“Probably,” Reece agreed. “So it’s a good thing you’re just a specialist.”
Grayson cut the engine. “You’re making me consider a career change, sugar.”
Aisha had left Jamey and Liam in Prince Rupert, and now rain lashed the Stone Solutions helicopter as they flew below the cloud line, over the patchwork of islands like scattered puzzle pieces along the BC coast. Evergreen-covered mountains sprouted up straight from the sea, shorter than the Rockies Aisha had left behind but tall enough that snow dusted their tops. Around the islands, the ocean was slate gray, the sky above them hidden by the thick layer of paler gray clouds.
The Polaris Empathic Research Facility—a nice name for the corrupted empath prison—had been built into an abandoned iron-and-copper mine, dozens of miles from the boat routes that traversed the Inside Passage and invisible from air or sea. From land, if you knew where to look, you could find the new camouflaged windows and skylights that marked the empaths’ quarters, that ensured they had light, and views, and fresh air. It had been expensive to create glass that was reinforced with empathy-dampening tech, but Grayson had been clear with the Empath Initiative’s Director Traynor: all empaths had to be treated well, even the corrupted ones, or there would be no Dead Man.
The new requirements hadn’t made Grayson any friends at the agencies, particularly not with Dr. Nichols, who’d run Polaris since its creation two decades earlier. But then, Grayson would tell you himself that he didn’t have any feelings about that.
Aisha breathed through her nose, trying to settle her stomach as the helicopter flew over a rocky beach, inward toward the island’s core, and started its descent. The tops of trees came closer and closer through the raindrop-streaked windows, and she caught a flash of black moving within the green—one of the island’s many bears, perhaps.
“At least the weather’s not bad,” Tasha, the pilot, said.
Aisha turned and stared at her.
Tasha shrugged. “Rain’s not sideways,” she said. “Happens often enough in fall and winter.”
There was a small helipad created on a crumbling concrete foundation that had once upon a time been a lodging house for miners. Today, greenery twisted along the remains of the walls, and two people in slickers and tall galoshes were waiting for their landing. A third person stood apart, a white man with brown hair and glasses, dressed in a long raincoat somewhere between khaki and green and holding a large umbrella open over his head.
Dr. Victor Nichols, who ran the facility. He’d come personally. Interesting.
One of the men in galoshes opened the helicopter’s passenger door. Nichols stepped forward and offered his hand. “Dr. Easterby. This is a surprise.”
Aisha took his hand and let him help her down from the helicopter, not trusting her unsteady stomach or legs. His hand was cold, as were the pale eyes studying her. “My apologies for the short notice, Dr. Nichols,” she said, affecting a courteous tone she absolutely didn’t feel. He didn’t like her much; the feeling was mutual. “Agent Grayson felt the visit couldn’t wait.”
She’d never actually come without Grayson before. There was no cell service, just the company satellites, and for safety’s sake it always seemed better to come with company. But if Marie Pelletier had somehow become corrupted and been brought here, they needed to know. And Aisha wasn’t alone; she had Jamey on her way.
Still, dropping Grayson’s name had the desired effect of making Nichols straighten.
“Of course,” he said, more deferentially. “We’re at his disposal.”
“Great,” she said, smiling blandly. “Lead the way.”
An umbrella was produced for her, and she followed Nichols across the helipad and onto the dirt.
“How long are you staying?” Nichols asked, as they passed the rusted walls and crumbling bricks that used to be a storage facility for equipment.
“I was only planning on the day,” she said. “Agent Grayson is expecting a report tonight.”
In other words,everything better fucking be in order with the empaths, asshole.
Beyond the remains of a handful of buildings was the mouth of the mine—not much taller than Grayson, looking for all the world like a cave or break in the rocks. No hint to all of the surveillance right there at the opening, from drones to infrared technology scanning for body heat, or to the state-of-the-art facility hiding just within.
Aisha’s stomach still hadn’t settled, but the bumpy helicopter ride was most likely to blame. She took another breath and followed Nichols into the mine.
Just beyond the mouth, there was a solid iron door with a touch pad next to the handle. Nichols scanned his thumb, then hefted open the door so they could step into the lobby. There was of course no receptionist, but there was a check-in desk at one end of the lobby, and a white man in a lab coat was behind it, working at a computer.
Nichols looked down at her without smiling. “Did you have a specific request while here?”
“I’d like to visit with the new residents.”
“We’ve only added one empath since your last visit, and that’s Cora Falcon.” Nichols’ mouth had pinched. “Were you expecting someone else to be here?”
Was she? Marie Pelletier had been in Prince Rupert and now she was missing. It was a hell of a coincidence, but surely Polaris wasn’t kidnapping empaths off the street without involving Stone Solutions and the Dead Man?
“No one else,” Aisha finally said. “But I’d like to see Ms. Falcon straightaway.”
Nichols stepped across the lobby to the desk. “We’re visiting our newest guest,” he said to the man in the lab coat, whose eyebrows went up. “Will you page down and let security know?”
