Page 6 of Private Exhibit (Gentleman Hackers #4)

“Honestly? I'm not really sure. Something about a barrier of telekinetic energy that somebody built around my mind, cutting off my extrasensory perception. I don't even know how he did it, but it worked–” Devon broke off, thinking of the other night.

There had been someone at the club. Someone he somehow felt but couldn't see.

Before he'd run into Dr. Gerard, he'd gotten a sense that somebody was watching him.

But it was more than that. It was like his mind recognized something nearby, something that couldn't be discerned with the five basic senses.

He had caught a fleeting glimpse of long, dark hair, but that was it.

Devon had barely been able to process that much when the feeling suddenly vanished.

Was it the guy who'd saved his life all those years ago?

That odd sense of familiarity almost seemed to guarantee it, except Devon had no way to prove it.

He'd never seen the man's face. Not the other night nor back when he was a kid.

And then this sexy man had come along, inviting him to watch, and Devon had forgotten all about it.

“Why would somebody do that to you?” Dr. Gerard asked, interrupting Devon's thoughts.

“Huh?” Devon blinked, trying to put the memories aside so he could process the question.

Once it clicked, he shook his head. “Oh. It saved my life.” He saw both men raise their eyebrows, so he explained, “I used to see ghosts everywhere .

So many that I felt like I couldn't breathe.

It was so crowded. And when they realized I could see them, they'd be all over me, begging for help.

As a kid, it was too much. But then I also used to get these…

episodes. If anyone near me was suffering badly enough, my mind would pick it up, and then I'd wind up feeling the same things they did.

It was worse whenever I was in the hospital.

If someone came in with an injury, I'd feel it, and my mind was so sensitive to it that it would actually cause the same injury on my body. Cuts were the worst. One time, a guy came in with stab wounds all over, and my mind started tearing my skin open in all the same places he was injured.”

“My gods,” Dr. Gerard breathed, looking horrified.

“Fascinating,” Mr. Bokin said. “I've only ever met one other person who could do that. Saira Crawford. Lovely woman. She owns Hawkeye Security with her husband. Her son is one of our doctors here–”

“But that doesn't happen anymore?” Dr. Gerard asked, interrupting his boss.

Devon shook his head. “No, thank gods. Two sensory conditions are bad enough without having a third.”

“Two other conditions?” Dr. Gerard asked.

“Yeah. I'm on the neurodivergent spectrum,” Devon explained.

“But I also–” He broke off, realizing what he'd been about to say.

Shit . If he told them about his disease, he'd be talking himself out of a job for sure.

Nobody would want to hire someone who could die at any moment.

Still, it didn't feel right keeping it a secret, especially once he'd started blurting it out anyway.

Besides, these men were medical professionals and were probably at least somewhat familiar with the rare disease.

They would be more likely to understand than a person who had never heard of it.

Devon took a deep breath, glancing from Dr. Gerard to Mr. Bokin and back, then said, “I have Ashworth-Grahams Disease.”

Dr. Gerard stumbled against his desk. He caught himself, nearly sending a teetering pile of files to the floor. The man stared at Devon, eyes wide and chest heaving. “Wh-What?”

That was when the familiarity of the man's name and face finally clicked, Devon's mind breaking through the context of the present setting and the way they'd met.

Oh! Oh my gods. Pictures of the man hadn't remotely done him justice. It was like looking at a completely different person.

Before Devon could say anything, Dr. Gerard took a shaky step backwards and gasped, “Get out.”

“Gerard–” Mr. Bokin said.

“Get out!” the doctor roared.

Devon jumped. He stared up at the doctor, shocked at the transformation of the man, then got up and fled the room as fast as he could go.

Behind him, he heard Mr. Bokin ask, “ Was that really necessary? ”

“ You, too ,” the doctor barked. “ Get out! ”

Devon dove into the elevator car and sagged back against the wall. The doors closed, cutting off the sound of all that fury. Holy shit . He covered his ears even though he couldn't hear anything, the tension in the air making even the silence far too loud.

He'd had bad reactions to his disease before, but nothing like that.

And no wonder.

The man wasn't any old random Dr. Gerard.

He was the Dr. Anderson Gerard, the world's only expert on Ashworth-Grahams. The man who'd spent sixteen years studying the disease, only to suddenly stop, and nobody knew why.

Devon had moved to New Haven specifically to meet the man, but when he'd arrived, he'd learned the doctor had given up his study and his practice. Devon had come too late.

But now? Of all the people he could have met at the club, why him?

What the hells were the chances?