She made her way toward the door, where Beau was standing in a knot of people, shaking hands and exchanging serious nods. Paying absolutely no attention to her. Perfect.
But as she passed, he turned his head in her direction. “Gretel!” he called. “Come say hi!”
Gretel paused, plastering a smile to her lips. “Hi,” she said to the group of various men and women, giving a polite wave.
Beau had his company smile on, as fake as hers. “We were just talking about the privacy conference—”
“At Rainier University on Monday and Tuesday, the one AMI is sponsoring,” Gretel finished for him. “Vivian Marist, president of Stone Solutions Canada, is presenting the keynote in place of Cedrick Stone. The Empath Initiative just released a statement half an hour ago backing her oversight of the US side of Stone Solutions while Stone’s condition remains uncertain. She’s been your friend since her staffer days for Senator Hathaway, right, Dad?”
Beau looked pained at her interruption, as he always did when Gretel accidentally overshared about her special interests and endangered her ability to pass as normal in public. “Gretel is a very thorough researcher,” he said quickly to the group. “She runs a little side project for AMI all by herself, you know.”
The smile abruptly left Gretel’s face.
“In fact...” Beau shifted closer. “Did you get an article about tonight up already?”
Ah. He hadn’t stopped her to introduce her to his colleagues; this was all he wanted. “Of course,” she said coolly.
“Great. Make sure that gets sent out to all of our AMI listserv subscribers.” Beau turned right back to his circle, giving her no chance to explain thatEyes on Empathswasn’t part of AMI.
She gritted her teeth and stepped out through the doors, pulling her phone back out as she did so. She stopped by the wall for a moment and opened her email app, navigating to her dad’s email.
Sure, she’d send out the article and make him look good. She’d also take a quick glance through Beau’s mail for anything that would make a more interesting blog post than that speech.
Her eyes scanned the subject lines in his inbox, then paused.
Empath found murdered in Vermont
It had come from someone with anempathinitiative.govemail address. Gretel’s eyebrows flew up.
“Gretel Macy? FromEyes on Empaths?”
She turned in surprise to see a good-looking guy coming her way. He was probably a few years younger than she was, early twenties maybe, with blond-brown hair, hazel eyes behind glasses, and an apologetic smile.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, you must get swarmed everywhere you go,” he said, stopping a couple feet away. He had a trace of an accent, like he’d grown up in the South, and he still wore his winter coat, hat, scarf, and a pair of black gloves, like he’d just walked into the building from the cold evening. “Everyone probably wants to ask how you run something as big and important asEyes on Empathsby yourself.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Gretel hurried to say, as she quickly stuffed her phone back into her purse. She straightened, which in her heels made her taller than he was. She was going to read that email, but most of AMI thought she was nothing but a useless and entitled daddy’s girl. This guy had her complete attention. “That’s very kind, thank you.”
“No, thankyou,” he said. “I can’t believe I get to meet you.”
There was something familiar about him. It took her a moment to place it, but then it came to her. “I think I’ve seen you before,” she said. “You were here a couple weeks ago, weren’t you? The night that empath broke in?”
“Oh, you remember me?” He looked surprised and pleased. “I wanted to say hi that night, but things got a bit out of control, didn’t they? I was covering the conference for my blog. It’s a small one,” he added. “Nothing likeEyes on Empaths. You’re number one in the Pacific Northwest for a good reason; the gold standard for empath blogs.”
“You run an empath blog too?” No way she was leaving without this guy’s number. Gretel had a real smile for him as she shifted her bag to her shoulder so she could hold out her hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”
He took her hand with his own gloved one. “I’m Alex.”
Burlington was even colder than DC, the snowflakes smaller and icier. The wind had an almost glacial bite, like a front had come to Vermont by way of the Arctic, stinging Grayson’s face the instant the airport’s automatic doors opened and he stepped outside. He ignored it and crossed the street, the keys to his rental in his pants pocket.
The parking lot was brightly lit against the dark night sky, and as he came up on his SUV, he caught his reflection in the window. His new hat wasn’t particularly flattering; like most things designed to fit average-height people, it was too small, stretched too tightly over his head. But it was all they’d had available in the shop in Dulles.
An image rose in his mind and he let it fully form: Reece, caught on the Stone Solutions security footage, wearing Grayson’s old hat with its stains from the spilled caramel almond milk steamer. Reece’s eyes had been wide and frightened behind the borrowed glasses as three angry guards got off the elevator.
Obviously an empath wasn’t supposed to be breaking and entering into the nation’s number one empath defense facility. It had shocked almost everyone, because most folks thought empaths were unwaveringly law-abiding. But that was bullshit; empaths followed laws, sure, but they were truly driven by their own moral compasses. If the law and their morals were ever in conflict, they immediately and unapologetically shifted into pint-size pacifist vigilantes.
Reece had been in Stone Solutions because he wanted to help, wanted to find answers to explain how his friend became a sadistic murderer overnight. But the guards who caught him had been needlessly rough, and Grayson had found Reece bruised and bleeding. Empaths made easy targets, after all—unwilling to chance hurting others and completely unable to defend themselves.
But that’s when the Dead Man stepped in. Grayson could hit back.
