St. James frowned. “And he’s still employed here?”
“He wasn’t supposed to be,” Grayson said. “But Stone Solutions and I haven’t been seeing eye to eye for a while.” He leaned in and touched Smith’s face.
Smith startled and turned toward him. His pale blue eyes were wide and his skin blanched and clammy. He seemed overwhelmed with fear, but he was looking right at them now.
Grayson drew his hand back sharply. “He’s not thralled either.”
“Mr. Smith,” St. James addressed the man urgently. “Can you talk to me?”
Smith swallowed. His shoulders were heaving, but he’d stopped muttering. Grayson quickly moved out of his eyeline; if Smith regained coherence, he’d recognize the Dead Man, and that sure as hell wasn’t gonna help that fear.
“Mr. Smith,” St. James said again.
Smith’s eyebrows drew together. “Who are you?”
“My name is Briony St. James,” she said. “I’m here to help. Can you tell me what happened?”
Smith was breathing hard. He drew his legs in tighter. “There was a break-in.”
“Did you see who?” St. James pressed.
“I don’t—I don’t know,” Smith said. “One moment things were fine. Then everyone started losing their minds. And then—then I thought I recognized—” He was tensing up again, fear clear on his face. “That empath,” he said in barely a whisper.
St. James stiffened. “Which empath?”
“The one who broke in here before,” Smith whispered. “But I don’t know—I don’t know what I saw. Jesus, I’m so scared—” He started rocking again.
“Is this projection too?” St. James asked Grayson, keeping her voice quiet.
“That’s my guess,” Grayson said, matching her volume. “One of the empaths made him feel fear, and it’s still got him.”
One of the empaths. Reece, obviously, based on what Smith thought he saw.
“But it will wear off?” St. James pressed. “Same with the guards in the lobby? Temporary projection, not permanent thralling?”
“Seems like it.” Back in the lobby, Grayson could hear the newly arrived SWAT team dealing with the guards in the lobby, doing crowd control and breaking out handcuffs.
“Do you know what the burglars were after?” St. James asked Smith.
Smith pointed to the open door and the hall beyond with a shaky finger. “They went to the delivery room. I don’t know what they wanted. There’s nothing in there anymore.”
“Anymore?” she repeated.
But Smith only shook his head uselessly. Whatever the empaths had come for, they seemed to be long gone now—maybe had been gone before Grayson and St. James evenarrived, leaving a stage set behind them, perfectly planned to distract any would-be pursuers while the empaths themselves got away.
St. James sat back on her heels. “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” she said, still under her breath.
“In what way?”
“This guy is head of security. Knowledgeable about all of Stone Solutions’ protectionsandcan identify Reece. Would have been a lot smarter to thrall him.” Her gaze was on Smith. “But Reece didn’t.”
“You’re not suggesting mercy,” Grayson said.
“It could happen,” she said with a hint of challenge.
No. It couldn’t. Corruption was permanent; the pacifists were gone, and the empaths were no longer capable of mercy.
But Grayson kept his mouth shut. When his empath brother Alex had destroyed his emotions, it had ensured Grayson would never feel hope again. But if hope for her own brother kept St. James going, he’d leave her to it.
