“If an empath can consult on such a gruesome murder,” said a third, “are they lying about their violence aversion—”
More reporters pushed forward, surrounding him, and he couldn’t see Liam anymore.
“Have you heard AMI’s allegations that empaths are involved—”
“What do you say to people calling for your removal from the case—”
A new voice spoke from somewhere to Reece’s left. “No questions.”
The deep drawl wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chaos like a blade, drawing all of Reece’s attention, twisting through his ears, down his throat and into his stomach.
His knees promptly buckled out from under him and he tumbled to the ground, catching himself on hands and knees just in time to vomit all over the pavement.
Gasps of disgust broke out above his head. The press of reporters immediately lessoned as all of them scrambled backward, away from Reece. He screwed his eyes shut as his stomach roiled and his heart pounded in his throat.
Steps echoed nearby, and Reece opened his eyes to see gigantic black boots appear on the sidewalk by his hands. He lifted his head as the newcomer crouched, filling Reece’s sight with his completely expressionless face.
“I did warn you,” said the Dead Man.
Chapter Seven
In the earliest days of the empath emergence, no one had any idea how to protect the non-empaths from the empaths’ abilities. Then EI came along, then the gloves, and now things like SB 1437.
But there’s never been an empathy defense quite like Agent Grayson.
—classified internal memo at the Empath Initiative
At the sound of Grayson’s voice, Reece gagged again, turning his face into his shoulder as his body shook with dry heaves. For the first time he could ever remember, he wished for the filter of electronics, for the phone they’d spoken through before that had stripped out whatever it was that was making him sick.
“Well, that wasn’t expected.” Grayson said it in the same flat tone he’d said everything else, leaving Reece with no idea what that meant. Grayson straightened and turned to a pair of officers. “Get rid of the press.”
A clamor of protest rose from the reporters. “You can’t make us leave,” someone snapped.
“They can if I order it,” Grayson said, as neutral as if he were remarking on the gray skies.
Reece’s stomach turned over again, but this time, he didn’t retch. Grayson was moving farther away, Reece realized, the distance making him quieter and lessoning the impact of his voice. The angry crowd was also being drawn away, Reece momentarily forgotten in their outrage at Grayson.
Reece swallowed down his gorge and pushed himself onto his knees with shaky arms.
“Reece!” Liam was scrambling forward.
“I didn’t do this to make your life difficult,” Reece croaked, and then coughed.
“Shut up.” But there was no bite in Liam’s voice. He crouched and grabbed Reece by the wrist, over the glove, and pulled Reece to his feet.
As the two of them pushed through the glass doors into police headquarters, Jamey was rushing their way. She reached for Reece’s arm as the door swung shut and the crowd’s noise quieted. “Where did Grayson go?” she said, as she held on to him, looking into his eyes like she was assessing him for a concussion.
She was squeezing his arm too tight, stressed enough to forget her strength, but it was grounding. “He was right next to me. Jamey—”
She winced. “You figured out who he is?”
Reece nodded grimly.
Her mouth tightened, as she glanced out the glass doors to the still-packed sidewalk beyond. She shook her head. “I don’t see him anymore. But I don’t believe he’s gone.”
“Thatwas the Dead Man?” Reece and Jamey’s surprise must have shown on their faces, because Liam added, “Gretel Macy sent me herEyes on Empathsarticle. That is not what I would have expected a guy called the Dead Man to look like.”
To his serious credit, Liam hadn’t run away screaming. Instead, he was still here, discussing the Dead Man while hovering at Jamey’s side like a helicopter. “What do we do?” he said to Jamey. “Do we get Reece out of here?”
