Oh. He could have called her instead of inviting himself over. She’d been on her way back from Port Angeles; he could have taken Reece to her house and waited for her, then gone to a hotel or caught a few hours of sleep in his truck.
His gaze darted to Reece again. He’d slept in Grayson’s too-big hoodie all night. The hood was bunched at the back of his head on the pillow, and his face was the most peaceful he’d ever seen it.
No, Grayson definitely needed to be the one who stayed over. To protect Reece—which was of course to protect the cityfromReece. Obviously.
“Who was following him?” St. James said.
“Don’t know yet,” Grayson admitted. He gave her all the details Reece had given him, from the chase to the emails to the man outside the building.
“Shit,” she muttered, when he finished. “Aisha told me the body in Vermont wasn’t really an empath. Someone wanted you in Burlington. Or didn’t want you here. Can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want you around when you’re so good at sharing vital information about their brother’s stalkers.”
Maybe Reece had learned his sarcasm from his big sister, not the other way around. “The real Marie Pelletier is still missing from Montreal.”
“I know,” St. James said grimly. “Aisha said she’s going to visit her roommate and get more details. Meanwhile Reece gets his car sabotaged and almost gets himself empath-napped. I still don’t understand why he didn’t tell me any of this.”
“Got himself twisted up thinking he thralled you as a baby,” Grayson said, which made St. James groan. “Think I straightened him out on the whole empaths and their siblings, though.”
“Maybe he’ll listen to you where he didn’t listen to me,” she said grudgingly. “Obviously you know what you’re talking about.”
Memories started to rise: a ranch set on acres of rolling, tree-covered hills; the smell of horses; tumbling out of a barn hayloft and already so different from other kids that he only skinned his knee when he should have broken his leg. His tiny brother, putting too many Band-Aids on the cut, lisping through his missing front teeth,Gonna take all your pain away so you don’t hurt anymore.
A different part of Texas, flat and endless; his brother, bigger now, but still so much smaller than he was; the scorching heat of flames underground, and the sound of gunfire.
Nothing hurting anymore.
“For the record, I didn’t tell Reece the parasite theory,” St. James said. “I still think it’s fucked up.”
Grayson blinked, and the memories were gone. “Lot of fucked-up empath theories out there.”
He hesitated. He barely knew St. James, when it came right down to things, but he trusted her and had done from the moment she’d pulled a gun on him to protect her empath brother.
“Brand-new one catching fire, according to the EI director,” he admitted. “Predator theory.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” She sounded aghast. “Please tell me that’s not what it sounds like.”
“You know it is.”
“Have the people who come up with this shit ever met an empath?” She muttered a curse. “Let me talk to Reece.”
He glanced back at the bed, at Reece sprawled peacefully in the hoodie. “He’s sleeping like a baby right now. How often do you think that happens?”
“Are youbraggingthat you made him feel safe enough to sleep?”
“No.” Was he? “’Course not,” Grayson said, and he was definitely talking to St. James and not himself. “I’m just saying we oughta let him sleep a little longer.”
“Right,” she said, drawing the word out skeptically. “I got coordinates from Lieutenant Parson; I’m going to join him at Stensby’s car, see what I can learn. Don’t bring Reece there.”
Obviously Grayson wasn’t bringing Reece to the scene of any kind of violence, but she was probably still mad at him so he let it go. “If you’re taking care of that, I’ll find whoever’s been tailing Reece.”
“Start with the coffee shop across the street,” said Jamey.
“Pretty sure a man in camouflage and a balaclava wasn’t sipping gingerbread lattes or peppermint mochas on spy duty,” Grayson pointed out.
“No, but the coffee shop has been running a holiday promotion this week—tag them on social media and get a free cookie. Check their accounts at the times Reece saw him; bet you’ll find at least one photo of beaming tourists with Balaclava Camo Man in the background.”
Oh. “That’s a good idea,” Grayson admitted.
“Almost like I was a detective,” Jamey said dryly. “And what do we do with Reece?”
