone in his hand.
On cue, it began to ring again. Reece took a deep breath, and this time, he answered.
“I know what you are now.”
“I gave you my name,” said the Dead Man. “I’m not trying to—”
“You’re adick.”
