“Great!” Anthony got to his feet. “I have to join Vivian and the new senator for their interviews.” He added conspiratorially, “You’ll have lots of peace and quiet to write your article about Senator Braun; it’s just going to be empty in here all day.”
“Sounds perfect,” Gretel said, her gaze straying back to the door to the office.
Chapter Twenty-Three
On this episode ofHeartfelt High, the school’s only empath struggles when the girl she’s crushing on unexpectedly becomes captain of the field hockey team. Can an empath find a way to talk to her crush when just the sight of field hockey sticks sends her into a panic?
—Advertisement for an early 2000s TV show
There was no trace of the pacifist empaths at Archipelago Air’s Bellingham terminal. No trace of them at the Alaska state ferry terminal or the other piers. Jamey and Liam had gone to the hotel where they had booked rooms, and exactly none of the empaths had even checked in.
They stood on the curb outside of the hotel together, where the light snow was starting to stick at the sidewalk’s edge. “Son of a bitch,” Jamey said, aware she sounded very much like Reece. “Who took our empaths?”
Liam shrugged helplessly. “What now?”
“I think you should go get Aisha and Diesel,” Jamey said. “The safe house might be compromised.”
“I can fly up,” Liam said. “You coming?”
Jamey shook her head. “I need to head back to Seattle for Gretel. I’m worried about her, especially if Charles Stone gets wind that Gretel figured out he called her dad and set up that meeting at AMI.”
They kissed, holding each other tightly. “Meet me at home, okay? And be safe,” Jamey said. “I’ll see you soon.”
When Grayson started nearing Port Angeles, he began watching the turnoffs. After a few more miles, he took an unpaved road off the highway that quickly turned narrow and tree-lined. He followed it south for a couple of miles, then pulled over into the narrow shoulder and parked.
He glanced at his phone as he climbed out of the Smart car. No signal. Perfect.
Grayson leaned against the car, snowflakes dusting his shoulders and coat as he waited. And sure enough, just a couple of minutes later, the black Tahoe came barreling down the same road.
Grayson stepped out straight into its path. The Tahoe slammed on the brakes, and Grayson caught sight of the driver.
“Director Traynor?”
Traynor was alive. But what the hell was he doing following Grayson? He strode over to the Tahoe and knocked on the glass. “Where have you been?” Grayson asked.
Traynor had his phone out and seemed to be typing very quickly. Not that it was gonna do him any good when he wasn’t gonna be able to contact anyone. Grayson had chosen a spot with no signal for a reason.
Grayson rapped on the glass again. “We’ve been looking for you.”
Traynor didn’t lower the window. He didn’t even look at Grayson. The close-cropped brown hair and broad build werefamiliar, even if Grayson had never seen the ex-general with a full beard before, but even through the glass, there was something unfamiliar about Traynor’s movements, something almost robotic.
Grayson’s senses went on higher alert, his muscles tensing. “Where have you been?” he asked again more slowly.
Yet again, Traynor ignored him. And then he wiped at his face.
Grayson peered through the tinted window, and caught a glimpse of streaks of red beneath Traynor’s eyes.
Oh boy.
No one could say exactly how long empath thralls lasted, but the general theory was the more stress you put one under, the faster they burned out. Traynor had to be pretty stressed to find himself suddenly stranded with Grayson. Add in that they were a long way from Seattle now, far from whichever empath had thralled him, and the extra hormones forced into Traynor were likely running way too high.
Grayson considered him for a long moment. Then he said, enunciating each word, “Reece Davies makes terrible decisions.”
Traynor didn’t look up.
“Cora Falcon is hell-bent on vengeance,” Grayson tried, still watching Traynor closely.
Traynor wiped at his eye, his gaze still on the phone.
