“Why would I?”
Jamey cut her siren and lights, sparing the residents the ruckus as she exited the I-90 floating bridge onto Mercer Island. The trees and yards were lush green against the gray skies and the stately homes lining the streets had cars in the driveways worth more than she made in a year.
Jason Owens’ home was at the end of its street, by the water. Jamey parked in the driveway. Time to see if Grayson was a man of his word.
As she exited the car, a man was rushing toward her. “Excuse me, you can’t—”
She held up her badge. “Detective St. James, SPD. You’re supposed to be expecting me.”
“Oh.” The man’s demeanor immediately changed to flawless respect. “Yes, of course. Agent Grayson said you were coming. Follow me.”
Five minutes later, she stood in the middle of Jason Owens’ study, eyeing the wall. The Stone Solutions internal investigations and enforcement team buzzed around her with the same efficiency as the SPD at a crime scene. But her attention stayed focused on the mahogany bookshelves, tasteful paintings, and thick layer of blood sprayed across all of it.
“Detective St. James?”
The newcomer had pitched her voice at an unusually soft volume, pleasantly quiet to Jamey’s ears. She turned to find a beautiful woman in a white lab coat over jeans, probably also around thirty, with dark brown hair in a ponytail, umber-brown eyes behind glasses like Liam’s, and a noticeable scar on her neck, the kind that might be left by a knife.
“Aisha Easterby. I’m the ME,” she said, as Jamey shook her hand. “Congratulations on being the first outsider Agent Grayson has ever authorized to enter a scene like this. How did you manage it?”
“Pulled a gun on him.”
Easterby blinked, then seemed to accept that. She gestured to the bloody wall. “I see you found ground zero.” When Jamey cocked her head, Easterby added, “Most of the rooms are in a similar state. But we think this is where it started.” She pointed to a small drop cloth a few feet away. “With the eyes.”
“The eyes are—”
“Still under there.”
Jesus. Jamey took another long look at the blood smeared on the wall and along the spines of several of the books. “Did you know Dr. Owens before his death?”
Easterby’s lips thinned. “Yes,” she said, with no enthusiasm.
Interesting.
Easterby glanced around the room, gaze lingering on the man dusting for fingerprints. “If you have questions—”
“I do. But let’s go somewhere we won’t be overheard.” Jamey pointed at Fingerprints. “Because it’s not just him. There are four other people listening in on us from the hall.”
Fingerprints squawked. The corner of Easterby’s mouth turned up. “You find a spot. I’ll follow you.”
Jamey found a balcony off the master bedroom with a stunning view of Lake Washington and no eavesdroppers. She leaned on the railing, taking in the calm gray waters and the houses dotted in amongst the green pines on the other side of the lake. “I didn’t see a red i8 parked anywhere outside.”
“No. But there’s a ten-year-old green Hyundai on the driveway registered to a Vincent Braker. We had already theorized the suspect stole the Hyundai from the marina; seems likely they’ve switched it for Dr. Owens’ car here.”
Great. Their suspect was driving around in a flashy sports car and they were still unstoppable.
Easterby joined her at the rail. “The other thing that’s missing is Dr. Owens’ phone. Laptop, tablets, all accounted for, but no phone on the body or in the house.”
Odd. Maybe the perp snatched the phone with the car, but Jamey wouldn’t expect an empath to care much about tech; Reece didn’t like phones because he said they interfered with picking up emotions. “What’s the official explanation going to be for Owens’ death?”
Easterby sighed. “Drugs.”
“Drugs.”
“It’s the usual story.” Easterby glanced at Jamey. “But if you know Grayson, I’m guessing you know the real reason Jason Owens was suddenly filled with the desire to tear himself apart.”
Jamey glanced at Easterby’s neck. With a scar like that, so close to the jugular vein, she’d probably been lucky to escape with her life—whatever it was that this sweet, friendly doctor had needed to escape. “That depends. Are you here with Stone Solutions or are you here with Grayson?”
“My checks are signed by Cedrick Stone, but it’s all an ouroboros around the empaths,” said Easterby. “The government agency, the Empath Initiative, is supposedly at the top, but they bend over backward to give Grayson anything he wants, including agents on call. And for all its private company posturing, Stone Solutions gets obscene amounts of money from the Empath Initiative, because why spend corporate wealth when your company can get handouts from taxpayers? But that money is conditional on letting Grayson pull strings here too.”
