Jon's Downright Ridiculous Shooting Case

by A J Sherwood

  Rodger didn’t try to defend himself again and I felt a little awkward letting Donovan come to protect me like this. I felt like a child and the feeling grated. “It’s an old argument, Donovan.”

  Thoughtfully, Rodger’s eyes bounced between the two of us, weighing, considering. “You should consider him as a candidate, Jon. Look at him, he’s already doing part of the job—”

  I slammed a hand against Rodger’s breastbone, forcing him back. “Stop it,” I hissed, anger scoring hot and fast through me. “Do not force him into that.”

  Rubbing at his chest, Rodger stared at me in full blown shock, mouth working silently. For good reason, as I’d never struck someone in anger in my life; I startled even me. But I felt vile at just the thought. If Rodger got his way, if he forced Donovan into thinking that this was just the right thing to do, it would set up disaster. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he became my anchor, I’d fall for him so hard and fast that my head would spin. I also knew that it wouldn’t go well—that Donovan would probably fall in love with someone else. Hell, he already had a crush on someone else. Even if I moved right now, his heart would still linger on them, but he would spend most of his time with me, and it would spiral negatively from there. Didn’t Rodger understand that? Especially after living through it himself? Did he want me to live through that nightmare too?

  It felt like he poured salt in an open wound, shoving my face into something that I couldn’t have, and I hated him in that moment as I never had before.

  My mother finally sensed something was off and came out of the living room, eyes worried, but the last thing I wanted to do was hash it out with her too.

  “Okay, time to take a break.” Donovan grabbed my hand and hauled me out of the kitchen, going straight up the stairs to the landing above. I’d never done anything with the space, just set up a huge reading chair and a standing lamp. He didn’t even try to sit, just stood with his hand still tightly on mine.

  I stared at the wooden floor, unable to face him, still shaking with anger. This was why I hated being anywhere near Rodger. He always had an agenda to push and I was always on the fallout of the equation.

  “Force me into what, Jon?” Donovan asked quietly.

  So help me, I really didn’t want to answer that question. But I owed it to him to warn him so that Rodger didn’t somehow manipulate the facts. “Rodger has been campaigning for years that I get an anchor. He won’t leave me alone. Anyone near me that he thinks might be a candidate gets pushed. Don’t think anything of it.”

  “Can I be?”

  The question brought my head up sharply. Donovan didn’t seem alarmed by this possibility, just thoughtful. Hope spiked, hard and sharp, before I quickly shut it back down. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t even understand all that it entailed. “What?”

  “Can I be?” he repeated, watching me with an enigmatic expression. His protective instincts still ran high, I could see the line pulsing. “I thought anchors had to have some psychic sensitivity?”

  “Well, no,” I responded slowly. Usually I could read Donovan easily, but he had so many contradictory signals flaring that I couldn’t begin to guess what he thought. I had to take firm hold of myself as I answered. It was hard to keep my tone level as I explained. “You don’t need to be psychic to be an anchor. That’s not really how it works. It’s more you have to understand how to help the person you’re bonded to.”

  “I see.”

  Maybe he did, but I sure didn’t. Why would he even ask…? You know what. I was leaving this alone. Anything else he told me would just feed the fire and I did not need that right now. “Listen, do not pay attention to what Rodger says. You shouldn’t be considering this at all. Anchor bonds, once formed, do not fade or change. Not until someone dies or something equally drastic happens. It’s very hard to remove anchor bonds on purpose. You form a bond with someone because their sanity is your top priority, not because you want to help a friend out. Half the time, bonds are formed between couples. The other half the time, it’s either family or people who are such close friends they’re basically siblings.”

  “Is that how Lauren and Rodger matched up?”

  “They dated,” I explained succinctly. “Broke up, stayed paired, married other people, got divorced, remarried…look, that’s a long soap opera I’m not getting into. Suffice it to say that a non-psychic person is perfectly acceptable as an anchor. But unless you feel very strongly for that person, it’s not advisable. You have to basically live in each other’s pockets, after all. Comprende?”

  “Got it,” he assured me. “I assume he knows all this because he’s your mom’s anchor, so why is he being so pushy with you?”

  “Because I don’t even try to find someone, and he’s a manipulative bastard,” I grumbled. “Now you understand why I dislike my step-dad. It’s practically an American norm at this point, ignore it. Come on, let’s get back downstairs. The pizza’s probably done by now.”

  We trooped back down, Donovan’s silence speaking volumes. He did not intend to just drop this. Damn Rodger to the ninth circle. Really, where did he get off doing this at a welcoming party for my first ever partner? The next time that my sister or mother wanted to invite him, I was going to say a very emphatic no.

  10

  Saturday morning dawned bright and fair, not that I was up early enough to appreciate it. I slept in, a rare occasion, then took my time showering and pulled on comfortable workout clothes that consisted of a thin black shirt and white basketball shorts. I’d need the movement offered by the clothes today.

  Because I hadn’t managed to catch Sho at the party, I decided to leave a voicemail on his work phone as a reminder. It was the easiest way for technology to step in and remind us when the human brains had failed. I didn’t want to accidentally let that case lapse.

  That done, I pulled on sneakers and left to pick up Skylar.

  My niece popped out of her front door before I could fully pull into the driveway, clad in yoga shorts and a tank top, her hair pulled in a high ponytail. She tossed her ever-present messenger bag onto my floorboard as she clambered inside, a wicked grin of anticipation on her face.

  “You look entirely too happy about this,” I informed her, pointing at the seatbelt to prompt her.

  “Donovan said even though I’m short and skinny I can beat people his size up; who wouldn’t be happy about that?” she challenged, obediently buckling up. “This is so cool that he’s teaching me, did you put him up to it?”

  “Kiddo, I had no idea what you two were plotting until I got volunteered to drive you to these lessons. But it doesn’t surprise me he’s taking you on; he teaches kids all the time how to box.”

  “Yeah, he did tell me that part,” she stated, bobbing her head.

  “I’m just checking—you don’t need these lessons because someone’s bullying you, right?”

  She rolled those big blues at me the way only a teenage girl could. “Please. If someone messes with me, I make their cyber life hell. But, you know, life’s not safe. I like the idea that I can take even a big guy down.”

  I felt a pang that even at fourteen, Skylar was aware enough of how the world worked to be worried about her general safety. I wished I could assure her that she’d be safe, she didn’t need to worry about anything, but the daily news would prove it a lie. Really, we’d all feel better after Donovan hammered some self-defense into her.

  Elton Community Center sat on the east side of Nashville, which made traffic a little interesting, as even on a Saturday that part of town stayed hopping. Still, we made it with ten minutes to spare and I found a back parking spot almost wide enough for this crazy vehicle of mine. We hopped out, both grabbing our gear bags, and headed inside.

  I hadn’t seen the place in a few years, and I noticed it had undergone some construction during that time, lengthening the grey one-story building out sideways and then up to a two-story level. The growth of the building surprised me somewhat, as I hadn’t thought this area of
the city had the funds to complete projects like this.

  Entering the main doors, we signed in at the front desk, paid a ten-dollar fee for a day’s admittance, then received paper bracelets around our wrists and instructions of where to go. Turned out Donovan’s class sat in the new addition, so we headed up a wide set of tiled stairs, then into a room filled with blue padded mats on every available surface and punching bags hanging along two walls.

  Donovan was already there, of course, on the ground and in a stretch with one leg straight out, his torso bent over it. For some reason I’d assumed that a man that big couldn’t be very flexible, but that position proved me wrong. Oh so very wrong, lord help me. That position gave me all sorts of ideas. Ideas I did not need, thankyouverymuch. He didn’t strain as he put his hand squarely on his instep. He wore shorts, the first time I’d seen him do so, which gave an excellent view of a very strong leg chiseled with muscle. The shirt was that baseball type that went down to the elbows, the sleeves blue against the grey torso, and I assumed he wore it to hide the worst of the scars. Only a dribble of white skin snaked around his darker forearms. It felt different, seeing him so casual. Good different. Have to subtly shift my shorts kind of different. I looked at him innocently stretching and the only thing I could think of was the various positions in bed he could do. I was really far gone, wasn’t I?

  Holding that stretch position, he greeted, “Hey.”

  “Hi, Donovan,” Skylar responded happily, toeing off her shoes and dropping her bag near the door. “Uncle Jon will be your exhibition dummy.”

  I choked. His what, now? I swiftly pulled my brain out of the gutter. I apparently needed my wits about me just then.

  “Does Uncle Jon know about this?” Donovan asked her mildly, well able to read the look on my face.

  “He does now,” she informed him, dropping down nearby to start her own stretches. “Just don’t break him, it’ll be fine.”

  I took affront at this. Granted, Donovan’s big and burly muscle, but I wasn’t exactly a toothpick, here. “I think you’re forgetting that I put bad guys away for a living.”

  She just looked at me, a hand on her hip and her head cocked, unimpressed. “You do that with the power of your brain. Not muscles.”

  “The power of my brain, as you put it, only extends so far,” I argued, also toeing off my shoes and dropping my bag nearby. I had this inevitable sense I really would be the dummy later, so it would behoove me to stretch now. “I end up chasing people eventually. Or being chased.”

  “You also have Donovan for a reason,” she retorted flippantly.

  Okay, she had me there. I really couldn’t argue that point.

  Donovan inquired mock-politely, “Does she normally win the argument?”

  I grunted sourly, stretching both legs out in front and bending over them, a handy way to hide my face for a moment. “She’ll be a lawyer when she grows up. I swear it.”

  “I want to be a prosecutor,” she informed us both levelly. “That way I can work with Grandma and Uncle Jon. Mom says I shouldn’t, though, that it has crap hours and bad pay.”

  “She’s right on both counts.” It warmed my heart that she wanted to work with us. “Besides, shouldn’t you put all of those computer skills to use? What about being an IT specialist for the police?”

  “That’s my backup plan,” she responded factually. “Donovan, you were a military policeman, right? Did you ever use computers to track down criminals?”

  “We were more the response team when something bad went down on base,” Donovan denied. “Although I wrote plenty of reports.” His phone rang, and he twisted to pull it out of his gym bag. Whoever it was put a smile on his face, and he greeted them with a happy, “Hey.”

  Trying not to eavesdrop, I kept stretching, but in this open room I could pretty much hear his half of the conversation without trying. I felt vaguely uneasy listening in, mostly because I felt sure I would hear something I didn’t want to. I was starting to crush on Donovan pretty badly, and hearing him talk to someone else he liked was not something any sane person in my position would do. It would burn like acid reflux. I hunched in on myself instinctively.

  “Naw, I’m not dropping by for dinner tonight. Huh? Uh…” for some reason he turned to look at me a little uncertainly. “I can ask? Hang on. Jon, my mom’s inviting you over for Sunday dinner.”

  His mom. Not a potential-whatever, he was talking to his mom. The relief swirled through me and I smiled up at him without really meaning to. “I’m one hundred percent okay with this and would love to go, but warn her about me first.”

  “Right.” He gave me a serious nod and a reassuring smile before focusing back on the phone and the woman on the other end of it. “Mom, he says he would love to come, but a few warnings first. Jonathan’s a psychic and kind of a different breed than we’re used to. His ability makes it impossible for him to be near electronics. Like, he touches one, it fries immediately. Yeah. So maybe dinner on the back patio?”

  She said something I couldn’t hear, and he laughed. “I know, it’s like we share a brain. Alright, what time? So, like usual, then. Alright, we’ll both see you Sunday. Bye, Mom.”

  A little hesitant at the blasé way he’d handled that, I decided to double check. “Are you sure it’ll be safe for me to come?”

  “We’ll avoid the house completely,” he answered, putting the phone away again. “Safer that way—that house is chock full of electronics, thanks to my dad. We’ll just go around back and stay on the patio to eat. It’ll be fine, nothing for you to hurt out there.”

  Relieved, I nodded. “Good. That honestly sounds great. What can I bring?”

  “Nothing food,” he requested, dead serious. “My mother can cook for the whole Salvation Army without even trying. You will bring food home with you, I guarantee this. Maybe flowers? She likes yellow carnations.”

  “That I can do. Can you—” I cut myself off as two kids entered the room.

  “Hey, there’s more of my students,” Donovan waved them further in. “Chad, Briley, come meet Skylar and Jon.”

  Two kids that had ‘attitude’ written all over them sauntered in, both with dreadlocks, although Briley’s were blonde and Chad’s black and wiry. Something about them suggested siblings to me and I took a closer look. Yes, half-siblings with different fathers. They were young, Skylar’s age, and wary, not sure how to respond to two strangers. Briley especially hung back behind her brother, letting Chad go first. They both looked good to me, though. Bright auras, not blinding, but that spark of energy a summer day sun might give off. I enjoyed being around good kids like this and gave them a warm smile. “Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Donovan’s work partner. You get to watch him throw me all over the mat today.”

  Chad snorted, chin lifting. “You saying we should have brought popcorn?”

  “Awww, we totally should have,” Skylar mourned.

  “Some niece you are.” I stuck my tongue out at her, not surprised when she returned the gesture promptly.

  More kids arrived behind Chad and Briley, quickly becoming a blur of names and faces. I wasn’t particularly good at remembering names unless I saw them written down, so I stopped trying to track them.

  After giving the kids a few minutes to stretch and warm up, Donovan surprised me by hauling me up to my feet, positioning me directly in front of him. “Okay, guys, let’s do something good and basic today before we get to pounding at the bags. Say you’ve got someone choking you—” he put both hands around my neck, although without force “—and they’re strong and big enough you can’t get free. Give me three ways you can get out of it.”

  “Groin,” several of the kids said at once.

  “Good,” Donovan approved. “What else?”

  “Eyes,” Briley volunteered a little shyly. I saw a major crush developing there, not that I blamed her.

  “Good,” Donovan said with a quick wink at her. “Third? Alright, I don’t blame you for being stumped. If the guy’s bigger and toug
her, it’ll hurt him if you hit anywhere else, but it might not make him let go. Here’s a good way to make him let go. Jon, switch with me.”

  I lifted my hands as he dropped his, putting them over his throat, which made everyone snicker. Donovan was normally in my space for various reasons but rarely like this, face to face. I felt a flutter in my stomach as his warm hands brushed against my skin and had to shove the feeling aside. Ruefully, I admitted to them, “I feel as ridiculous as it looks, trust me.”

  Grinning down at me, Donovan gave me a mocking pat of reassurance on the shoulder before focusing once more. “Okay, pay attention. Put one arm through his, grab your hand on the other side, then pull.”

  It looked deceptively simple, but I found my hands flying off on instinct. Surprised, I ran it back through my mind’s eye and realized it really had been instinct. Positioned the way he was, his arms would have broken my elbow at that angle if I hadn’t let go.

  Chad cleared his throat once. “Leverage?”

  “Leverage.” Donovan gestured Chad up, switching places with him. “Try it.”

  I put my hands on the kid’s throat, still with no pressure, and watched as Donovan positioned Chad’s arms correctly. Even knowing what would happen next, I still felt a little surprised when my grip broke so easily. Two arms in a horizontal grip shouldn’t break a choke hold so easily, should it?

  Several kids tried it on me, impressed with the simplicity of it, then carefully tried it again on each other. Donovan supervised this closely, with good reason, as it could break an elbow if done incorrectly. And broken elbows did not heal right. Still, they all had it down within twenty minutes and he released them to start pounding on the multiple bags hanging about the room. I watched him work with kids literally a third his size, bending down to their level, patient as he corrected stance and grip until they had it right.

  I watched him—his patience, his good humor, his easy affection—and felt my heart give a hard lurch sideways. Oh God, I really was in for it. All of my protests aside, I liked him. I just did. He was the epitome of everything I’d ever wanted and was afraid I’d never be able to have. I craved being around him and the thought of him being with someone else unsettled me. He’d fallen for his crush far too quickly. Given more time, I might have worked past my insecurities and fears and made a play for him.