Grayson shined his flashlight’s beam on the ground. The body had been found that morning, but according to the day’s weather report, it had been snowing intermittently ever since. There was nothing to see now, not even an impression of the corpse left behind. Hopefully local PD had taken pictures and samples before it all got covered up.
He straightened, shining his flashlight around the trees. Bare branches stretched in every direction, their shadows distorted, falling in unexpected patterns. Someone had murdered an empath and left her body in this park. It wasn’t a huge park, and it wasn’t immediately within the city, but people had to come and go. As hiding places went, this one sucked.
Not hiding the body, then. The killer wanted it to be found? Wanted people to know they’d killed an empath—might be looking to kill another one?
He spent a few more minutes walking around the scene, but there was nothing to see, hear, or smell beyond fresh snow. Nothing he could do here tonight; might as well hit the hotel after all, maybe get a few hours’ sleep.
He headed back to his car. As he reached the door, he got another text.
Reece: I mean, you do date or whatever, right?
Grayson raised an eyebrow as he opened the door. He climbed into the car, turning the engine on and the heat up.
Grayson: Think that depends on what you mean by “whatever.”
Reece: Empath here. I can tell you that biological drives and emotions aren’t the same thing. Some people want feelings before sex, some people want sex without feelings, some people don’t want sex OR feelings, and so on. I don’t know where you fit in, but if sex IS on the table, why wouldn’t you have a dating profile?
Grayson leaned back against the driver’s seat as he responded.
Grayson: I’m still stuck on who exactly you think the Dead Man is gonna date.
Reece: Well, if zombies aren’t your type, who is?
Memories teased at the back of Grayson’s mind: a girl in a cheerleading uniform, grinning as she hit a pike on the sidelines of a college football field; a boy in sunglasses and a damp T-shirt, basking under the Hill Country sun on a reddish-brown rock at the edge of a giant lake.
Grayson blinked and the memories vanished.
Except now he was remembering Reece, overgrown dark hair and giant brown eyes, lectures and grudging smiles from behind the wheel of the Smart car.
Grayson ran his thumb along the edge of the phone and then typed out his text.
Grayson: Backseat drivers.
He pulled out of the parking lot as the response came in.
Reece: You think you’re funny, don’t you?
Grayson: The bossier the better.
Reece: Yeah, well, I hope you don’t fuck as bad as you drive.
Grayson: Keep talking dirty to me, sugar.
CHAPTER FOUR
From:Holt Traynor
To:Beau Macy
CC:Vivian Marist
Subject:Empath found murdered in Vermont
It hasn’t hit the news yet, but it’s just a matter of time. There’s no way to keep something like this quiet. If AMI wants to make a statement, I’ll have my secretary reach out.
Vivian Marist feltthe pressure change in her ears as the Stone Solutions corporate jet started its descent into the Seattle area. She set her wineglass on the table as she smiled at Empath Initiative Director Traynor, who had just put his phone away. “Stone Solutions does appreciate EI giving AMI a little warning about this empath murder,” she said.
They’d chosen to sit in the grouping of four seats that flanked the built-in conference table at the rear of the plane. In the leather recliner to Marist’s left, Victor Nichols was on his own phone, ignoring the window and the lights of Seattle’s outskirts as they came into view.
