The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

my hand in the space between us and speak as gently as possible. “Your hand, please.”
    Of course, Andrew doesn’t realize that I don’t need physical contact to enter his mind, but I hope the gesture gives him some comfort. He swallows and takes my proffered hand. When he tries to avert his gaze, I softly guide his eyes back to mine by turning his chin. Despite his nervousness, he’s shocked by my forwardness. I smile invitingly and ease my way into his grief-stricken mind. It’s easier to maintain eye contact, especially if the person is anxious. They’re less likely to resist if they see and feel you before them.
    When I finally plunge into his mind, I’m not surprised by the lack of effort it took on my part. Nor am I shocked to discover his layout is rather simple like most minds I’ve encountered. His hand tenses, but I don’t dare touch him mentally like I had done with Keenan. For one, a mental touch is inherently intimate; secondly, it would only disturb the man further. I find the memory of last night wrapped in a dark cloud of melancholy and regret, and I carefully disengage the insubstantial threads of darkness to expose the memory. It comes to me sluggishly, like a drunk who has long fallen off the edge of sobriety.
    Andrew walks into his father’s study to find the man seated behind his black desk, and I cringe at the sight of Mr. Anderson’s cold eyes. I had forgotten how much he could infuriate me with just one look. In this memory, however, there is no trace of lust in his gaze like there was when his eyes would settle on me. Rather, I find pure, unbridled disappointment.
    “I see you’ve come back to try to squeeze more money from me.” His father’s words are spoken with venom, and Andrew’s rage escalates through the haze of liquor he’s consumed. “If I would have known you’d be such a failure, I would have left you out on the streets the moment you were born.”
    The last comment opens up an old wound in Andrew, and his wrath is quickly accompanied by feelings of guilt and rejection. The only way he can hide his hurt is by stoking his hatred. “Believe me when I say I don’t enjoy being your son any more than you enjoy being my father.”
    “Then why are you here, Andrew?” Richard is unperturbed by his son’s animosity. In fact, he almost appears bored and eager to get rid of the young man.
    Andrew chuckles, but his confusion is unmistakable. “Really, father, is this some sort of joke?”
    “What are–”
    The butler appears at the doorway and interrupts Richard. “Sir, my apologies for intruding, but there’s a letter for–”
    “I’ll read it later,” dismisses Mr. Anderson.
    “It’s for Andrew, sir.”
    Andrew accepts the letter and tears it open. His fingers fumble clumsily to unfold the paper, and it takes a moment for his eyes to focus on the written letters. But the moment they do, Andrew’s consciousness blanks and the outline of a bird on fire flashes before me, the flames bright and hot in my mind.
    I stumble out of Andrew’s mind, as if the Phoenix’s insignia had physically pushed me out of the memory. When I finally focus on the man beside me, I can see he’s struggling to maintain composure. His jaw is clenched, and his other hand trembles in his lap. He swallows, his eyes blinking rapidly to wipe away the threat of tears.
    I squeeze his hand before releasing him. “Thank you, Andrew.”
    He inhales deeply and glances at me, his growing curiosity overshadowing his distress. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
    “Yes.”
    “And?”
    I glance at the detective uncertainly, but he simply nods, permitting me to speak the truth. “An empath has been in your mind. Whoever this empath is, they are the one who used persuasion on you to kill your father.”
    Andrew’s eyes widen in obvious fear, and he shakily lights another cigarette. He exhales heavily, and then finally speaks. “But wouldn’t I remember having an empath persuade