“Tell me you’re sitting.”
Sittin’. Reece glanced out the droplet-streaked window at the dark street beyond, where a liquor store’s neon signs illuminated the flecks of sleet in the falling rain. Even stripped by the phone, the out-of-place accent was a shot of unexpected warmth against the freezing November night, and Reece’s defenses were apparently cold traitors because he found himself answering instead of hanging up. “Yes, I’m sitting.”
“There’s been a murder.”
Reece fumbled the phone. He seized it in both hands before it could fall. He clutched it too tightly, clenching his teeth.
Grayson’s voice floated up from the speaker, tinny and distant. “Did you drop your phone?”
Reece put it back to his ear. “No,” he lied.
“Now you know why you needed to sit. I’m used to empath pacifism. Most of y’all don’t even like that word.”
Reece took a hard breath. Blew it out. He couldn’t make out a single emotion in that drawl and had no idea if he was being mocked. “So why tell me about it?” he said tightly, trying to shove away encroaching thoughts of human cruelty, of pain and suffering beyond his help.
“Because this murder is gonna be the biggest case of Detective St. James’ career and she’s got nothing.”
Reece’s stomach dropped. “Nothing?”
“No leads. No theories. No clues. The city’s not gonna take her failure well. You might know what an unhappy press is like.”
He swallowed hard. He knew exactly how unforgiving the press could be, and the thought that the news might drag Jamey through that same mud—but no, she wasn’t a fool who ran her mouth like him, and there was no better person to solve a major crime. “If there’s something to find, she’ll find it.”
“Unless finding it would take an ability she doesn’t have. An ability only a handful of folks with delicate ears have. Pretty sure you know where I’m going with this.”
“What Iknow,” Reece said, free hand balling into a gloved fist, “is that Jamey would call me if she needed an empath.”
“For a petty theft? Sure. Grand larceny, even, assuming no one got scratched. But the way I hear it, Detective St. James would take a bullet before she called her precious baby brother to a homicide.”
Reece tightened his jaw. “I would help her with anything.”
“That’s why I called. She’s at the Orca’s Gate Marina.”
And Grayson hung up.
Reece stared at his phone in disbelief, then slapped it down on the table with a huff. He didn’t know Evan Grayson from the president. He could be a bully wanting to ridicule the empath aversion to violence. He could be another anti-empathy activist who’d dreamed up a new conspiracy. He could be simplylying; thanks to the phone, Reece wouldn’t know.
He bit at one gloved thumb and worried it between his teeth. He’d noticed Jamey’s car was gone at three a.m. when he’d given up on falling back asleep and gotten off her couch for a drive. But he hadn’t thought anything of it. Jamey didn’t need much sleep and sometimes she was out at night. It didn’t mean she was on a case. It didn’t mean Grayson was telling the truth. And it certainly didn’t mean his sister could use his help.
He found himself dialing her number anyway.
Four rings, then voicemail. He dropped his phone to the table again and buried his face in his hands, his pulse too loud in his ears. Was he really considering going to the scene of a—
He cut off the thought before the word formed, but he was already on his feet. If there was even a chance Jamey needed him, he would be there.
As he approached the register at the end of the bar counter, the waitress came over with dragging steps and stopped a few feet away. She pointed at his hands. “You never took off your gloves.”
His fingers automatically flexed inside the stiff material. “Of course I didn’t—”
“I thought you were just cold when you came in. But you’re an empath, aren’t you?”
Great, another place to cross off his list of insomnia haunts. “I’m also a Pisces, but no one ever asks about that.” Under her relentless stare, he reached for his wallet, pointing back to the booth with his other hand. “If you have a rag, I can—”
She recoiled. “How did you know I was pissed about having to clean up?”
“There’s juice everywhere, anyone would be—”
“Are you reading my mind?”
