Oh, Grayson should not be saying that kind of thing; it was just adding fuel to the fire that wasn’t supposed to be burning for Reece in the first place. But a smile curled on Reece’s lips, easing some of the distress from the news about Stensby.
Then his smile faded. “I talked to Stensby yesterday, at that bakery in Everett. Looked right into his eyes. And the guy in the balaclava; I looked right into his eyes too.”
Grayson stilled. In other circumstances, this conversation might be about to go south real fast. But Reece’s voice had gotten smaller, and he’d hunched into the hoodie.
“So, um.” Reece bit his lip. “That means I might be able to use that insight ability, right? Like I did in November, to figure out what was going on with Senator Hathaway’s PA, and to figure out what was going on at McFeely’s? The ability you said helps empaths connect the dots about people in ways no one should be able to?”
Grayson shrugged, watching him. “It helps a certain kind of empath connect the dots, usually.”
Reece buried his face against the pillow. “I don’t want you and Jamey to have to do all this work because of me,” he said, somewhat muffled. “I don’t want to put either of you through this. And I could make it so much easier on you both, but I don’t want to use insight either—it’s too much, too violating, I don’t ever want to use it on purpose—”
“Good,” Grayson said, which made Reece still. “That’s agoodthing. I told you, back on the Hathaway investigation, that I wasn’t willing to throw empaths on the altar. I’m not willing to use empaths in ways that could hurt them or corrupt them. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”
Reece lifted his head, just enough Grayson could see his eyes. “Even if it could solve the case?”
“There are no circumstances worth the consequences,” Grayson said. “Insight isn’t an option and never will be, because using it on purpose is a one-way street. You ever cross that line, you’re not coming back, Reece. And then the Dead Man will have to step in.”
Reece swallowed. “Okay,” he said, blowing out a breath. “But you have to let me help you and Jamey somehow.”
Reece shouldn’t be put through more stress, but there was a plea in his voice, and he’d already seen the guy in camouflage. Maybe he’d see something in the picture Grayson hadn’t.
Grayson set the bowl on the counter and picked up his phone, unlocking it and walking over to hand it to Reece. “Tell me what you make of this. And take the phonecarefully.”
“Iknow.”
Reece stretched out his arm, still lying on the bed on his stomach as he gingerly took the phone. Their fingers came within two inches of each other, and Grayson should have just texted him the link because this was torturing his body with what it could never have.
He stepped back—not as far as he ought to have—as Reece considered the picture. “His gloves are weird.”
“Tactical hard knuckle gloves,” Grayson said. “Could be military.”
“Not the knuckles,” said Reece. “Last night, when he had his hand on me—”
“He laid hands on you?”
Reece glanced up. “Yeah,” he said. “He wasscaredof me.” He winced. “I mean, even before I projected and made him afraid.”
Someone had been who-knew-how rough with Reece and the empath was more upset that the man had been scared. Grayson bit back several choice words about that and instead said, “You felt his fear?”
“Through the glove,” Reece said. “But it was—patchy, if that makes sense? Like a radio signal that’s not coming all the way through? He seemed really surprised I felt anything at all.”
Interesting. Grayson dropped onto the couch, reaching into his bag and pulling out his laptop.
Reece tilted his head. “Does that mean something to you?”
“Man in military gear, afraid of empaths, thought he could touch you without you feeling his fear.” Grayson popped some words into the search engine, and then turned the laptop around to show Reece. “And look at this: we got a brand of tactical gear that claims their gloves can even block empathy.”
Reece raised his eyebrows. “I thought the materials in empath gloves were highly classified.”
“They are. And Stone Solutions guards that secret like dragons guard gold.” Grayson turned the laptop back to himself and added some more search terms. “But there’s a market for fakes for folks who want to buy offensive protection. Your stalker must have believed the gloves would work against your empathy and been real surprised to find out they didn’t.”
“Bet he’s an AMI member,” Reece said bitterly. “Xenophobes are the easiest prey. They’re so afraid of others they’ll pay for everything from guns to AMI dues.”
“Or fake empath gloves, apparently.” Grayson pulled up a website. “There’s an airsoft course to the south that sells this brand in their shop.”
Reece swallowed. “Some of the SPD officers are airsoft fans. Like...well.”
“Stensby?”
