by A J Sherwood
“Pretty good, at the moment. They’ve had to pull Hall off. The FBI will debrief him for info, but they won’t want to work with him. And Clarksville PD is a hot mess right now. Tell you what, let me make some phone calls. We’ll get an answer one way or another. I can’t plan the workweek without knowing either way.”
“Sure. Just let me know.” I hung up and pondered the red phone on my wall a little longer. Why had he switched towns? Was it just getting too hot for him in Clarksville? We still had no lead on who the man was, so it wasn’t like we were closing in on him. But the town was definitely more wary, more alert than before. Had he found it too difficult to find another victim? Or had he been in St. Elmo when something else set him off?
I could only guess at this point, and conjecture was pretty worthless without any sort of evidence to back it up with. The profile worked up on this guy suggested serious mommy issues, but didn’t shrinks always say that? It certainly hadn’t proved helpful in narrowing our list of suspects.
Not knowing what else I could do, I went back to the couch and switched over to the web, requesting help from Google to run me through the news articles. There wasn’t much there I didn’t already know, which didn’t surprise me much. The police liked to play things close to the chest whenever possible. I was still surfing when my half-awake lover ambled down the stairs, found me on the couch, and stretched out along the cushions to pillow his head in my lap. He settled in with a contented sigh, eyes falling closed again.
“Hi yourself,” I greeted, grinning down at him. Why was he so completely adorable? I bent enough to press a kiss against his head, seeing him spark a brighter gold for a moment at the gesture of affection. He was really fun to light up that way. “You can keep sleeping, you know.”
“Bed got cold,” he grumbled, one hand curling around my knee as if grounding me there. Like his head didn’t already do that. “When did you get up?”
“Four. I think I slept too much yesterday. I’m weirdly awake.”
“Mmm.”
Not sure if I should mention it or not, I added, “So…our douchebag unsub crossed state lines last night and attacked an army lieutenant.”
The thing about army people was that they were trained to wake up in nanoseconds when shit hit the fan. It took approximately two seconds for Donovan to run that through his sleepy brain, and then he flipped onto his back, staring up at me with wide eyes. “Say what?”
“You heard me. He attacked an army lieutenant last night while she was off-base. She’s alive, in a coma, so he didn’t manage to kill her. But this just became a federal case.”
He let out a low whistle. “Hot damn. He’s in for it now. So are we still on the case or not?”
“Not sure. I called Jim about thirty minutes ago and it was news to him too. He’s making some calls to see if we need to be on standby or not. My guess is they’ll probably pull us in.”
Donovan’s eyebrows rose. “What makes you say that?”
“Couple of things.” I rubbed a thumb over his head in small circles as I thought. I knew he liked the sensation, and I enjoyed the rasp of his scruffy black hair against my skin. “One, the FBI loves their psychics. I’ve worked with them precisely twice, and they’re not only very open on their psychic agents, but eager to work with psychics outside the agency. We make their workload easier, and the FBI are fans of that. They work insane enough hours as it is. Two, they’re going to be very quick to pick up on the hostility in the Clarksville PD and the source of it. The FBI are not going to be eager to work directly with the Clarksville PD if they can avoid it. They won’t be able to completely, of course, they’re in that jurisdiction. But if they can pull in help from outside, not rely on the police in this area, they’ll do it.”
Donovan blinked up at me. “You’ve worked with the FBI before?”
“Yeah. We all have. They used Psy on a case a few years ago. Serial killer went through thirty people before we managed to get hold of him. There was a crap-ton of evidence to skirt through, and so many witnesses our head spun with it. They asked us to help wade through it, sort good from bad. We were there almost three weeks. They’re great to work with. At least the agents I’ve met were.”
His head tilted a little as he looked up at me. “Why didn’t you go FBI? You’d be good at that too. Or do they have the same requirements as the CIA about an anchor?”
I smiled down at him. I do love this man’s faith in me. Shaking my head, I confirmed, “Had to have an anchor.”
“Ah. In that case, just as glad you didn’t go that route.”
“Me too.” I couldn’t imagine having any other anchor aside from Donovan. That idea terrified me, in fact. If I’d gone CIA or FBI, I’d never have met him. As much as I’d cursed Fate, there were moments when I realized she did know what she was doing. At least in this case, she did.
His hand came up, caressing my cheek in a slight rasp of stubble, as I hadn’t shaved yet. Golden-brown eyes warm with concern, he asked softly, “You doing okay?”
“Still tired,” I admitted frankly. “I have a low-grade headache. Not really sure I should be outside at all today, either. But I’m still doing loads better than usual on a second day recovery. Normally I’m still curled up in a blanket fort, refusing to move.”
Donovan’s voice stayed low, growing rough as he confessed, “It was hard. Watching you after that, I mean. When the Psy-Aid wore off, you were in so much pain. Any movement of your head made you whimper, and you kept curling up against me, like I was the last bastion in a mother storm. You were one live nerve of pain.”
That was not an entirely inaccurate description of what it felt like. More than his words, I could see the impact of the experience through his meridian lines. They flashed signals of distress, worry, anger. His protective instincts must have gone haywire, having me down like that and not being able to really help.
It made me feel a little guilty. I knew he hated every second of that, but I couldn’t wave a magic wand and fix it. I tried to off-set the feeling. “You were perfect yesterday. Exactly what I needed. And I promise, it’s so much better for me to have you here.”
“I know,” he answered, jaw flexing, not able to meet my eyes for a moment. “I know it’s better. Everyone keeps telling me you’re recovering faster than usual. But babe…I don’t want to see you like that again, okay? It just about killed me.”
He was serious, and that called for a serious response in turn, instead of an airy ‘it’ll be fine’ dismissal. “I promise you I will only do it again if someone’s life is on the line. I never do it for any reason short of that.” Seeing that this didn’t reassure him as much as I hoped, I added wryly, “You do remember I avoid level three readings like the plague, right?”
“Yeah,” he sighed gustily. That eased his tension and he curled into me, his forehead pressed against my stomach, an arm coming around to hold my waist. “So the next time someone suggests you do a level three, I punch them.”
“That’s not how that works,” I denied, laughing.
“I’m pretty sure we can negotiate this,” Donovan riposted, still snuggled into me.
“Oh yeah? What are your terms?” Not that he’d get his way, but I was curious what he had up his sleeve.
Turning, he moved his head and shoulders so he could mouth at me through the thin basketball shorts I wore. I immediately responded, stiffening, my body reminding me pointedly that because of one thing or another, we hadn’t had full-blown sex in days.
Tilting his head, he gave me a wicked look. “How about it?”
“I’m open to discussions,” I rasped hopefully.
His chuckle sounded downright evil. “I thought you might be.”
Of course someone chose to call at that moment. Donovan’s phone was still upstairs, but we could hear it clearly from down here. It was Jim’s ringtone, too, the BBC’s Sherlock’s opening song playing out at full volume.
We gave each other a look, knowing full well odds were we’d need to move in
the next hour or so. Donovan levered up with a grunt, heading for the stairs, and I could hear him grumble about ‘piss-poor timing’ even as he moved.
Despite the fact I wasn’t a hundred percent yet, I was actually hopeful about being called in. I hated having unresolved cases, and—if given a choice—would prefer to work it rather than hand it over to someone else. Donovan wouldn’t be happy about me leaving the house today, and I’d definitely need to down some serious Tylenol to manage it, but I rather hoped we’d get the chance to go.
“Yeah,” Donovan answered, the thud of his feet hitting the wooden stairs on the way back down. “Yeah, gimme a sec, he’s on the couch. Okay, you’re on speaker.”
I turned to face Donovan as he sat beside me, the phone balanced on his palm between us. “Hey, Jim.”
“Hey. We’ve been officially called in by the FBI to assist with the case.”
My eyebrows rose sharply. “That fast?”
“Remember, they’ve been working this case since last night. They’ve started reviewing what we did and what evidence we have, but they’re still catching up to speed. Also, apparently when they spoke to Hall he was belligerent and refused to answer direct questions from the psychic agent on the team.”
Jim’s tone relayed just how stupid that was of the man, but I couldn’t say I was surprised. Hall’s attitude was probably worse than usual in regards to psychics, considering IA just raked him over the coals and suspended him. Easier to blame us psychics than to own up to his own faults.
“And one of the agents on the team has worked with us before. You remember Freeman?”
“I sure do.” I perked up, already looking forward to this. Agent Freeman was from the Memphis Office of the FBI, and the first agent I’d ever worked with. He was the most deadpanned person I’d ever met, had the driest sense of humor known to man, and would bitch slap anyone who didn’t treat his people right. “We get Freeman again?”
“We do. Well, actually, in his viewpoint, he gets to work with us again. He called me himself to request us, and when he heard you had a partner, he said, ‘Well, buy the man a cake.’ I could tell he was pleased. They’re already on site and want us to join them ASAP.” Jim hesitated, words carefully phrased as he asked, “You think you can make it today?”
“For this, I’ll take Tylenol and deal,” I answered firmly. “I’m not missing out on working with them. And I’m sure they have questions for me.”
“Well, they do. But nothing that can’t be answered over a phone.”
I could see that Donovan was reluctant for me to go too, and they had a valid concern about me overdoing it. I offered as a compromise, “We’ll drive up separate from everyone else. If it gets too much for me, Donovan can just bring me back here.”
“Alright. Fair enough. We won’t wait on you and will go ahead, then. We’re still working out of Clarksville PD, our usual conference room.”
“Understood,” Donovan acknowledged. “See you there.” He hung up and set the phone aside on the coffee table, looking me over carefully. “You sure about this?”
“I really enjoy working with Freeman,” I explained, unable to keep the anticipation out of my voice. “He’s one of my favorite people in the FBI. And honestly, I’m antsy. I want this case solved.”
“Even though you’re still feeling under the weather?” Donovan shook his head, exasperated. “You workaholic. Alright, fine, we’ll go up. But the minute you feel like you’ve overdone it, we load up and come straight back here.”
I lifted my hand in the Boy Scout’s salute. “Scout’s honor.”
13
The atmosphere at the Clarksville police station was even more hostile, if that was possible. Or I should say, more on edge. People acted wary when we arrived and either kept their heads down or carefully focused on something other than our entrance. IA had apparently done a number on them. About time, too.
Donovan signed us in, and we clipped on visitor’s badges before heading toward the back of the bullpen, where the conference rooms were. I’d not moved quickly in getting here—the mind willing, but the body struggling to reach its normal perky levels of energy. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn Carol and the rest had beaten me here and were already doing a reading.
Halfway through the crowded bullpen, the silence became deafening. It was like a wave as we stepped through, the chattering and clack of keys only picking up once I’d passed. I had the feeling it would be a long, long time before we were invited to work up here again. Maybe before hell froze over, but definitely after the apocalypse.
Just as we reached the conference room, a man I didn’t know detached himself from a desk and stepped into our path. I’d worked with the FBI on two different cases over the years, so I knew some of them, but not certainly not all. I assumed this man to be one of Freeman’s coworkers. He wore the FBI windbreaker—a must in this arctic chill of a building—and an FBI badge dangled around his neck. He also had a One Piece pin on the lanyard, which sparked my interest. The man was a not-so-closeted geek, eh?
“Javier Gonzalez,” the FBI agent introduced, extending a hand. Short and stocky, thick black hair, and a hint of stubble on his jawline, he had an easygoing smile that flashed white in his copper skin. I liked him instantly. He had a good aura about him, bright and shining, and his lines for patience, communication, and work were all in balance with each other.
I took the hand in a firm grip. “Jonathan Bane. Pleasure, Agent. This is my partner, Donovan Havili.”
“Mr. Havili,” Gonzalez greeted Donovan politely with another handshake. “They’re in the middle of a reading in the conference room. Both of you come into this one; let’s sit down while we wait for them to finish. You’re no doubt wondering what you’re doing here?”
“Really curious,” I admitted. “We didn’t get much information, just that our serial killer has hopped state lines and attacked someone, and it’s now become an FBI case.”
“That’s essentially where we stand at the moment. Have a few more things to add to this.” He paused and led us further down a slightly narrow hallway before picking a smaller conference room that held only a table, projection screen, and six chairs. Taking a seat near the head, he waved us into a chair. “I’ve already spoken to your boss about this, which is why he’s sent you here. My partner has your colleagues already; they arrived here an hour ago.”
I strangely felt the urge to apologize. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not moving very fast today.”
Gonzalez held up a hand, stalling me. “No need to explain. I saw the footage of what you did two days ago. I’m frankly amazed you’re upright today.”
“Ah. Thank you.” Yup, it was official. I would like working with this man. I sat in a comfy computer chair, Donovan taking the one right next to mine. He was still concerned and ready to whisk me away to the back of the HMMWV in a moment’s notice if I overdid it. “Where’s the rest of your team?”
“Still in St. Elmo, processing the evidence there. I expect them to join us shortly.” Gonzalez leaned his forearms against the table as he studied us frankly. “Just so I’m clear, Havili? You’re not just a work partner.”
“No,” Donovan agreed steadily. “We’re together.”
“Okay. Makes no difference to me,” Gonzalez said. “My partner is also my husband. I just like to get a good feel of dynamics before unleashing someone onto a task.”
I smiled at him without really thinking about it. “He’s good people, Donovan. Relax.”
Gonzalez smiled back at me. “Why, thank you. I read a bit of your file and know what you can do, but it really takes you nothing more than a glance, doesn’t it?”
“I like to spend more than a single glance, but yes. It doesn’t take much. Considering your partner is also a psychic, though, I’m not sure why you need us?”
Sitting back, Gonzalez got comfortable as he explained, “A lot of this goes without saying, but the closest FBI office to us is Memphis. We’re here borrowing office space, and I’ve found the
local PD here is not…very friendly with psychics. We were here about three seconds when they put Marc’s nose out of joint, and that’s hard to do. My husband’s pretty easy going by nature. When we reviewed the footage of how Detective Hall handled the last reading, it cemented our stance in this. We prefer to limit how much interaction we have with the PD here. Since your people worked the case this past week and are more up to speed than we are, we chose to bring you in. That, and we only have four agents with us. We’re a bit short-handed for this. Freeman was also very excited about the idea of you working with us. Since he actually knows you, we trusted his judgement on this one.”
“Also helps that we know the lay of the land better than you do, and our psychic talents are different from yours, which makes it easier to work all the angles of this case,” Donovan filled in. I glanced back and found him satisfied and pleased with Gonzalez’s stance.
“Yeah, and that.” Someone’s phone vibrated, the buzz loud in the relative silence of the office, and Gonzalez pulled it out and answered it with a brief, “Yeah. Yeah, they’re here. Okay.” Hanging up, he waved us up and out. “Your friend finished her reading on the last weapon. They want us to come back and join them.”
As we followed him back out into the hallway, Donovan piped up, “I’m almost afraid to ask. What did he use this time?”
“An aluminum bat. Didn’t pay for it, either. We got footage of a man in a hoodie and jeans snatching a bat from a display rack in Hibbett Sports at Fort Campbell before hopping into a car and taking off. The bat was found next to Lieutenant Myers. Unfortunately, we have no witnesses. She was alone in the parking lot, and it doesn’t have cameras.”
That just figured. “But at least we have a general idea of what he looks like?”
“Too general,” Gonzalez sighed. “We never see his face on the camera, and we barely got a description of the car. He’s driving a black sedan. Do you know how many fucking black sedans are in this country?”
