“Evan, it’s bad.”
St. James’s voice was tight, way too tight, on the verge of angry, heartbroken tears like he’d only heard from her the night she discovered Reece’s corruption.
Grayson sat up in the bed. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t talk. Check your email.” And St. James hung up.
Grayson blinked at his phone for a moment, like the picture of Reece could give him a clue. Then he clicked on his email icon.
The top message’s subject line leaped out at him.
URGENT: Stone Solutions Head of Security dead—suspect Reece Davies
It was from Vivian Marist.
Grayson stared at the subject line.
Yes, it had only been a matter of time before they had solid proof of Reece committing murder. But they hadn’t had that proof until now. No wonder St. James was a wreck.
Grayson read through the email. Stone Solutions’ head of security, Wayne Smith, had been found dead in a storage closet during the security shift change. His blood work had been sent upstairs to Stone Solutions’ own lab; preliminary tests had already come back with adrenaline levels far higher than normal.
There were pictures attached. Grayson flipped through them. The storage closet at the end of the hall was the same one Reece had once been locked in. There were red streaks smeared under Smith’s eyes, and his face was contorted into shock.
The final picture made Grayson still. There was no mistaking what was next to Smith’s body, because Grayson was still seeing it every time he opened his phone.
A familiar winter hat, complete with bear ears.
His phone began to ring, and it was St. James again. Grayson answered. “Hey.” He tried not to sound like he was sayingI told you so. Even he knew this wasn’t the time. “I just saw—”
“This is bullshit,” she said, cutting him off. “It wasn’t Reece.”
Well. Denial was one way to take the news. “Jamey,” Grayson started.
“You’re going to try to tell me he did this, because you believe it, just like everyone else,” she said hotly. “But unless and until Reece looks me in the eye and tells me that he murdered someone, then I am going to keep hope and faith alive. And no one, not even the Dead Man, can change that.”
Grayson’s gaze fell on the windows, speckled with raindrops in the pale dawn. “That’s your prerogative, Detective.”
“Reece didn’t kill this security guard.”
“It’s Wayne Smith again. The same guard who roughed Reece up in November, when he broke into Stone Solutions,” Grayson pointed out. “This is what corrupted empaths do. What theyenjoydoing.”
“But I helped get Cora in custody in November,” Jameysaid. “So tell me why, when Alex and Cora were burning down Polaris, they didn’t come for revenge on me.”
“You’re a tough target. Ms. Falcon already knew she wouldn’t win against you—”
“But they spared Aisha and Diesel too.”
“I know you want to read hope into that,” Grayson said. “But corrupted empaths are sadists; they crave their victims’ pain and rage and fear. Dr. Easterby and Mr. Lane were drugged and tied to beds; not too much of a stretch to think the empaths were after prey with a little more fight.”
“Or maybe Alex and Cora recognized that Aisha and Diesel were victims too. Maybe even corrupted empaths are still capable of mercy.”
“I saw the photos of Mr. Smith,” Grayson said. “I’m afraid your brother didn’t show him any mercy last night.”
“Reece didn’t do this,” she snapped. “Aisha and I are going to find a way to save him, and your brother, and Cora. This changes nothing for us.”
“It changes nothing for me either,” Grayson said more quietly. “I don’t have a heart to break.”
She hung up on him.
