by A J Sherwood
Snorting a laugh, Donovan drawled, “Yes, I see that.”
Dough done, I set it to the side under a warm towel to rise. Then I reached for my claw and rolling island, doing my usual trick of pulling things out of the fridge.
He watched me for a minute before offering, “I can just play fetch for you, y’know? Although it’s fun to watch you do that—it’s like a claw game, only without the timer.”
“And the quarters,” I agreed, pulling the last tomato out and closing the door. “But nah, it’s fine, I’m used to this.”
“I can see that. Is that how you manage to not kill your fridge?”
“And microwave,” I agreed, pulling the cart to me and reaching for a knife. “I’ve got an EMP circuit breaker and specialty hardware to help protect the lights and electronics to a degree, but that just protects the house wiring and the HVAC system. Psy’s building has the same precautions. It’s the only way I can safely flick a light switch on. Everything else, though…it gets chancy. I try not to touch stuff directly, although just being generally in the house with me kills them eventually. This one’s lasted over a year, so it’s really impressed me.”
“But what about the TV?” he asked, jerking his thumb to indicate the large screen TV mounted to the wall behind him. “And I see a stereo system too.”
“They’re a more recent addition. Google Home runs them for me,” I explained. “My niece is a technological whiz and she set it all up for me about two years ago. It’s been really nice having them.”
“That’s cool. You have family here in Nashville, too?”
“Not as much as you do.” I winced again and kicked myself. Why, why, couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? Daring a peek, I found him grinning at me. “Shut it, I can’t help myself, alright? I forget what I’m actually told and what I see, and put both feet in my mouth on a regular basis because of it.”
“Dating must be brutal,” he commiserated.
Dating was non-existent. I decided not to unload on him. Ranting about how dating sucks to a sexy man is definitely on my do-not-do-list. I went back to chopping a bell pepper into thin slices. I’d lined up small bowls in front of me, waiting for ingredients. I had pepperoni, ham, onion, bell pepper, mushrooms…he was Hawaiian so he’d probably want pineapple too. I’d chop some of that, just in case. I liked it, so if nothing else, it could go on mine.
“Seriously, man,” Donovan leaned forward on the stool, shifting his weight off of it, “I’m not comfortable just sitting and watching you work.”
Giving in, I jerked my chin toward the kitchen sink. “Wash up, then. I’ll get the dough in shape and you can do toppings. You should probably do toppings anyway, I have no idea what you like on your pizza.”
Bypassing me, he teased, “What, you can’t read that?”
I threw a slice of onion at his head, making him duck. His reflexes were good enough that it didn’t even come close to hitting him. Which was impressive, as I had pretty good aim.
Chuckling, he rolled up his sleeves and soaped up. As he did, I saw that none of the color remained from the markers, leaving his dusky skin and white scars unblemished. “You got all of the color finally off, I see.”
He picked up a towel lying on the counter and dried his hands as he answered, still amused. “Finally, yeah. That’s the last time I let the kids anywhere near me with markers in hand.”
I couldn’t help but tease, “But the flames were cool!”
He snapped the dishtowel at me, hitting my back, and I jerked away, snickering. I loved that I could tease him and he could not only take it but dish it right back. I checked the dough, found it plump and risen, and removed the towel completely.
“The dough’s ready?” Donovan asked in surprise.
“Yeah, I use a quick rising yeast. It only needs to sit ten minutes.” Grabbing the rolling pin from its shelf nearby, I went to work on the dough, spreading it out in a more or less round shape. When it reached the right density, I rolled the edges, molding it into a better shape and getting the edges plump.
The dough ready, I set it aside and gestured for him to go for it. Donovan surprised me by not asking any questions and quite efficiently putting on the pizza sauce first, then the toppings. So he was comfortable cooking? Not all guys were. He only did half of the pizza and left the other half for me to do. The silent consideration touched me.
I put my usual toppings of absolutely everything on the other side and opened the oven door, sliding the pizza in on the big wooden paddle. “Google, set timer for fifteen minutes.”
“Timer set,” the canned voice responded smoothly.
A phone rang, which startled me a little, as it was an actual ringtone instead of my rotary phone on the wall. Donovan dug his phone out of his pocket and let out an evil smile. “Alice Thompson has called us back. Hello? Yes, this is Donovan Havili. Thank you for calling me back, Ms. Thompson. Yes, I understand the whole situation is very upsetting. We’re actually criminal consultants who’ve been asked to look further into the case. Yes, that’s right. Well, we thought it would be best to interview in person, get it all fresh from you. Can you meet with us sometime tonight or tomorrow? Tuesday morning?”
His eyes asked me for confirmation, and I hastily nodded. There wasn’t anything on schedule for that morning that I couldn’t bump to the afternoon.
“Yes, Tuesday morning works just fine for us. What time can you meet? Nine? Alright, where would you be comfortable meeting us? Cool Springs food court is just fine. How about we meet you in front of the main door near CPK? Alright, see you then.” He hung up and gave me a sharp grin, pleased with himself. “She thinks we’re working with the police.”
“Is that why you answered the way you did.” I applauded this sneaky tactic. “Excellent, she’ll be more open with us that way. And maybe I can tell if she’s playing at something or not.”
“I think she is.” Donovan stared a little past me for a moment, forehead bunching as he thought. “It’s hard to describe, but there was something in her tone, something I heard a lot when I was an MP. There’s this evasive quality when someone’s speaking to you, like they’re working hard to sell you a story while hiding stuff from you at the same time. She had that kind of vibe to her.”
I found this interesting. Part of the reason why Donovan had been so appealing on paper was his experience as a military policeman. “So you think…what? That she shot Chen by mistake and now is trying to cover for it?”
“Maybe? Or something else is going on that we don’t know about.” His frown deepened even further as he looked at me. “Bane—”
“You can call me by my first name,” I corrected, bothered for some reason that he still called me by surname even though I used his first name.
His frown eased for a moment, expression warming. “Jonathan, then. Or do you prefer Jon?”
“Jon, actually,” I admitted. “I’m usually Jonathan when there’s trouble.”
“Got it. Anyway, I was going to say, I think this girl is crazy enough to pack at a mall.”
“Well, she did it on a college campus, so probably.” I saw what he was getting at and straightened in alarm. “You don’t think she’s going to try shooting me, do you?”
“I really, really hope she has better sense than that, but right now she’s out on bail, right? And she’s at the very least suspended, probably on her way to being expelled. She might not see any other choice if you do your usual MO. So I’m telling you now, if I see her reach for a gun, I’ll throw you to the ground first and then try to stop her.”
This worried me. Of course, I knew Donovan was partnered with me for my sake, to protect and help me, but still…I didn’t like the idea of a gun being pointed at him. Not one iota. “Just yell ‘down’ at me or something, I promise to hit the ground and find cover as quickly as I can. Make her your priority. And Donovan, for the love of everything that is holy, don’t get shot protecting me.”
A fierce light of determination shone in his eyes and I could t
ell from the pulsing meridian line near his heart that his protective instincts had just engaged. “I’ll do my best.”
7
I spent the majority of my weekend playing with Skylar and very carefully not thinking about Donovan. This proved something of a challenge.
I’d never taken one of those online quizzes or done any real pondering about it, but if forced to think about it, I was probably borderline demi-sexual. I found people visually appealing all of the time, but my libido felt absolutely no motivation to pipe up. It explained why not dating wasn’t really a struggle for me. I wasn’t strongly drawn to men on a daily basis. It was rare that I found someone I actually liked and was attracted to at the same time, and for one reason or another, Donovan checked all my boxes.
Office romances did not always go well, and for that reason alone, I was determined to play this off. I might know a lot about the man, and liked what I saw, but that didn’t mean he felt the same way. And it would be grade A stupid to scare him off by making overtures he might not want. Donovan was there to be my work partner. WORK. PARTNER.
Maybe if I said that enough times, my body would get the message. My head was clear on this; it was the rest of me that protested.
I’d not made a lot of headway on Donovan-off-limits by Monday morning, but the new week came anyway. Donovan spent half the day getting outfitted by Sho with EMP-protected everything. I was grateful he wasn’t in the office with me half the day. A little distance helped keep my perspective.
Tuesday was a relief, as at least we had something to do outside of the office. Donovan met me at the office, we drank some coffee to wake up with, and then we were on our way.
Cool Springs Galleria spread out over quite an area, as most major malls did, and we had a jolly fun time finding a place to park my behemoth. Eventually we settled for a back spot that wouldn’t interfere much with anyone else parking and trudged our way in. Donovan shadowed me a little, a half-step behind as we entered through the automatic doors and into the wide, tiled opening of the mall. I swapped sunglasses as we went through the door, the movement so habitual I didn’t even properly think about it. Spying the outdoor seating area for California Pizza Kitchen, we headed that direction, weaving our way around the iron fence and inside, where the tables were neatly laid out in rows.
I had a picture of Alice from the newspaper, so I knew what she looked like, although it took a moment to spot her. She stood just beside one of those fake green bushes, obscuring her slightly from view.
Alice Thompson had the willowy height of an athlete, the dark skin tone and high cheekbones of a Native American Indian, although she’d bleached her hair to look dirty blonde. A pretty girl, certainly, and she knew it. It was obvious by the way she dressed in a flattering yellow sundress and white heeled sandals.
I took one look at her and wanted to run for the hills.
What a petty, egotistical, shallow girl. Wow, seriously, I’d seen criminals with a better personality than this. Not that I could let that show on my face. I plastered on a professional smile. “Ms. Thompson?”
Turning, she spied the two of us and almost visibly flinched at Donovan. I suddenly found myself glad of his naturally intimidating physique. Maybe that would keep her from firing at us, assuming she was stupid enough to come to a mall packing. Ignoring her reaction, I continued, “I’m Jonathan Bane, this is my partner Donovan Havili. Thanks for meeting us like this, we appreciate it.”
“Oh, uh, sure,” she responded uncertainly, still staring at Donovan. “Um, should we sit down? I don’t have a lot of time.”
“That’s fine. Here, let’s take this table.” I sat promptly and made the T fist, propping my head on it. Bless Donovan’s foresight, I was really glad I could cue him up right now.
My partner caught the signal but didn’t do more than blink before turning a smile on Alice. “I know you’ve gone over it all before, but can you walk us through it from the beginning? We want to make sure we have all the facts, and often you remember things after your first statement, things you forgot to mention at the time.”
A flash went through her meridian line and I groaned internally. Great, she’d just thought of a way to twist the story further. Something in her sought attention like a heat-seeking missile. If she could think of a way to ramp the story up, she’d do it. I also noticed some sort of tangle near the crown of her head, right along the bladder meridian line. It didn’t trace further south, though, the problem solidly in the cranial area. Weird, what was that?
“Well, I started getting these strange notes slipped under my door about four months ago,” Alice started. She took a moment to smooth her hair back, her chin tipped just so, the picture-perfect body language for smugness. “They were typed out, pretty basic looking, and were a demand for money. I mean, I’ve never done anything worthy of blackmail or anything—”
I blinked and made myself pay attention to what she was saying.
“—and I think they have me confused with someone else?” she offered artlessly, big brown eyes wide and sincere. “I mean, my name isn’t exactly uncommon, y’know? Maybe they think I’m part of some other wealthy family? I don’t know. But yeah, I get this letter under my door, and at first I don’t pay a lot of attention to it. Then I get a second one a few days later, and the person is upset with me for not making the first drop, and now it’s more money I owe them. I mean, I’m a poor college student, and here they are demanding three thousand dollars.”
Just listening to this girl gave me a headache. She wasn’t outright lying, but she was certainly exaggerating. I schooled my expression to one of sympathetic patience. “And then what? You went to the drop?”
“I did, sure, although I reported it to campus police first. They shadowed me in, much good that did, as no one showed up. I thought it was a hoax, maybe; we all did. Then I get a letter the next day saying they were glad I showed up, but changed their minds, they want more than three thousand now. And that’s been more or less repeating for the past four months. They send me a letter demanding money, I go to the drop to reason with them, and no one shows. The police have investigated, campus police have looked into it, nothing.”
“Not even on the security cameras?” Donovan asked thoughtfully.
“Not a whisper,” she confirmed darkly. “And you’d think those, at least, would catch someone suspicious. I live in the dorms; it’s all girls in there, so I would think it’s pretty obvious if someone kneels in front of my door and slips a piece of paper under it.”
Interesting. Not one part of that was a lie. I’d assumed she was somehow behind all of this, but apparently I was wrong. “That must be frustrating.”
“So frustrating, and scary, because if they can get in front of my door like that, what’s to prevent them from just going in? The stupid cameras aren’t catching anything, after all. Not even my sister noticed anything, and she’s in the room right next to me.”
All the right words, but she didn’t really feel any fear. She felt nerves, unease, but not the mortal fear I normally saw from victims honestly afraid for their well-being. Why was that?
“For our information, what dorm number are you and your sister in?” Donovan asked.
“305,” she answered forthrightly. “Lisa’s in 306. That’s what made me act,” she confided, expression triumphant. “I had to protect both of us. I decided to do my own investigation. I asked around, started really tracking down leads, and discovered you’d have to be pretty computer savvy and have access to the maintenance room in order to mess with the cameras.”
In an admirably neutral voice, Donovan asked, “Is that what led you to Chen Li?”
“Yeah. He’s a CompSci major and he’s working as the building maintenance guy. It has to be him. I mean, he looks so innocent on the surface, you’d never suspect him of anything, would you?”
Pot, calling kettle. Well, no, actually that wasn’t right, as Chen really hadn’t done anything wrong. So, in other words, she’d found herself the perfect p
atsy. She didn’t believe he’d done it for a minute, and was in fact enjoying the drama. Wow, this girl had issues. “Now, think carefully. Are you certain that you gave every letter over to the detectives?”
“I actually found one this morning,” she admitted a little sheepishly. She could be an Oscar nominee with this performance. “I was going through my term notes and realized I’d stuck one in there without remembering it. I think it was the first one.”
“It would help if we had that,” Donovan requested with an encouraging waggle of the fingers. “Do you have it on you?”
“Oh, I do. Actually, since I knew I was meeting up with you, I thought I could just hand it over now. Is that alright?”
“Absolutely,” I lied with a straight face. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to take in evidence, not being a policeman myself. Technically, I should have been doing this interview with another detective. Technically, Detective Dick could suck an egg for all I cared.
She pulled her purse around and into her lap, digging through it before handing over a folded piece of printer paper.
I grabbed a napkin to use as an impromptu glove and took it, looking it over carefully. It wouldn’t be helpful evidence-wise, as her fingerprints had a good reason to be all over it. And the lack of Chen’s fingerprints wouldn’t prove him innocent, unfortunately. But maybe we could determine something else from it. From my own bag, I slipped out a large Ziploc and slipped it inside. “Thank you, Ms. Thompson. Now, let’s go to the day when you shot Chen Li.”
“It was in self-defense!” she instantly declared, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. “The fucking school doesn’t think that’s justified or whatever. They’re going to expel me for shooting someone on campus. Well, if they had done their fucking jobs, I wouldn’t have had to defend myself, would I?”
“We’re not questioning that,” Donovan assured her, voice soothing.
Right, we weren’t, we knew better. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from blurting that out. “Of course we aren’t. Just walk us through what happened. When you decided Chen Li was the culprit, you chose to confront him? Why not tell someone?”
