Grayson had expected something like this. “Fair enough.”
The waiter set their phin filter–topped mugs on the tableand disappeared again. Grayson began to count off the evidence on his fingers. “Wayne Smith was killed by an empath. He has a history with Reece and was found in the same storage closet he once locked Reece in, with Reece’s hat next to him.”
“Is that it?” St. James said patiently.
“What do you mean, is that it?”
St. James leaned forward. “Try this: Wayne Smith was killed by an overdose, possibly of adrenaline, which could have been caused by an empath but could have been the result of a chemical injection intended to look like an empath thrall’s death. Smith was chosen specifically because of his history with Reece—a history known to the real perpetrator, who also left a decoy hat at the scene.”
Grayson paused. “You think Reece wasframed,” he said slowly.
“We’re not dealing with run-of-the-mill crimes or run-of-the-mill criminals here,” she said. “Why would Reece have killed Smith instead of thralling and taking him? He was head of Stone Solutions’ security; he had to be more useful to the empaths alive.AndSmith was cremated before you could get a look at his body, Evan. Tell me that’s not suspicious as hell.”
She was grasping at straws, desperate to find a way to exonerate Reece. “I bought that hat for Reece,” Grayson said.
Her eyebrows went up. “Youbought it for him.”
“Yes.”
“The bear hat.”
Grayson casually turned his phone face down. “What of it?”
“Because you call himCare Bear?”
“Calledhim, past tense, and I don’t think I have to explain my reasons.” Grayson folded his arms. “My point is that the hat was from me, and no one else knew that, not even you. It’s obviously a message from Reece.”
“Is it, though?” She put her phone on the table between them, facing Grayson. On-screen was a familiar store’s webpage.“The bear hat is exhibit A. Available at a chain retailer in Canada with overnight shipping to Seattle.”
She flipped to a new webpage. This time it was Gretel Macy’sEyes on Empathsblog, specifically the picture of Grayson taken at the Vancouver auto show and shared on the site. St. James pointed to the corner. “You can see Reece in the picture. He’s wearing the hat. The real perp might not have known you bought it, but they knew it could be used to link the crime to him, with the bonus that the Dead Man would certainly recognize it.”
Grayson took the phin filter off the mug and picked up a spoon. “What else?” he finally said as he stirred the strong coffee and sweetened condensed milk together.
“Exhibit B. Finding this was the reason I was late.” She opened something else on the phone. “Recognize that truck?”
Grayson stared at the phone screen, watching a few seconds of grainy security video of what was unmistakably his F-150 Raptor pulling into a gas station.
And then Reece jumping down from the driver’s seat.
“What’s this?” he said.
“It’s from last night,” she said. “When Wayne Smith was in that security closet, Reece was buying vegan doughnuts in Tacoma.”
Reece’s movements were so familiar, the hands in the hoodie pockets, the messy hair. Grayson realized he was reaching for the phone, as if he could go straight into the video and somehow reach Reece.
He drew his hand back. “How did you find this?”
“Got a tip. Fromyourbrother.”
Grayson looked up sharply. “Alex actually texted you? He just ignores me.”
“Like Reece ignores me,” she said ruefully. She touched the screen again, the video pausing with Reece mid-movement. “But yes, Alex texted me back. I don’t think he wants Reece to take the fall for a murder he didn’t commit either.”
Grayson’s gaze went back to the grainy image of Reece. “You can’t trust Alex,” he said. “And Reece could have thralled Wayne Smith earlier in the night and told him to lock himself in that same storage closet—”
“Exhibit C,” St. James said firmly. “Wayne Smith only ever hurt Reece himself.”
“What’s that mean?”
