It was time to share his private theory with her. “You ever even heard of a corrupted empath causing the death of another empath?”
“Cora Falcon lured Reece Davies to her to—” Easterby cut it off. “Not to kill him. Tochangehim. To make another corrupted empath—shit, Evan, you think they want to make more of themselves?”
“I started to wonder after San Francisco.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Seattle makes it seem even more likely.”
“Everyone’s been assuming they operate as isolated killers, but we always stop them early. If their intent is actually to seek each other out...” She let out another quiet curse. “Have you told anyone else?”
“How well would that go over?” he said dryly.
“I don’t even want to think about it,” she said. “I saw the email you forwarded from Director Traynor, with that batshit predator theory. If some of the scientists at Stone Solutions or EI get both these theories, they’ll claim empaths are out there hunting people like wolf packs—claim we have to go on the offensive against them, and it’s the pacifists who’ll get hurt—”
“I know,” Grayson said. “I don’t plan on telling the agencies. But it means I don’t believe that any empath’s thrall killed Ms. Pelletier here in Burlington, and I’m real curious why someone made sure witnesses saw a man who would appear like a thrall to those in the know.”
“I was thinking the killer is someone who has it out for empaths,” said Easterby. “But barely anyone knows empaths are capable of making thralls. So what kind of killer are we even looking for?” She sighed, short and frustrated. “I’m heading out to Montreal,” she said. “Picking up my rental car in thirty minutes. Drive shouldn’t be too bad except it’s snowing again. I’ll call you later.”
After they hung up, he set his phone on the bed and stared at the artwork on the hotel wall, a print of Lake Champlain in the vivid colors of a Vermont fall. The empath-tracking map was still open on his laptop on the desk, blue dots sprinkled over the satellite landscape like the bluebonnets of a Texas spring.
They now had two empath cases, both complicated by international factors that kept Grayson in the dark. He was out here chasing leads in Vermont, Easterby between cities in Canada, St. James and Mr. Lee kept busy in Port Angeles.
Grayson’s gaze drifted to the map’s West Coast and the solitary dot in Seattle. Reece, an empath in a liminal state between pacifist and killer, all by himself now.
Really, truly, all by himself, actually, with both his sister and Grayson out of his reach.
Grayson paused.
That sure was a coincidence.
He reached for his phone again. It was early afternoon on the East Coast; over in Seattle, even an insomniac like Reece ought to be up by now.
As he unlocked the screen, the picture of Marie Pelletier’s hand lit up, the last thing he’d been looking at.
Grayson paused again. The mark was hand-drawn and messy, but now, with the phone at a diagonal, it no longer looked like a lowercase “L.”
He turned the phone fully horizontal. Ms. Pelletier had been wearing a pendant withJohn 3:16engraved on the back, and with her hand at the new angle, now Grayson was looking at a symbol to match.
He tossed the phone on the bed and crossed to his laptop. He closed the tracker, then pulled up a search engine. This time, he found what he needed within minutes. He scrolled through the social media feed of Disciple Road, a Christian rock band that had performed at St. Sebastian’s University outside of Burlington the night before, scanning pictures of the set. They’d performed in the chapel: there were crosses on the band members’ shirts, painted on the drums, emblazoned on the banner hanging behind the band. A giant carved wooden cross, including the body of Christ, hung from the ceiling over the stage.
He slammed his laptop shut, grabbed his duffel and rental keys, and was out the door three minutes later.
CHAPTER NINE
All predators can be defeated. It’s simply a matter of finding something more dangerous to take them down.
And if you can’t find a bigger monster to fight them?
You create one.
—COMMENT BY [REDACTED] ON [REDACTED] MANUAL
The midday skywas a lightish gray as Reece drove north on I-5 toward the doughnut shop Officer Stensby had named, replaying their conversation in his head.
Can you meet me in person?Stensby had said, when he’d called earlier that morning.
I guess, Reece had said, even though he was hellishly confused. He and Stensby had worked several cases together and knocked heads on every one. As far as Reece could tell, Stensby didn’t much like or trust empaths, but he’d been the first one to try to pressure Reece to cross boundaries when it came to witnesses.
Look, I can’t talk about it over the phone, Stensby had said that morning.But it has to do with your sister.
There better not be anyone messing with Jamey. All empaths had their trigger points, after all, and Reece was all too aware another move against his sister might send him spiraling to a place he couldn’t return from.
