Chapter One
... Nowhere is the danger of empathy more greatly illustrated than by the recent events in British Columbia: the sabotage and jailbreak at our Polaris Empathic Research Institute; the violent deaths of so many of Dr. Nichols’s valuable scientists; the Vancouver ambush on Empath Initiative director Holt Traynor, who remains missing; and the subsequent raid on one of Stone Solutions’ Canadian offices.
There are those who would claim these actions illustrate only the danger ofcorruptedempathy; who would protest the three empaths who carried out these actions were previously pacifists incapable of harm. But we must remember thateverypacifist empath is a ticking bomb with the potential to transform into a superhuman sadist, like the three corrupted empaths we now must catch.
The events in British Columbia will not go unmet. We cannot tell the public the entire truth about empaths, but we will secure its unwavering support for our institution nonetheless. The empaths have their paranormal abilities, but we have opposed them since the emergence and are stronger and far more dangerous than they will ever anticipate.
They will find themselves cornered, captured and contained.
To that end, I’m coming out of retirement to handle this personally.
—Excerpt from a confidential internal memo at Stone Solutions
If Evan Grayson had been asked if it’d be hard to catch three corrupted empaths who’d raised hell in BC, he would’ve saidno. Didn’t matter that one of the empaths was his little brother, or that another had been a sunshiny therapist, or that the third looked real cute in an oversized hoodie. Grayson was the Dead Man: an elite anti-empathy defense without emotion or attachment; a perfectly engineered empath hunter, backed by the world’s most powerful anti-empathy institutions and uniquely capable of finding and neutralizing any empath.
Or at least, he was supposed to be. But maybe that third empath had scrambled Grayson’s good sense in the back seat of a truck and left his dick running the show, because here he was, days later, fully unable to stop shit.
“Are you kidding me?” Briony St. James’s voice came through Grayson’s Bluetooth earpiece as he tore down the Bellevue street, pushing the rental Prius to its limits. “How did they get past the new security?”
“I don’t know yet.” Grayson swerved past a Hyundai, which honked angrily at him. “But they set off alarms on thirteen of the twenty-two floors. They got in and they’re not hiding.”
The Prius’s tires screeched as he made a sharp right turn into the parking lot and blew past the familiar sign.
STONE SOLUTIONS
DEFENDING AMERICAN MINDS
“Of all possible targets, they went for the flagship empathy defense facility.Again.Why? What is still here that could possibly be worth the risk?” There was a honk in St. James’s background now. “Though I suppose it won’t do us much good to catch them when your brother took out the Polaris empath prison.”
“Oh, I’ll find somewhere new to stash them,” Grayson promised as he sliced through the parking lot and pulled the car right up to the building’s front curb. “And I’m not playing nice this time. I’m gonna find a dungeon and throw away the key.”
“Hey,” St. James said in his ear. “That is Reece you’re talking about.”
“And he’s getting chained him up right next to Ms. Falcon and Alex.” Grayson cut the engine. “You gonna catch your homicidal baby brother or mine?”
“We’ll draw straws. Winner also gets to nab the killer therapist.”
The line dropped. As he stepped from the car, St. James was already turning into the parking lot, in her boyfriend’s borrowed Corolla from the looks of it, though in fairness, it wasn’t like the past few weeks had left her any time to replace the Charger she’d driven as a detective on the Seattle police force. A moment later, she’d pulled behind the rental and leaped out to join him.
They drew their weapons in unison. Stone Solutions’ sliding glass front doors parted for them—unlocked already, not a great sign at this hour—and they stepped together into the cavernous lobby. The white leather furniture seemed particularly bright at night, flanked by glass coffee and end tables all topped with an array of magazines. The three flat-screen televisions on the wall were currently dark, the lobby’s lights reflecting off theglass frame of the large poster that readWe Support S.B. 1437: Protect American Minds.
“Didn’t you used to have a tracker on your truck?” St. James had automatically taken point, putting herself in the most exposed and dangerous position. “Why haven’t we used that to find them?”
“This is your brother the car wizard we’re talking about.” Grayson tried to subtly shift in front of her and make himself the bigger target. “My tracker didn’t make it fifteen minutes before he found it—”
“Evan, get the hell behind me and stay there,” St. James snapped. “Maybe all the normal girls and boys swoon for that overprotective tough guy act, but save it for people who can’t kick your ass.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Grayson muttered, falling back a step to cover her six.
They crossed the Stone Solutions lobby on near-silent feet. Grayson kept his senses on high alert to catch any movement, noises, or out-of-place scents, especially blood. But all was quiet.
Too quiet.
St. James suddenly nudged him. “The elevators.”
Grayson glanced over to the elevator bank and the five sets of silver doors. Above each door, the illuminated sign was stuck on 20, and none of the elevators were moving. “Floor twenty is Research and Development.”
“Oh, perfect,” St. James said grimly. “Exactly where we want a bunch of corrupted empaths loose.”
