“I think an agent with your experience would find that fence easy to mend,” said Stone. “She’s a detective, you’re an FBI agent. She’ll be inclined to trust you, and her empath brother will make her unlikely to trust Evan. Mr. Davies really is a glaring weakness of hers.”
It was true that Nolan was a good actor, when he wanted to be. It was possible he could mend their relationship if he pretended to care what happened to Davies, and it might be worth dealing with St. James if it meant he got to exclusively question Cedrick Stone.
But this wasn’t procedure. “I’m not authorized to bargain like this with a potential suspect,” Nolan reluctantly pointed out, even as his mind started looking for loopholes.
“You tried to report the Dead Man, and the Bureau hung you out to dry,” said Stone. “Consider if your faith would be better placed in me.”
Nearly thirty minutes had passed and the red BMW i8 parked the wrong way at the curb hadn’t budged.
Ollie stared at it through the diner window as Penny wandered up to his side, tying the diner apron on behind her back.
“Go tell them to leave,” she said.
Ollie frowned. “You do it.”
“I shouldn’t even be here. I worked the night shift. Martin had the balls to call and wake me up to come in because he’s too cheap to hire someone else. I need our shitty coffee.” She stormed back into the kitchen.
Ollie sighed, but wiped his hands on his apron. He stepped out of the diner, the bell jingling behind him as he crossed the sidewalk to the car and knocked on the tinted driver’s window. “Excuse me, but you’re going to have to move your—oh.”
As the window dropped it revealed the driver, a pretty young woman with light brown eyes the size of dinner plates. Her hair was bound over one shoulder in a braid, dark brown against her pink-and-red patterned shirt. “Is there a problem?” she asked.
He shook himself. Pretty or not, she couldn’t park here. “This spot is reserved for customers. You haven’t come in and ordered anything.”
She smiled. For some reason, he shivered. “I’m afraid I’m being a news junkie,” she said, and even her voice was cute and sweet. “But who can blame me today?”
He could hear her radio in the car.“—the latest news in the shocking death of Senator Hannah Hathaway. In a perhaps ironic moment, the SPD’s empath consultant, Reece Davies, was seen this morning in the vicinity of police headquarters—”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Ollie said. “I can’t believe Senator Hathaway’s dead.” He looked down the sidewalk, then leaned in. “Did you hear AMI say empaths are behind it?”
“Really?” She blinked up at him with long lashes. “Empaths?”
“Mmm-hmm. And I bet they’re right; creepy fuckers, always trying to read your mind.”
“Not hard when the mind is as complex as a picture book.” She smiled her strange smile again. Must be a private joke.
“My boss says if the bill gets passed, we’ll have a green light to kick empaths out of the café,” said Ollie. “That’d be nice, right? Never have to let one of the little creepers stay?”
“—and while the department has not yet released its promised statement, we would hope that, considering her stance on empathy, there is no intention of using an empath to consult on the senator’s death.”
The pretty girl cocked her head. “Can I ask you something?”
He put a hand on the door frame and leaned forward, into the car. “Sure.” He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior and then frowned. One of her hands rested on the steering wheel, displaying a wrist ringed with a mess of scabs and bruising. And her shirt wasn’t pink and red; she was in pink scrubs, like a nurse, but stained all over with—
She set her other hand on top of his. The world fell away, his entire attention diverted by the softness of her skin, by the intoxicating sound of her voice as she asked, “Do you like your boss?”
“Mr. Davies was seen this morning vomiting on the steps of police headquarters—”
“Mr. Martin? He’s—”
“Or do you want nothing more than to see what color his intestines are?”
“—under speculation that the gruesomeness of the murders is proving too much for an empath to handle.”
Rage consumed Ollie, his vision going as red as the stains on her scrubs. “I’m gonna shred his skin and rip out his guts.”
“We have no word of any suspect yet in custody, meaning the perpetrator of this monstrous multi-murder may still be at large.”
She patted his hand and smiled. “Use something fun, like a vegetable peeler.” And the i8’s tires squealed as she sped away from the curb.
