Pagedown? “I’d rather you didn’t,” Aisha said. “And I’ll conduct the visit on my own, thank you.”
Nichols took a breath through his nose. “Very well,” he said. “I think you shouldn’t have come today. But it’s your funeral, as the saying goes.”
He didn’t waste another moment with her, turning and striding away so abruptly that Aisha felt the raindrops that flew off his coat.
The man on the other side of the desk slid a visitor key card over to her. Aisha could see the badge that hung around his neck now:J. Higgins. “You do know Ms. Falcon is fully corrupted? That she’s extremely powerful and dangerous?”
“I know everything I need to know.” Aisha took the card. “Can I see the roster of empath residents?” Maybe Marie wasn’t going to be on it, but she needed to be sure.
“I’ll pull together an inmate list,” Higgins said, although he hadn’t looked Aisha in the eyes as he said it, and she hadn’t missed his switch fromresidentstoinmates. “Cora Falcon is in medical, sublevel two, end of the hall.”
“Medical?” Aisha said in surprise. “Is she hurt?”
“She’sfine,” Higgins said testily. “Her victims? Not so much.”
But what the hell is she doing in medical? In the basement? Why didn’t Nichols say anything about this, just now?
Aisha didn’t say it, instead gesturing above their heads. “The empaths are supposed to live on the top level.”
“Where they have the windows and pretty views while the rest of us work in a literal mine?” Higgins scoffed. “There have been a few changes around here the last few weeks. We’re not putting mass murderers in resort rooms anymore.”
Cora is only a mass murderer because Cedrick Stone and his buddies made her one for profit.Aisha bit her tongue. Grayson was going to be very interested to hear about all of this, once she had a cell signal.
She turned her back on Higgins, heading for the elevator in the corner.
Taking Reece to a car show was apparently like taking a kid to a candy store. Or, well, taking an empath to a candy store. A Canadian candy store powered by electric vehicles.
Whatever the country or metaphor, Reece had lit up like the Fourth of July. The show was a big one, with nearly two dozen manufacturers represented, and Grayson found himself being tugged by the sleeve from one end to the other.
“Evan, come look at the hybrids—”
“Evan, we don’t have this tech yet in the States—”
“Evan, they’re doing test drives—”
At one point, Reece dragged him over to a cluster of American brands. As Reece crawled inside a tiny hatchback, Grayson found himself eyeing an F-150 Lightning.
But the Dead Man didn’t get excited about horsepower, or torque, or towing capacity, or the number of electric and hybrid trucks at a show. They were here with a purpose and on a mission.
He stepped forward, to the hatchback, and ducked awkwardly to fit his head in the passenger window. Reece was sitting in the driver’s seat, examining the center console.
“Are we ever gonna look for Mr. Lane or are you fixing to play all day?”
“I’vebeenlooking,” Reece protested. “I haven’t seen that Vietnamese company yet.”
Come to think of it, neither had Grayson. He straightened up, scanning the room again.
Reece pointed. “There’s an attendant there. I’m going to ask.”
He climbed out from the car. Grayson took a step after him, and then on his wrist, his watch buzzed with an incoming call from Detective St. James.
He kept one eye on Reece and the attendant as he answered the phone. “Grayson?”
“Where the hell are you?” St. James said, her voice layered over a loud motor. “It sounds like a circus in the background.”
“Car show, which your brother is treating like the circus,” Grayson said. “Mr. Lane apparently cut town without saying goodbye and now he’s not answering his messages; it’s making his friends nervous. He’s supposed to be at this show and we’re looking for him. Where areyou? It sounds louder than a car.”
A few feet away, Reece was gesturing to the attendant.
