He didn’t know for sure where Grayson was going, but they weren’t too far from the abandoned EI facility now. Reece was going to trust his gut. He punched the gas, and the engine opened up full throttle, the high-pitched whine of the turbos echoing around empty trees as he sped back north.
Chapter Twenty-Five
... the Dead Man kept Reece the empath pinned to the hood of the Smart car. “I know just about everything there is to know about empaths,” said the bigger man. “Except this: Is it true you can feel what people are feeling all the time... even in bed?”
Reece squirmed on the car hood. “Why?” He smirked. “Would you let me go if I said yes?”
The Dead Man tightened his grip. He was supposed to be an empath hunter, but he wanted to hunt Reece right into the nearest bedroom.
(continued in the next comment)
—Excerpt fromHunting for Love, an empath/empath hunter fan fiction
Between the snow, the icy road and the Hayabusa engine, Grayson had had to drive like a snail. Finally, though, he made it to the closed Empath Initiative facility outside the Port Angeles city limits, where it stood alone on the several tree-covered acres originally planned for expansive research facilities.
Of course, after EI had decided it’d be easier to funnel taxpayer money into a private institution than jump through allthe government hoops to keep their own research aboveboard, Stone Solutions had taken over research and development, moving all operations to Seattle and shuttering this facility. It felt as unused as it was, the lights off and graffiti on one wall—not the good kind, with bright colors and art, but some smeared black spray paint spelling out four words.
We don’t want empathy!
The painter probably hadn’t even realized the irony.
The old parking lot was blanketed in a thin sheet of undisturbed snow. Grayson inched the Smart car into the lot, pulling into a spot at the edge, under pine branches. The snow was still coming down, and harder now; he’d need to move fast, because it wouldn’t take much for him to come back to the little Smart car buried in snow.
He climbed out from the car and ducked under the edge of the tree line, following it along the parking lot, although stray flakes of snow still landed on his hat and shoulders between the branches. He skipped the front of the building, heading for the entrances at the back, where he found a door already loose on its hinges, so that Grayson was able to nudge it open and slip inside.
It opened to a small foyer with a linoleum hall heading toward the building’s core. There was no furniture to be seen and the electricity had been turned off, or maybe never connected, making the interior cold and dim, lit by only the light that made it through the windows with their years of grimy buildup.
The abandoned feeling was even stronger inside. But as Grayson started forward to the hall, he heard the softest sound above his head.
Not a mouse or other rodent visitor.
Footsteps. One floor up.
Grayson pulled out his gun. Keeping his own footfalls silent,he traversed the hall until he came to a large staircase heading up and out of view. After one flight, a large landing opened to the second floor, the stairs continuing up to the third and fourth floors above.
Following his memory of the floor plan, Grayson stepped out onto the carpets of the second floor. Similar to EI’s Seattle office, the center of the floor was a mazelike run of basic cubicles with half-height walls, and the perimeter was lined with office doors, all of them closed.
Except one, at the very end of the hall.
Eyes sharp and gun at the ready, Grayson crept down the hall, to the door with its plaque readingDirector. It was cracked open just a few inches.
As silently as he could, Grayson inched closer. He raised the gun and then, in one smooth motion, shouldered open the door and spun into the room.
The office was empty.
Grayson’s gaze darted around the space, ears pricked for any more sounds. But it wasn’t his eyes or ears that picked something up. It was his nose.
Because as Grayson inhaled, he caught a faint scent he’d noticed at McFeely’s: his own shampoo.
The empty EI building was silent around Grayson, like it was holding its breath. As quietly as he could, he pulled out his phone.
Grayson:Marco
He sent the text and waited.
A few seconds ticked by.
Then, somewhere on the third floor over his head, he heard the unmistakable chime—the sound of an empath who’d forgotten to silence his phone.
