Jon's Downright Ridiculous Shooting Case

by A J Sherwood

  Sara had never asked me to do a reading on anyone before, so the request caught me a little flat-footed. But if she was asking, then this person really disturbed her, so I leaned back and winked in reassurance before stating in a normal tone, “You know what, I might give her more than the chocolates. Sara, you’ve got some small bouquets made up, right?”

  “Along the far wall,” she responded, as if I didn’t already know the layout of this store.

  “Let me grab something, then.” Sauntering that direction, I pretended to take a look at the small flower arrangements, coming within line of sight of her other guest.

  On the surface, nothing creepy. Average sized guy with a white t-shirt, jeans that had seen better days, flip flops, nothing ominous about him. Below the surface told an entirely different story.

  If this guy wasn’t a serial killer, I’d eat my hat.

  After years of doing this, I no longer jerked or gave myself away, just let my eyes flow naturally right past him, as if I were focused on other things. Grabbing a vase at random, I went back to the counter and gave Sara a confirming nod.

  Hissing in a shocked breath, she put a hand to her mouth, then quickly dropped it again to the counter, trembling slightly against the wood. I did not, under any circumstances, want to leave her in the store by herself and quickly cast about for some reason to linger.

  “Miss Sara, while you finish up that one, do you mind if I put a card and some flowers together for my mother?” Donovan inquired with that manner only a southern gentleman could exhibit. His arm slid around my waist and pulled me in. “I’m taking him home for dinner this weekend, you see.”

  Bless this man for his quick thinking. I leaned into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. It strangely felt natural, too, as if I’d done it hundreds of times before. The way he shifted to accommodate me without a word made it even more familiar. God, he smelled good. I really shouldn’t notice things like that at a time like this, but my back-brain was busy cataloguing the warmth of him, the way it felt to be pressed up against his side, and loving every minute of it. I had to forcefully yank my head back in the game. “That’s a great idea, babe. Here, let’s both write something in the card. Sara, give us a minute, we’ll tell you what flowers she’ll want to have.”

  “Of course, I’ll just finish this up,” she assured us, her smile pinned on a little wrong, eyes scared. But she trusted me, trusted I wouldn’t leave her alone, and her hands started moving again, putting the roses into the vase.

  Donovan pulled a card out, then a pen from a little holder nearby, and wrote to me, So what is he?

  Serial killer, I wrote back. I need to somehow get his name so I can call this in.

  Giving me an odd look, he scribbled underneath it, Why not just take a picture and send it to Sho?

  I could’ve smacked myself for being an idiot. I’d never had that option before, but of course Donovan could. Sho could look anyone up and tell you not only their name but probably their favorite porn site. He was our IT guy at Psy for a reason. Great idea, do it.

  Donovan pulled out his phone like he was checking a message and snorted, relaxed and casual. “My sister is demanding a picture of us for some reason. Here, say cheese.”

  Turning with him, I looked up a little as he took a selfie of us. The screen reflected our image back to us and just for a moment I could see what we must look like. Odd, how naturally we appeared as a couple. It started giving me ideas again, which I. Did. Not. Need. Seriously, why was I so strongly attracted to this man?

  Frowning, Donovan pulled the phone back down and said, “Nope, that blurred. One more try.”

  I smiled up again at the screen, although this time Donovan had adjusted it to focus on the man behind us, waiting at the counter. He got a clean shot of the man’s face and then sent the picture on to Sho, all while talking naturally. “Better. Alright, what type of flowers should we get? Not roses, right?”

  “It’s your mother, why are you asking me?” I responded, my ears trained on the man behind me.

  “That will be twenty-eight forty-three,” Sara informed the man in a strained tone, her words rasping out of her throat, before ringing him up with a loud clatter from the cashier’s machine. “Thank you and have a nice day.”

  He gathered up the roses in a loud crinkle of paper and exited the store without a word.

  Donovan turned the camera to follow him, discreetly, taking several pictures of his beat-up Ford truck as the man climbed in and drove away, capturing his license plate in the process. He sent those to Sho as well while I watched.

  Taking Sara’s hand, I assured her, “You are absolutely safe, do not worry. We’ll report this in and make sure someone follows him.”

  Pressing a hand to her heart, she responded weakly, “I’m so glad you two were here. Although I’m a little sorry I asked now, as I’m not sure I wanted my suspicions confirmed.”

  The cell in Donovan’s hand started ringing and he picked it up on the second ring. “Hey, Sho.”

  “Tell him it’s from Anonymous,” I instructed. “He’ll know what to do.”

  Giving me an odd look, Donovan nodded and walked a little away to answer Sho’s questions. I stayed with Sara, soothing her and calming her fears, until she looked steady again. Fortunately, she worked right across from a police station, so I didn’t think her to actually be in danger.

  We left the shop about twenty minutes later, finally heading for my car. I glanced at Donovan, who had a very peculiar look on his face. “You’ve probably got a few questions.”

  “So when you see someone who’s a criminal, you report them?”

  “Sure. Sometimes they’ve already served their time—we just ignore those—but the ones who haven’t, we report through an anonymous tip line with all the details that we know about that person. They’ve actually developed an investigation process just for me because of it.”

  “Before I came in, how did you report the person? You said you had to get his name earlier.” Darkly suspicious, Donovan rounded on me. “You didn’t do something stupid like stalk them until you figured out their name, did you?”

  I gave him my best innocent smile. “Maybe?”

  Letting out a groan like his very soul pained him, Donovan slumped in on himself for a moment. “I now understand how you ended up being shot.”

  “Shot at, it’s an important distinction. You of all people should understand this,” I responded testily.

  “The distinction ends when bullet meets flesh, Bane,” he growled back, head lifting to stare at me, nearly pinning me with the fierceness of his gaze. “You listen to me. If you see another serial killer or whatever while you’re out, and I’m not with you, do not follow him. You call me, I will drop everything and come running.”

  I didn’t really mean to smile at him, it just sort of happened, a safety release for happiness overflow. “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Bane.”

  “I believe you,” I assured him, grin broadening. He made me think of that one line from Sense and Sensibility: he’s the best and kindest of men. “Can I hug you?”

  He wrapped both arms around me in response, hugging me tight enough to threaten the seams of my shirt. I didn’t care, hugging him back just as tightly. Such a warm, snuggling teddy bear, if a teddy bear could have these rippling muscles. He smelled really nice, too, like citrus. Not sure if I should say it, because I knew very well he was crushing on someone else, I hesitated. But I’d also gathered that people didn’t normally say stuff like this to him, so I said it anyway: “I’m really glad you’re with me.”

  “I am too. I mean that. We’ve known each other less than two weeks, but you’re already a friend, Jonathan Bane. And I will do everything in my power to protect you, even if I end up with an ulcer doing it.”

  “We’ll do our best to avoid the ulcer,” I promised him faithfully. I even meant it.

  Sighing, he let go and took a half step back. “We better go see if Chen is up for an officia
l interview.”

  “True, that. It’ll be a weight off his mind if we can do that sooner rather than later.”

  The phone rang and Donovan slipped it out of its protective case before answering, “This is Havili. Oh. Yeah, I see. I’ll tell him. Thanks.” Hanging up, he made a face. “No interviews today. Marcy says there’s some sort of scheduling conflict and we’re pushed back to the beginning of next week.”

  “Scheduling conflict,” I mused, heading for the car. “Is that code for ‘Solomon is trying to cover his ass?’”

  “That’s how I heard it. I think Marcy shares our opinion.”

  Not much we could do about it either way. I shrugged and got into the driver’s seat, but as I did, I realized that next week would make Donovan’s third week with us. That was something of a milestone. I’d toyed with the idea of doing a welcome party for him, and since Friday promised to be a slow day for us, it seemed a good idea to do it now. “Donovan, you’re not doing anything Friday evening, are you?”

  “Uh, nothing aside renovating the house, why?” He turned in his seat and cocked his head at me in curiosity.

  “How about a welcome party?” I invited, the idea growing on me. “We can hold it at my place, it’s got room for everyone. I’ll invite the office, maybe a few friends. You can meet anyone then that you haven’t already.”

  His face lifted up in delight. “Sure. Sounds good.”

  “I’ll get Marcy to send out an email to everyone and I’ll make a few phone calls.” Now that I had the idea out there with his approval, I looked forward to it. “Today, though, let’s stop by and get you a new office chair. I think the one you’re using is about to give up the ghost.”

  Donovan laughed and did not disagree.

  Somehow, people I hadn’t invited showed up. My family came as well. Mom made sense, as I had invited her, Rodger was an unwelcome but predictable addition, but Natalie? Aaron? Skylar? I had no idea who’d extended an invitation to them, but I knew why: they’d just come to satisfy their curiosity.

  I literally had my hands full of dough when Skylar bounced through the back door. Not that I could see her from this angle, but I heard her clearly enough.

  “Really? You teach self-defense classes to kids?” she asked someone.

  “At a rec center, yeah. You’re welcome to come. I don’t have an age limit,” Donovan responded, his voice sounding so much deeper compared to that teenage soprano.

  “Yeah, that’ll be cool. Mom, I can go, right? Uncle Jon will take me.”

  Still stuck at the counter with my hands full of dough, I called to them, “Uncle Jon has not been asked or agreed to that yet!”

  “Of course you can go if Jon takes you,” Natalie answered her child, entirely ignoring her brother.

  Donovan snickered, giving me a wink as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. “I think you’ve been out-voted.”

  “I typically am with those two,” I answered with a resigned shrug. I might have put up more of a fuss, but two things stopped me. One, Skylar clearly didn’t have an ounce of fear of Donovan and was grinning up a him like a co-conspirator. Donovan seemed pleased that she was comfortable with him and grinned back. Two, it gave me an excuse to spend time with him outside of work, and I’d be damned if I passed that up.

  “You play pool, Donovan?” Aaron asked oh-so-casually. My brother-in-law stuck out like a sore thumb from all of the Irish fairness. He was swarthy dark like a pirate, pitch black hair, with a crooked nose from too many years of high school football. He was bar none one of my favorite relatives and one of the best decisions that Natalie had ever made.

  He’s not, however, to be trusted with a pool cue in hand. “Donovan, do not let that smile fool you. He’s as good as a bad pro.”

  “I’m not terrible myself,” Donovan answered with a glint in his eye. “Let’s play a round, Aaron.”

  I warned him. Not my fault how things went from here. But I didn’t intend to stop them, either, not if my family was intent on Donovan feeling welcome.

  Natalie, being a good sister, came and dropped her purse off on the phone table before rolling up her shirtsleeves. “You want me to roll out this one and get it ready for the oven?”

  “Please.”

  She did so, but leaned in enough to whisper, “I see why you and Mom like him. He’s just a giant teddy bear, isn’t he?”

  Glad she’d seen that, I nodded in firm confirmation. “He is. You met him in the parking lot, I take it?”

  “We did. And you know Skylar, she doesn’t think anything of approaching a strange man and introducing herself.” Natalie rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I’m glad she’ll be learning self-defense from him, as clearly she’ll need it with that bad habit. Alright, what do you want on this pizza?”

  “Make that one a meat lover’s,” I instructed. “I’ve got two in the oven right now for my vegetarians.”

  “Okie-dokie,” she responded, fingers already reaching for the array of bowls with pre-cut ingredients lined up in front of her.

  People started arriving after that. I ducked in and out of the main room, welcoming people in, passing out beverages, and ducking inside to pull pizzas out of the oven. Natalie helped me with the food, cutting up slices, and everyone enjoyed relieving her of them. I received more than a few compliments on my cooking skills, which pleased me.

  Someone threw up Mario Kart on the big screen—I suspected Sho, as he always brought a game system when he came here—and people started swearing at each other as the turtle shells flew on the screen. I carefully watched from behind the couch, not wanting to interfere with the game by accidentally touching something I shouldn’t. It was fun just watching, really. Four grown adults, respectable and stern at work, were throwing pillows at each other in real life and magical turtle shells on the screen like teenagers.

  Donovan got called in to join by Sho, and he came with a grin on his face, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. He obviously liked being invited to play. I’d hoped to steal a moment with Sho at some point and follow up with him about that serial killer we’d spotted at the flower shop, but clearly this wasn’t the moment.

  I’d get to him eventually. Shrugging, I went back into the kitchen, as we only had two halves of a pizza left on the bar and I didn’t think that was enough to tide us over. Pulling a chilled ball of dough from the fridge, I started working on it.

  In my defense, a welcoming party seemed like a good idea at the time.

  On the surface it all seemed to go swimmingly. But now I was in the kitchen, alone, and that left me open to an attack that, unfortunately, no one could protect me from.

  My problem could be summed up in one word: Rodger.

  I stuck another pizza into the oven, listening with half an ear as he rambled on.

  “—it’s not healthy for you, we all know that. I’m amazed you’re functioning at all without an anchor. Why won’t you let us at least try a match-up? Your mother is nearly sick with worry.”

  Mildly, I retorted, “I thought she was worried about me not dating.”

  “That too,” Rodger acknowledged, agitated enough to abandon his perch near the counter and come in closer, crowding my personal space. “Although it’s basically the same thing. I realize that living with you is, well, somewhat challenging—”

  “Rodger.” I prayed for patience. It didn’t come. I started praying for duct tape instead. “My own mother basically kicked me out of the house when I was seventeen. If that doesn’t tell you something, I don’t know what will.”

  Big, beefy Rodger wilted a little, which was a strange sight on a person big enough to be a linebacker. He couldn’t quite meet my eyes for a moment. “Other things went into making that decision, it wasn’t just the cost or inconvenience of sharing a house with you.”

  I called bullshit.

  “But that’s beside the point,” Rodger persisted, those doe brown eyes coming back up, wavering between being sympathetic and determined. “You don’t have to live with a
n anchor, your mother and I proved that.”

  Yeah, by eventually having an affair. Way to back your point up.

  “The answer is no, Rodger. For the final time, no. I’m managing.”

  “You don’t have to ‘manage,’ that’s my whole point,” Rodger argued back, his deep voice gravelly with mounting frustration. He tugged at his tie like he wanted to take it off and strangle me with it.

  He might have a hundred pounds on me, but I was faster. I could always wrest his tie off and strangle him with it. “Rodger—”

  “Look, I already have someone in mind. They’re very nice, your mother said she got a good vibe from them,” he pressed, leaning forward as he tried to persuade me.

  Alarmed, I scrambled back a step. “Tell me you didn’t set up some sort of blind date!”

  Donovan came up behind me, stepping in close enough for our hips to brush, his hand resting protectively on my shoulder. He looked Rodger right in the eye, both men of a similar enough height to manage this without challenge. Though Rodger seemed intimidated for some reason. Donovan looked down at me and I saw his face properly, a thrill zinging through my chest. I knew instinctively he wasn’t angry with me, but the hard set to his jaw spoke of anger even while a dangerous smile rested on his face. His protective line sparked like a live electric wire. “Problem?”

  How in the world had he realized it? We weren’t speaking loudly and the commotion in the living room should have been enough to mask our voices. I opened my mouth to give him a blithe reassurance but the words choked in my throat, refusing to come out.

  “No, there’s no problem,” Rodger assured him, unease underscoring the words.

  “Really?” Donovan turned back to him and I saw his protective line light up like a signal flare. “Then why is his body language screaming defensive to me? Why did the two of you feel it necessary to speak low enough the rest of us couldn’t really hear you? And why is this highly independent man not saying a word to reassure me that I’ve put my big feet where they don’t belong?”