Because there he was on-screen, on hands and knees on the wet sidewalk in front of police headquarters. The frame tastefully ended just above the actual puking, but a screaming caption proclaimed,Empath police consultant Reece Davies vomits on news of senator’s murder.And of course the video somehow didn’t captureGrayson, the reason Reece had thrown up in the first place.
“Perhaps we should step into my office?” Adams said pointedly.
Reece looked around and realized that while there were only a handful of people in the reception area, every last one was staring at him. He flinched. “Yes, please.”
Adams’ office was a small space with mismatched furniture and a view of the side of the high-rise next door. A commendation from the mayor and two degrees from colleges even Reece recognized hung right behind the desk where any guest in the office would have to see them. The office was as tidy as Adams’ hair, but it was also near the communal kitchen and smelled like an overfull fridge past due to be cleaned.
Adams sat behind his desk and made a hollow gesture at the single chair for guests. Reece hovered by the wall as Grayson shut the door, expecting Grayson to take it.
“Sit, Mr. Davies.”
Or not. Maybe the Dead Man had manners. Sort of.
Reece took a seat, his eyes immediately drawn to the large photo in a flashy frame that was prominently displayed on the desk. It looked like a recent picture of Adams with two others, Senator Hathaway and a suited white man who was somehow familiar. The three of them were posed in front of dark windows, the wordsYokota’s Sushi Houseabove their heads. Hathaway and the suited man had their arms around each other with the platonic familiarity of longtime colleagues, and the suited man had his other arm draped over Adams’ shoulders. Adams was holding a small blue gift bag, and while he was smiling for the camera, his eyes were on the suited man.
Reece couldn’t read a picture like he could a flesh-and-blood person, but he could hazard a guess as to the kind of man who schmoozed like that with a senator and her PA. He pointed to the suited man. “Who’s the douchebag?”
Adams bristled in instant offense, his hand wrapping around the sleek smart watch on his wrist.
Oops.
Grayson leaned back against the wall. “That’s Cedrick Stone. He’s CEO of Stone Solutions.”
Oh. Reece looked at the picture again. Yes, that was the smarmy face from TV, the one who promised that his products were the key to keeping American minds safe from empathy.
“He’s a brilliant inventor,” Adams said, and that note of sycophantic fanboyishness sure explained the prominence of the picture. He looked at Reece’s gloved hands, and his lip curled. “Of course, someone like you might struggle to see that.”
Someone like you. Reece narrowed his eyes. “I see he took you to a fancy restaurant on what I’m guessing was your birthday, not the kind of place a government worker gets to go on their own dime. I’d also guess that gift bag held the watch you’re fondling and I bet he convinced you not to document any of it for the taxpayers, claiming it was allbetween friends, so I also see that he’s the kind of man who doesn’t hesitate to use his money to manipulate anyone both useful to him and sad enough to fall for—” Reece bit his lip before he could keep talking.
Too late. Adams was red-faced and reaching for his phone. “Empathy?In this office? The police will—”
“It wasn’t.” Reece held up his gloved hands. “Fully muzzled and I’ve had all my shots.”
“But—”
“Don’t you have faith in your hero’s brilliant inventions? I’m not using empathy. I don’t need it when you’re a billboard.”
Adams went a deeper shade of red. “You’re exactly the reason we need Mr. Stone,” he hissed. “Who knows where the world would be if we hadn’t had him to counter the empath emergence?”
“You’d all be screwed,” said Reece, “because these gloves are the only thing that keeps me from turning you into the next minion in my bisexual harem. If I took them off, it’d be nothing but emotional slavery for everyone from here to Tacoma.”
Adams’ jaw dropped. Grayson tilted his head, eyes boring into Reece.
“That was sarcasm,” Reece quickly said. “Very, very sarcastic sarcasm. The gloves don’t stop us from anything but accidental reads.”
“All the more reason we need the safeguards of Mr. Stone’s products and Hannah’s bill,” Adams said emphatically.
Reece sat back in the chair with a huff. “You do realize that I would never—” His eyes fell on Adams’ corkboard. “Never mind. You really do think I’m two seconds away from emotionally enslaving the greater metropolitan area.”
Adams drew back. “If you’re reading me—”
“You’re an AMI member.” Reece pointed to theAmerican Minds Intactpropaganda neatly pinned to the board: rally posters, flyers, bumper stickers. “Believe me, I’m familiar withthatname.” It also meant Reece really needed to skip the sarcasm, because Adams was likely to take it seriously. MostEyes on Empathsreaders were also AMI members. “No wonder you’re such a fan of Cedrick Stone.”
“AMI is a valued team player in this office,” Adams said haughtily. “So is Mr. Stone.”
Reece’s mouth started moving again. “You mean they poured money into Hathaway’s campaign so she’d push the bills they want, because I bet you’re not the only viper in this pit whose loyalty can bought—”
The flash of shame at his own words made Reece clamp his teeth down on his lip, hard enough to sting. Adams got under his skin, but that was no way to talk about the dead.
