by A J Sherwood
Oh-ho.
It was early days yet, and I had no idea if either man would actually make a move, but I did approve of this for multiple reasons, mostly because it showed Sho could learn from his mistakes. Garrett was so, so much better than his previous boyfriend.
We loaded up two boxes of EMP cases into the back of my HMMWV, and everyone climbed in—Donovan in the passenger seat next to me, the other guys in the back seat. It was early enough that I hoped to get through Nashville traffic and on the freeway toward Clarksville before getting caught in the congestion. So, naturally, we got stuck in the worst of it, just trying to change freeways.
“Wow.” Garrett looked out the window at the cars all at a dead stop. “Havili, you couldn’t have warned me about the traffic?”
“We don’t normally have to deal with this,” Donovan defended mildly. “Because we’re usually zipping in and out after everyone else is at work, traffic isn’t this bad.”
“Fortunately,” Sho added. “Although if you wish, I can show you some shortcuts to avoid situations like this one.”
A smile lingered in Garrett’s voice as he answered. “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that. I was raised in Texas, you know, not used to these Tennessee roads.”
That explained the accent, alright. His was even deeper than mine, and I’d been in Tennessee my entire life. I’d known him to be from the South, but Garrett was one of those people who had lived in so many places, it was hard to get an exact fix on where he was from.
“Were you?” Sho inquired, curious. “You had no desire to go back home?”
“Well, my folks moved out to Arizona to retire, and there didn’t seem a point in going back without them. Besides, Don was sure he could get me a job here, and I liked the idea of working with him again. Fun just follows him around. That, and I wanted to meet the man who changed his mind.”
I couldn’t let that comment slide and tilted my torso enough to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Change his mind about what?”
Donovan groaned a warning. “Wilson—”
Ignoring him utterly, Garrett answered cheerfully, “Not dating men again. He swore after the last one, he’d only date women.”
Startled, I jerked my head sharply to regard my boyfriend. He’d never indicated any hesitancy in pursuing me, so this caught me completely by surprise. “What?”
“Huh, so there is stuff you can’t read,” Garrett said rhetorically. “Interesting.”
Donovan shot him a dark look. “Why did I miss you, again?”
“Dunno, man, maybe you’re a glutton for punishment.” Garrett grinned at him, eyebrows waggling outrageously. “In his defense, Jon, the last guy was a real piece of work. I wasn’t even in the relationship and was tempted to swear off men too. It’s why I was worried when he first mentioned you to me, ’cause I could tell he was falling for you hard and fast. It’s a relief to meet you, I don’t mind saying it. You’re nothing like that last guy, and you’re obviously good to my friend.”
“A relief, as you can put the shovel back and not go hunting for dark, vacant lots?” Sho filled in the words that Garrett hadn’t spoken, mouth kicked up in a wry manner on one side. He sparked with amusement but also a sort of…sharp interest, I suppose was the best way to put it. Something about this exchange had supplied an answer for him, or perhaps gave him information he wanted.
Shrugging in agreement, Garrett added, “Turn that frown upside down, Don.”
I was just as relieved by his words; it gave me a better idea of where I stood with the man. There was a history between Donovan and Garrett that neither man had broached with me, and while I wasn’t really concerned about it, it did…unsettle me a little. If he was point blank assuring me that he liked us together, I’d take the reassurance. Especially when I could see it was sincere.
Donovan shot me a look, clearly nervous about my reaction to this information. His meridian line—a muted jade—signaled nerves that were impossible to ignore. While it did upset me, it wasn’t like I was jealous at the thought he’d dated other people. We both had. We were both adults; it was understandable if we had some history. I was sorry he had been hurt but glad he had left the man behind, as well. I caught his hand, fingers tangling with his, and lifted it long enough to kiss the back of it, silently reassuring him.
“Aww, ain’t that sweeter than Granny’s peach tea,” Garrett crooned.
“Wilson,” Donovan said in exasperation (although he didn’t let go of my hand), “you remember I have history on you, right? That I can turn these tables around?”
Garrett just cackled. Obviously, he wasn’t worried about that.
I’d never had brothers, but watching these two, I couldn’t help but feel this was exactly how brothers behaved. They’d tease you relentlessly until something happened, and then be the first to have your back.
“Tell me how the two of you met,” Sho suggested.
I think we all knew he was trying to help Donovan out, but Garrett willingly went along with it. “We’d just gone through SOPC 1—sorry, Special Operations Prep Course. It’s the first training course you hit when you choose to go Special Forces. Anyway, we’d just finished that, and I knew of him, but we hadn’t really run into each other much, you know? Then we hit the next training course, called Q Course. We did a lot of conduct raids, ambushes, recon, that kinda stuff. Anyway, in the middle of this, some guy in my unit figures out I ain’t straight and starts giving me grief about it. It wasn’t like I was hitting on any of them, so I don’t know what his beef was, but he would not shut up. And one evening, we’re all in the mess hall, and he’s going on and on about how ‘it’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.’”
Twisting a little in his seat to face the rear, Donovan picked up the story. “And I was a table over, listening to this punk, just as fed up with it. So I turn around and reply, ‘It’s Homosapien, not Heterosapien.’”
I snorted a laugh.
“And everyone starts whistling and laughing at that, and the guy turns red and accuses Don here of being my boyfriend or whatever, but at that point, I’m laughing too hard to really care what the idiot thinks.” Garrett shrugged. “I just pick up my tray, switch tables, and declare Don as my new best friend. We were the only non-straight people there. We just started watching out for each other, and it became habit.”
Habit, was it? I didn’t for a minute believe that. Sho didn’t either, and a small, enigmatic smile played around his mouth. “Is that right? Were you able to serve together?”
“We got stationed together often, actually. Up until the last three years, anyway, when he went and became an MP.” Regret clouded up his lines as he looked at Donovan. “I shoulda changed too, I reckon.”
A chill went through me when I realized what he meant. The acid attack. Garrett thought if he’d been there, he could have prevented what had happened. I still didn’t have the story of how Donovan got hurt, only that he had been protecting someone else, but I hadn’t pushed for it. It still brought him pain to remember it—not just psychological, but physical pain, his nerves carrying echoes of it in his memory. Satisfying my curiosity wasn’t worth dredging open old wounds.
Donovan shook his head. “Can’t un-wish how things turned out. It led me here, didn’t it? And now you.”
“Yeah, true enough. I guess Jon’s sexy enough to make it all worthwhile.” He waggled his eyebrows again at me, making me laugh.
Okay, I could kind of see why Donovan liked this man. Charm practically rolled off him. “Thank you. I think.” Up ahead, I saw a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel as I realized we’d inched our way closer to the turnoff, which meant I stood a chance of actually getting onto the I-24 in the next ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Hallelujah.
“Switching topics,” Garrett said, leaning forward in his seat to include us better in the conversation. “How often do you guys handle murder investigations?”
“About half the time,” I answered, eyes still on the road as I hopefully inched forward
again.
“Because of the talents we have in-house, we normally handle fraud or theft,” Sho pitched in, his tenor voice smooth. “Jon does a great many interviews, as he is an excellent lie detector. But sometimes we’re called in for murders, usually when they have trouble locating a body. Or if someone suspects a murder has occurred, but there’s no body to conclusively prove it.”
“So this case we’re going to, that’s not unusual?”
“Not as such,” Sho agreed with an elegant shrug of his shoulders. He’d actually worn something business casual instead of a hoodie today—dark wash jeans, a plain white shirt, and a sports coat. He looked strangely out of his element, or perhaps I felt that way because I’d rarely seen him in anything but casual clothes. Not that he didn’t look nice today. “Did you hear the particulars of the case already?”
Garrett shook his head. “No. Why, did we get some in?”
“Ah.” Sho blinked, snapping his fingers. “I’d forgotten. Your email is set up but likely not on Jim’s bulk recipient list yet.”
“Jim sent us an email late last night with the general brief of the case,” Donovan said, “but honestly, I didn’t get a chance to more than skim it either. Sho, you want to fill us all in?”
“Certainly, if you wish.” Sho leaned forward so we could hear him better. The sound distortion in the vehicle wasn’t to be underestimated. “The case goes like this: an unknown assailant, we believe male, is sneaking up behind women as they walk to their cars after work. He’s hitting them sharply on the back of the head with a blunt object, and then running for it.”
I blinked at this description. “Wait, he’s not robbing them? Sexually assaulting them? Just conking them on the back of the head and making off like a rabbit?”
“Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?” Sho shook his head, bemused. “It’s why the case was ignored at first, I think. While the assault was clear enough—the women injured and frightened—it didn’t do any permanent damage. And no one has seen him. He’s even evaded all of the CCTV in the area.”
“So what changed?” Garrett asked, tone lilting up. “If he wasn’t killing anyone at first, then what set him off, made things escalate?”
“We’re not certain. According to the report, his choice of weapon changed. He’d used a stout cudgel—like the handle of an axe or sledgehammer—at first. But he’s gradually changed, and the recent deaths are because he’s used a fireplace poker. He abandons the weapon with the woman each time, but there’s been no prints on the weapons used.”
Donovan let out a low whistle. “Sounds crazy. I can see why they’re frustrated. No witnesses, no leads, literally nothing to go on, and the guy’s getting worse with every attack. Where exactly is this happening?”
“Downtown Clarksville, right along the square.” Sho sounded exasperated. “You would think with that area, there would be sufficient cameras and security to catch a glimpse of him, but apparently all the cameras face inwards. There aren’t enough covering the sidewalks and streets, and he’s found the blind spots.”
“So the perp’s crafty, as well as crazy.” Garrett hummed thoughtfully to himself. “I see why they’re hoping a couple of psychics can figure this out. Let me make sure I have this straight: Carol’s the one for tracing objects and finding bodies, right?”
“Right,” Donovan confirmed. “So we’ll have her start. Jon will pick up once she has a lead. He can tell who’s lying to us and get more information than a regular interrogator can.”
“We often tag-team like this,” I added, wanting Garrett to have a clear picture of how we operate. “Carol and I are very effective that way. I won’t be of much use in the beginning, but it’s best if I’m there from the get-go, so I not only know what’s going on, but I’m on hand if something does suddenly crop up.”
“Then do I need to stick with her? I mean, is she going to be in any kind of danger during this?”
“Likely not.” I paused to think about it. “Carol’s not normally in the line of fire.”
“Not like you are,” Donovan grumbled darkly.
I decided it was safer to ignore that, and continued, “Because she can work remotely, without seeing anyone, she can hole herself up in a room and do her thing with no one the wiser. If she does need to come out, though, it would be a good idea to go with her. Just in case. Tell her that as soon as we get there, so she knows she can ask.”
“Sure.” Garrett paused, and I sensed his eyes on me, although I couldn’t afford to look. I’d finally gotten onto the exit ramp, and the traffic was moving faster than five miles per hour. “Jon. I know Don said you attracted troubles like flies to spilled honey, but really, how bad is it?”
“He gets attacked as often as he melts electronics,” Sho answered forthrightly.
Garrett whistled in a low tone. “Yeah, that explains why Don looks grumpy. Cheer up, buddy, I’m here to help protect his ass, aren’t I?”
“You’ve no idea how glad I am of that, either.”
I resented this implication that I was the damsel in distress but unfortunately had no leg to stand upon. Too many things had happened in the past. If I tried to protest, Sho would only add more fuel to the fire by bringing up things Donovan didn’t (yet) know about.
Being a wise man, I kept my mouth shut.
“Okay, so getting back on point—” Garrett went back to being serious and thoughtful “—how long do cases like this normally take? Am I looking at a couple of days? Weeks, months?”
“Depends on how helpful their evidence is to Carol,” I answered, trying to give him an idea of what to expect, but not knowing enough to really make a good guesstimate. “If she can track anything down and bring us closer to a suspect, we can lock this up in a couple of days.”
“Uh-huh. And if the psychic gods aren’t playing nicely?”
“Then we try to find an appropriate sacrifice.” Sho sighed, much like a deflated balloon. “Otherwise we’ll be up there working this case for weeks until we get a lucky break.”
I risked taking my eyes off the road to catch Sho’s eyes briefly in the rear-view mirror. I couldn’t afford to do anything else; we were finally making progress toward the Clarksville split. He sounded defeated and resigned to us being up there for weeks already, which wasn’t like him. He was normally on the optimistic side. “Why do you think we won’t be able to close this fast?”
“Because the only evidence they have are garden variety handles that can be purchased in any home improvement store and fireplace pokers that can, again, be bought in any commercial store?”
Garrett was quick on the uptake. “Oh, hell.”
Took the words right out of my mouth.
5
The Clarksville PD was a fairly nice building overall: red brick exterior with a hunter green set of windows and doors. It looked like a child constructed it of giant Lego blocks—nothing but clean, sharp lines, no curves to it anywhere. I pulled up to the front parking lot and eyed it in dread. This was not going to be fun. Anti-fun, guaranteed.
Perhaps Donovan sensed that; he leaned in and gave me a one-armed hug, kissing my forehead before whispering, “I’ve got you. It won’t be as bad as before.”
Damn, seriously, what did I do to deserve this man? I leaned into him, just for a moment, and shored up my patience. “Thanks, babe.”
“Are they normally this sickeningly cute?” Garrett asked Sho.
Sho assured him dryly, “You get used to it.”
“That’s it,” I muttered to Donovan. “They’re both walking back to Nashville.”
With a roll of his eyes, Donovan released me and got out. Seeing no other real option, I did the same. Jim had driven his Ford Explorer, with Carol and Sharon carpooling with him. We all shared similar feelings of dread about going in, but if we had any luck at all, we’d be able to find the perp quickly and get out of here again.
Squaring his shoulders, Jim marched for the front doors, pulling out his ID as he went. Fortunately, the glass doors were not electr
onic, and I went through easily, although I still held my breath. I knew exactly where the trouble would start—at the receptionist’s counter running along the right side of the wall.
The place hadn’t changed much: grey speckled tile floors, black trim, white walls, and same old familiar faces that looked up at our entrance and then stared, as if to say, What are the freaks doing here? I saw more than a few meridian lines flare with irritation and suddenly wished for my darkest shade of glasses. Not that I needed them anymore, not really; my anchor bond with Donovan gave me amazing shields—for people’s auras, anyway. There was no way to shield against my touch of death with electronics. In this situation, I felt like reverting back to the glasses. That way, I wouldn’t be able to see as much, which might be a blessing for the foreseeable future.
The receptionist—a young uniform, herself—looked up, and her generous mouth instantly set in a flat line, dark eyes flashing. I knew her face, but her name escaped me. “Psy Agency,” she acknowledged coldly. “I see you’re back.”
“Got a request from Detective Hall,” Jim managed in a level tone, although I could see his hackles raise at the cold reception. “Regarding the—”
“He warned me you were coming,” she interrupted, picking up a clipboard and thrusting it at him. “Sign in. I’ll call him.”
Jim visibly bit back a retort, sucked in a breath, and reined his temper in before putting pen to paper.
Donovan and Garrett exchanged looks, surprised at the hostility, but I wasn’t. Most of this was due to me. The last time I’d been here, I’d destroyed about four thousand dollars’ worth of equipment because of various incidents, although I didn’t shoulder all the responsibility on that. I’d tried to avoid it, but no one here had taken precautions. Still, it made for bad blood, and I didn’t think they’d forget that anytime soon.
People could hold grudges longer than elephants.
We clipped on visitor badges, and Donovan stuck close to me, basically walking in my shadow. He had no intention of leaving my side during all this, and I was selfishly grateful for it. What he’d said to me before was correct. This wouldn’t be as bad as last time—it couldn’t, not with him here to run interference. I just hoped he didn’t lose his sanity or patience during all this. It would be tested to the max.
