Jamey made a noncommittal noise.
“If I had an empath brother, I’d keep him far away from Agent Grayson,” said Nolan. “The stories they whisper about Grayson at the Bureau—they make the Hathaway bloodbath look like a warm and fuzzy way to die.”
Jamey had chased rumors too, of unspeakable actions covered up before any proof could be found—actions that would have been hard for even her to pull off, as strong and iron-stomached as she was.
She’d assumed if she ever met the Dead Man, he’d be coming for Reece, and she’d be making that moniker more than a nickname. But now, faced with the truth behind the Hathaway murders, she was no longer sure she should be so quick to judge Grayson. “Their partnership is a temporary and necessary evil. It doesn’t mean I trust him.”
“I don’t trust him either,” Nolan said. “He took something from the murder scene.”
She paused, burger in hand. “What?”
“I don’t know. Something from the engine room. Small enough to fit in a paper bag.”
Grayson hadn’t told her he’d absconded with extra evidence. Trying to solve a case with the Dead Man was worse than playing poker with an empath. You still lost, but at least the empath gave back all your chips at the end.
Nolan cleared his throat. “There’s more, but—” He glanced at the door again, like he was expecting someone to sneak up on him. “Agent Grayson probably wouldn’t like it if I told you.”
She furrowed her brow. “Why?”
“It’s about your brother.”
“Tell me,” she said instantly, leaning forward.
Nolan glanced at the door again, then leaned forward too. “Agent Grayson asked about Reece. By name. Lots of questions, including about what happened in the ambulance with Braker.”
Grayson hadn’t told her that either. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. Even when he tried to make me.” Nolan’s jaw tightened. “I have bruises from where he slammed me against his truck, and the FBI told me to suck it up.”
Grayson’s truck, which he’d said was in the shop, getting detail work done on the passenger door. Fucking hell.
Jamey sat back in her seat. “Um, thank you,” she finally said.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’d never sell an empath out to the Dead Man,” Nolan said. “I have some friends at the Bureau’s Seattle division. I could get a couple agents to follow Agent Grayson and Reece, off the record. They could keep an eye from a distance, then report back to us.”
He met her eyes. “They wouldn’t interfere, and Grayson never has to know. All I need to set it up is to know where Agent Grayson and Reece are going next.”
Grayson had roughed up an FBI agent.
Reece was half Nolan’s size.
“They’re en route to Stone Solutions.”
The corner of Nolan’s mouth turned up. “I’ll make the call.”
STONE SOLUTIONS
Defending American Minds.
Reece glared at the enormous plaque dominating the entrance to the Stone Solutions campus in Bellevue. Beyond the sign were several buildings, the tallest a gaudy high-rise of sparkling glass that presided over a parking garage like an overdressed king.
His gloves prickled uncomfortably. “Welcoming.”
“I’m told those afraid of empaths find it pretty comforting. You ever gonna turn in?”
Reece ignored him. “Big building,” he said, as he idled at the entrance. “Guess there’s big money in anti-empathy defenses.”
“There is.”
