Ugh, her nose was too good. “I got a call that you needed my help.”
She frowned. “Who?”
“Some guy with this outrageous Southern accent. Said his name was Evan Grayson.”
Jamey blanched.
Reece’s heartbeat promptly rocketed right back up. “Funny,” he said, gaze locked on the fear on her face, “he seemed to think I should know his name too. Who—”
“Out of the car.” Reece started to twist out of his seat, but Jamey, as always, was faster. She grabbed him by the arm and extracted him with one easy tug. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” he asked, as she steered him through the rain and the parking lot, past a barrier set up around a Ford Transit with a smashed headlight and toward a plastic tent stampedProperty of Seattle Police Department.
“Somewhere I can keep an eye on you.”
“Who’s Evan Grayson?”
Jamey shook her head. “Not right now,” she said. “This is a homicide scene and you’re three seconds from a panic attack. We’re not talking about Grayson too.”
“But how could Grayson make it worse?”
“Notnow. You’re already a mess.”
“When am I ever anything else?” he muttered bitterly.
“Stop,” she said. “I know better than anyone that your compassion’s a strength.”
She tugged his arm. He sighed and tried to make his legs move faster.
The tent was at the end of the parking lot, right before the edge of the tarmac and a sharp drop-off to the ocean beyond. Past the tent was an arched sign that readOrca’s Gate Marina, adorned with a smiling killer whale that seemed inappropriately cheerful, given the circumstances. Beneath the sign, a well-lit wooden ramp led to a collection of pristine yachts and private sailboats moored at the docks.
When they reached the tent, Jamey abruptly paused, one hand on the plastic flap. “Put your hands in your pockets.”
Hide his gloves?He drew back. “Since when do I embarrass you?”
She gave him a funny look. “Since never?”
He folded his arms over his chest, but that had been unfair of him. She’d looked out for him his whole life. Whatever her reason, it would never be shame.
The icy rain dampened his hair as she bent to his eye level. “I know what you think—that if you show you’re willing to hide, it will make people more nervous about empaths,” she said. “But just this once. Trust me.”
He sighed. “You know I do.”
She was studying his face. “You were sleeping when I left. I guess that didn’t last much longer.”
“I look that bad, huh?”
“Don’t be a jerk,” she said. “I do notice your insomnia.”
“Yeah, well, nightmares will do that to you.”
“They’ll stop soon.” Her promise was twisted into discordance and he cringed. Her shoulders dropped an inch. “Sorry,” she said. “I wish I really believed that. You used to sleep like a baby.”
He blew out a breath. “You used to be able to lie to me. A lot’s changed.”
She gestured pointedly around the marina. “I would like to have changed you running mindlessly toward anywhere there are people in pain or you think you can help. This is the last place you should be right now.”
There was a strained edge to her voice, a tense set to her shoulders. He tried for a lighter tone, even if only for a moment. “Careful with that concern. People will wonder which one of us is the empath.”
