If Grayson had been like everyone else, Reece would’ve heard that lie. There was something in the apartment Grayson wanted a lot more than Reece’s vegan sugar-bombs. Didn’t help that Reece was stretched out on the bed with messy hair and soft eyes, bundled in that too-big hoodie that fit him better. No gloves between them. Reece had touch-starved himself into misery out of worry for others, and Grayson’s body would have happily volunteered for all of the touch Reece could need or want.
But it obviously wasn’t an option, for those million and one reasons that formed the gulf between the Dead Man and an empath, especially an empath flirting with corruption. His touch was dead enough to knock Reece out, and even if it was possible to get past that, possible for Reece to get used to his touch the way he’d gotten used to his voice, they couldn’t find out, because the Dead Man had a responsibility to keep the world safe and keep all his weapons against a potentially corrupted empath.
The two of them couldn’t touch.
And theyshouldn’ttouch.
Grayson’s mind knew this.
His body, however, didn’t much care about thosecouldn’tsandshouldn’ts.
His body wanted to break the damn bed.
“I got some investigating to do this morning,” Grayson said, veering the subject far away from those thoughts. He’d tell Reece about Stensby a little later; at least let him wake up before having to stomach that.
“Oh yeah?” Reece rolled onto his stomach, wrapping his arms under his pillow, his expression too innocent. “Somewhere we need to drive to?”
“SomewhereImight need to drive to, maybe,” Grayson said dryly.
“Oh, come on,” said Reece. “What’s a boy have to do to get your truck keys?”
Grayson took a bite. “Steal them.”
Reece sighed dramatically and rested his chin on the pillow, gaze on Grayson. “So what’s the news you’re not telling me?”
Grayson’s eyebrows went up. “What makes you think I’m not telling you something?”
“Because you’re standing exactly like Jamey does when she’s stalling on sharing something I won’t want to hear,” said Reece. “You two are so much alike.”
Grayson leaned back against the counter with his bowl. Another thing to keep in mind: St. James gave Reece a window into Grayson that most empaths didn’t have. Another reason the Dead Man couldn’t afford to lose any more of his defenses when Reece was concerned.
“Just spit it out,” Reece said. “Waiting makes the anxiety worse.”
“If you say so,” Grayson muttered. More clearly, he said, “Officer Stensby’s car turned up smashed to pieces last night. Stensby himself is missing.”
Reece went very pale. “Is it—does it have anything to do with—”
“What he did toyourcar?”
Reece swallowed and nodded.
“Don’t know,” Grayson said honestly. “Your sister tasked me with stopping you from turning up on the scene like you have a bad habit of doing.”
Reece frowned. “I have Stensby’s number,” he said, reaching for his phone. “I can call—”
“Someone else has his phone,” Grayson reminded him. “Whoever called your sister to tell her that Stensby had sabotaged your brakes.”
“Then I’ll call whoever that person is,” Reece said. “Maybe they’re still with Stensby, or maybe they know what happened—”
“Or maybe the pacifist empathdoesn’tcall the number of a man who tried to kill him,” Grayson said bluntly, “and he lets his detective sister with her superhuman strength handle it.”
Reece huffed.
“Detective St. James tried calling and got voicemail; she thinks the phone’s probably been ditched in the ocean somewhere,” Grayson said. “I got another job anyway, which is figuring out who was behind the wheel of that Hellcat.”
“So what’smyjob?” Reece said.
“Looking cute in that hoodie. And you’re already real good at it.”
