by A J Sherwood
“Shhh,” he soothed.
Not real. The pain was not real. I drew in a breath, grounding myself with the sensation of him still holding me close. “It all happened in a split second. They realized I was onto them and, in desperation, they just uncapped the bottle and threw it. It hit me dead in the center of my back. Fortunately, I’d been wearing a good leather jacket that day, which protected me from the brunt of it, although it still gave me third degree burns. I got my arms around them just in time. The mother got splattered with a little of it—her temple and shoulder has small pockmarks. Her daughter has scars on her arm and leg that will stay with her the rest of her life. But still, they were okay. Are okay. I was screaming, the pain was so intense, ripping off my jacket and shirt. It drew attention, and fortunately for me, a nurse saw it happen and stopped to help. I went into shock, and if not for her, it would have been a hell of a lot worse.”
“Why the attack?” he asked softly.
“Custody battle, if you can believe it. The couple had just divorced; the wife was given custody of the children, with him only getting supervised visits at a contact center. He was outraged she had humiliated him with a divorce and decided he would prove she was unfit by mutilating her and scarring the daughter.”
Jon swore in disbelief, “Shit. Seriously?”
“The two men with him weren’t criminals—family men themselves—but they’d helped him purchase the acid and were going to corral his family so he could spray it on them himself. It was just so…” I shook my head, disbelief strong in me even after two years. “It was so messed up, on so many levels. The mother—Simin is her name—she was so horrified and thankful and apologetic all at the same time. She kept apologizing and thanking me, over and over. She made sure she paid for whatever my insurance didn’t cover in medical bills. The judge threw the book at her ex-husband. He got twenty years in jail for the attack, plus another ten for harming an American soldier. He’s to be deported to Pakistan after he’s out of prison, with no rights to re-enter England. Also restricted from having any contact with his ex-wife or children.”
“All good things.”
“Yeah,” I agreed sadly. “Yeah, some good came out of it. At the time, it was the good that kept me sane. I’d lost my career, dating became even more impossible, but at the very least I’d kept a woman and her little girl from that horrible scarring.”
He kissed my skin again, over the worst of the scarring on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
Tears burned the back of my eyes. “If I’d known these scars would eventually lead me to you, I might have hated them a little less.”
“I don’t want you to hate them at all.”
I put my hands over both of his, holding him to me. “They remind me, every time I look in a mirror, that there’s incredible evil in the world.”
“And they remind me, every time I look at you, that there’s good men there to combat that evil.”
He wasn’t going to let this go. A smile curled up the corners of my mouth at the realization. “You really don’t mind them, do you?”
“You’re the sexiest man in the world,” he informed me promptly. “And you’re mine.”
Maybe all this time, I’d been using the wrong mirror. I should have been using his eyes instead. Turning in his arms, I kissed him sweetly. “Get the handcuffs back out. Just for that, you’ve earned it.”
Cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West, he agreed happily, “Okay.”
17
We were back on the road to Clarksville the next morning, with me driving. I was admittedly a little sore from all of our activities last night, not to mention tired. We hadn’t actually slept until close to two in the morning. Still, it was a pleasant fatigue, a reminder of sexy fun times, and no part of me regretted it. Especially since Donovan was so much more comfortable in his own skin this morning.
His feelings regarding his scars hadn’t changed overnight—no single conversation could do that—but he’d stopped hating them to the same degree. He finally understood that I, at least, found him utterly sexy and the scars didn’t detract from him in any way. He’d not been at all conscious of them when changing in front of me this morning, which made me ridiculously happy. It would take time, and positive reinforcement from me, but I think he’ll be able to accept those scars fully in time.
Donovan’s hand was reaching for his coffee thermos when the phone rang, and he deviated to it with a grumble that changed into a hopeful expression as he answered. “Hey, Jim. No, wait, let me put you on speaker. Okay, go.”
“We found him,” Jim reported, the relief and excitement readily heard in his voice. “They had to tranq him, he was so out of control, but we got him. He’s on his way to Vanderbilt.”
In other words, I needed to turn the HMMWV around. “Got it. Will we be able to interview him today?”
“Yeah, it was a mild tranq. I think it’ll wear off by the time they get him there, honestly. We didn’t want to take him out, just make it safe to haul him to a padded room. The man clearly needs one. You won’t believe all he was yelling.”
“Tell me about it when we see you,” I requested. “Do we need to swing by and get coffee? You guys are coming from Clarksville, right?”
“Coffee would be much appreciated. We were up most of the night tracking him down.”
“We’ll swing by a Starbucks, then. Text Donovan your orders.”
“Will do.” Jim disconnected the call.
Donovan and I high fived each other, both of us so excited we couldn’t contain ourselves. Marc had known it would take time to weed through all those living auras. His ability worked a lot like Carol’s, although the difference was he could mentally see where the source was, and she used a map to pinpoint the location. With him now visually aware of the energy signature, he’d been able to look and parse through the brighter energies, finding that dimmer aura. I wasn’t surprised it’d taken him nearly twenty hours, but he’d found Samuel Rice. We all would take that win.
“Thank every god known to man,” Donovan sighed, relaxing back into his seat, eyes slipping closed. “I thought we’d never find this lunatic.”
“As an additional plus, we found him before someone else got hurt. I will so take that win.” I took the next exit, doing a complicated U-turn, getting us back on the I-24 and heading south toward Nashville.
“Yeah, I’m relieved about that too, although a little confused why you’re heading to the hospital? I would think your job’s done; we know he did it. Or…you’re going in to verify for official record that he’s mentally unstable?”
“Partially that,” I agreed, eyes still on the road. “Partially because if I can sit with one of the psychiatrists while interviewing him, we can make it a professional evaluation without just relying on me, which holds more weight in court. It’s also a professional courtesy when we ask a medical center to hold a prisoner like this for us to help them figure out just what they’ve taken on, and I always help them unravel the psychiatry of a patient when I can. It makes figuring out treatment much faster.”
“But why Vanderbilt and not a hospital prison?”
“Hospital prisons aren’t equipped for a lot. They’re set up for things like broken bones, bloody noses, some dental work maybe. But in-depth psychiatry? They don’t have the staff for that. And they’re notoriously underfunded, even when they do have a medical clinic in the prison. Places like Vanderbilt have wards for prisoners for that reason, and they help us out when they can.”
“I seriously learn something new every day. Come to think of it,” he said slowly, and I could feel his eyes studying me, “you would have been an amazing psychiatrist.”
“That’s my backup plan,” I informed him with a quick wink. “When I’m tired of being shot at, I’ll go back to school for it. When I started college, I debated between psychology and crime, but really, I couldn’t handle the seven years of medical school in order to be a doctor. Four years was really pushing it. Too many electronics
for my sanity. I went with the only option that got me out of there with a usable degree.”
“Ah. I can see the logic behind the decision. Dr. Bane. Sounds like a villain’s name.”
I laughed because it really did.
Donovan’s phone started pinging as the coffee order came in. I knew of a Starbucks near the hospital, and at this time of the day, traffic was not fast. By the time we got there, placed a coffee order, and retreated to the hospital, I figured the timing would work out about right.
And it did. We barely beat the ambulance in. I stood just to the side of the lobby doors as Rice was rolled in, my eyes taking in the man strapped to the gurney. He looked gaunt and thin, perhaps even dirtier than when Lieutenant Myers had last seen him. As he got closer, my nose curled up and waved flags in revolt, as good lord, the man stank to high heaven. Like rotten broccoli, three-week-old socks, and body odor all rolled into one. One of the EMTs had a clamp on his nose, the other a mask over the lower half of his face, and their poor eyes watered from the smell.
A nurse bustled over to them for intake, clipboard in hand, and paused a foot away with a wince. “Good heavens, what a stench. What do we have here?”
Freeman came in with a flashing badge and an apologetic smile. “Agent Freeman, FBI. Sorry about this, really, but we have every reason to believe this man is mentally unstable. He’s attacked several women already. I need him held here and evaluated by a psychiatrist. I highly recommend only male nurses attend him.”
With a pinched look on her face, the nurse—a middle-aged woman with three kids and a steady disposition to her—nodded, her chin-length brunette hair swaying at the motion. “We’ll note that on his charts. Name?”
Freeman gave her all the information, rattling it out as they headed for a back room somewhere and hopefully a shower. Even a sponge bath would help at this point. Freeman and Marc both went with the patient/prisoner, leaving the rest of the group to descend on us—or the coffee cups we had, at least.
Gonzalez groaned like a man saved as he took a long draw. “Bless you.”
“How bad was it?” Donovan asked in sympathy.
“I’ve never seen Marc overextend himself so hard. Too many damn people live in this place,” Gonzalez answered with a grimace. “All your people were amazing during it though, supportive in the best ways. I’ll make sure you guys get recognition for that. Jon, you’re recovered?”
“Fully,” I assured him, already anticipating what he would ask me next. “I’ll sit in with the psychiatrist for eval when he wakes up.”
“Bless you, that’s exactly what I was going to ask. We need this case closed, but we also need to establish just how unstable he is. As much damage as he’s done, locking him up in prison may not be the right answer in this case. He’s psychotic, but I’m not convinced he’s really homicidal, not in the traditional sense.”
I found that interesting. Something about his meridian lines indicated he’d seen something that made him thoughtful. “Yeah?”
“I won’t say anything more,” he answered, still focused on his coffee. “I don’t want to color your perceptions.”
Nodding, I allowed, “Fair enough. Well, let’s sit back. It’ll probably be a good hour before they can call us in.”
An hour went past with no indication we’d be let in anytime soon. I started to get cold, and the thinly padded benches weren’t exactly comfortable after last night, so I got up and walked a little. Garrett followed me outside, where the air was warm and didn’t smell like antiseptic, and we both stayed in the sunshine for a moment. Enjoying the heat, I lifted my face to the sky.
“Whatever you said to him worked.”
Blinking, I lowered my head and regarded the man standing next to me. “Sorry?”
“Whatever you said to Donovan worked,” Garrett repeated, meridian lines flowing sunshine yellow and chartreuse, contentment and happiness. “I haven’t seen him like this since…well, before the acid attack. To me, after the attack, he was always on edge somehow. Tense, afraid to let his guard down. I never could figure out what he was protecting himself from, and figured it was a sort of PTSD from the attack. He’s more like himself now.”
I canted my head, taking this in. I had no baseline for comparison, having only known Donovan for about four and a half months. But Garrett would know better than I what Donovan was normally like. “Yeah? I’m glad to hear it. I think I finally got it through his head that I don’t give a damn about the scars.”
“Ahh. Yeah, that would do it. He was really uptight about them. I kept telling him the right man or woman would come along, someone who could see past the scars. He kept telling me not everyone was pansexual enough to overlook them.” Garrett rocked back on his heels, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “I do love it when I’m right.”
This man had already helped me several times without a single complaint, despite all the interesting situations it put him in, and often teased Donovan before he fell into a rotten mood. I felt like I owed him something. Seeing his attraction to Sho, knowing that it was getting stronger instead of fading, gave me an idea of how to return the favor. “Since you’ve been so open with me, can I say something to help you?”
Eyebrows arching, Garrett sat back a little. “Oh, this’ll be good. I can tell. Alright, Bane, lay it on me.”
“Sho’s got some bad history with a previous boyfriend. I won’t tell you the full story, that’s up to him, but it took a restraining order to get him to go away. Your strength and fighting skills are attractive to him, but they’ll also unnerve him on a level. His ex was…physical with him. Not in good ways. To Sho’s credit, he got out of there fast, but it took months to get fully clear. If you come on too strong, you’ll scare him.”
Garrett went a hazy red in front of my eyes, most of his meridian lines pulsating with deep anger. “The bastard hit him?”
I winced. “Yeah. It…wasn’t good. Sho called me in to help testify and get the restraining order in place, so I know more than most about it.” It had also been the defining moment when we’d become true friends and not just colleagues at work. “Garrett, I feel like the two of you would be very good for each other. Just exercise a little patience, okay? He’s interested, believe me, but cautious.”
He scrubbed both hands over his face, hard, blowing out a hot breath like a dragon releasing pent up steam. Dropping them, he blindly looked ahead over the parking lot for a moment. “Patience. Yeah. I can do that for him.”
Thank God. I wasn’t a matchmaker by trade, and I had no idea if these two would make a real go of things, but if nothing else, it would prove to Sho that good men were attracted to him. And my friend needed that desperately. He hadn’t dated in at least a year because of his ex.
Garrett pulled a smile back onto his face, although it looked forced. “You’re not trying to set me up to make sure I don’t crush on Donovan, right?”
Knowing he was trying to tease and lighten the mood, I played along. “Naw. I’m giving you a little advice because you’re interested in Sho.”
“Damn. Just what all can you see, anyway?”
I shrugged, smirking. “I see a lot that I don’t say. Mr. Pansexual.”
Garrett snickered, eyes dancing with laughter. “You must keep Don on his toes, with those eyes of yours.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Donovan’s head came through the automatic doors, beckoning to us with a hand. “We can go in.”
Relieved the waiting was over, we went back inside. A nurse in a pale pink uniform stood on standby, waiting on us. I knew everyone to be dead on their feet and ready to just crawl into bed, but they were too invested in the case now; they wanted proper closure. With our group of nine, it made for an en masse movement through the halls.
The hallways of Vanderbilt were very wide, enough that two cars could have driven side by side with a little space in between. Each hallway boasted a different color scheme, making it a little easier to navigate, with signs in soft grey and whi
te to point the way. Not that we needed them with our nurse guide.
The evaluation room we were led to had a camera, and someone had thoughtfully set up a screen in the room next door so people could watch. Most of them filed through there, except me, naturally.
A tall, thin man in blue scrubs and a white doctor’s coat stood waiting just outside the door. He looked nice enough, a thin mustache over his upper lip, wire thin frames balanced on his nose, and a paler complexion that hinted he didn’t get outside much. I liked his lines, too—patient and steady, with strong emphasis in communication. He held out a hand to me as I approached. “Dr. Stephan Harley.”
“Jonathan Bane,” I answered, taking his hand in a firm grip. “I’m a psychic with Psy Consulting Agency.”
“Yes, Agent Gonzalez insisted you needed to be present to preserve chain of evidence. He was only vaguely informative about what you do?”
Ah, hence our meeting out here. “I read auras, Doctor. I’m very sensitive to any emotion, trauma, or impact upon a person’s aura. I can read something of a person’s history and emotional reactions, and can tell you if they’re lying or not.”
Dr. Harley’s eyebrows got lost in his hairline. “I’d give my eye teeth for that ability.”
“It has its drawbacks,” I warned with a small smile. “I can’t be around anything electronic. So please, before we go in, hand your cell phone and anything else electronic you’re wearing to a nurse for safe keeping. Extended proximity to me will kill it. And the camera that’s running in the room, don’t let me near it.”
His envy for my talent died quickly down. “I understand, thank you for the warning. One moment.”
I watched him go to the nurse’s desk nearby and hand over his watch and cell phone before coming back to me, clipboard in hand. As he approached, he filled me in, “Mr. Rice has been bathed and dressed in a clean patient gown, but he’s still restrained with one hand against the bed. For his own protection as well as ours. I’d like to run an IV in him, as he’s in very poor physical condition, but I understand he’s very violent?”
