by A J Sherwood
I’m okay. Listen, survival instincts, I’m okay. Get your act together. Donovan was going to be here any minute, as well as the police, and they’d want a statement. You can curl up in a ball somewhere and cry and get drunk later.
Another small eternity crept by before footsteps pounded up the sidewalk, crunching over the broken glass.
“JON?!”
I jerked upright, not daring quite yet to poke my head above the counter. I still considered the kitchen to be the safest place at the moment, but I knew that voice. Donovan sounded terrified and ready to murder something at the same time. I called back as strongly as I could: “I’m here!”
Heavy boots crunched across broken glass, approaching through the shattered front door. “Where are you?”
“Coming out of the kitchen,” I answered, not wanting him to accidentally shoot me. He sounded really spooked and, with his military training, he would probably shoot to kill on instinct. I levered myself up, careful to avoid the glass sprayed across the floor, looking for him as I moved.
In three seconds he was on me, free hand searching as much as his eyes for injuries. His protective line and fear line radiated in overdrive, blindingly bright without my sunglasses. I caught his hand and soothed in a shaky voice, “I’m okay, I’m okay. Nothing hit me.”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and hauled me into the tightest, most encompassing hug I’d ever experienced. His head bent to rest right next to mine, his whole body sheltering me from the world. “Don’t do that to me,” he pleaded in a hoarse whisper. “You scared ten years off my life. Some maniac shows up to shoot at you, you fucking call me first.”
“I did,” I promised him, returning the hug just as tightly. I felt safer in that moment than if I’d been surrounded by a Kevlar body suit. He felt incredibly nice and warm too. “You’re faster than a 911 response team.”
He pulled back to stare intently into my eyes. “Are you going into shock?”
“Maybe a little?” I honestly didn’t know, I just felt cold and I liked him pressed up against me. The shock could wait, I had a burning question that needed an answer first. “Did you see who the shooter was?”
“Big bulky hoodie, but I think it was a woman. I got the license plate number.” He turned his head as sirens sounded outside, expression going hard. “About fucking time.”
Normally Donovan was this big teddy bear, huggable and sweet. I literally saw him go grizzly bear right in front of my eyes. Oh crap. I’d known intellectually that he’d been an MP and special forces, but seeing his attitude go so obviously hard and uncompromising actually sent a shiver down my spine. I hadn’t even done anything wrong and still felt this instinctive urge to apologize.
He took my hand in his, grip firm, and holstered the gun at the back of his waist. Nearing the door, two uniforms burst in, guns drawn, and I helpfully raised my free hand to indicate I wasn’t the one running around causing trouble.
“Shooter’s gone,” Donovan reported, tone black and enraged. “You’re about two minutes too late to either stop or catch her.”
Not the tone you wanted to use on cops. They bristled immediately, hackles rising at this open challenge.
“And I suppose you can describe her?” one of them responded, his wide face settling into a very bulldog look.
“License plate number Yankee Zero Five Three Papa Charlie Echo,” he barked back, his hold on me tightening to the point of pain. I soothed his arm with my hand, trying to gentle him down, and he eased up a little. Still, I could tell he wasn’t going to let me out of his sight anytime soon. Anger and protective instincts warred for dominance within him.
The cop’s partner might not like the attitude either, but he immediately got on the horn and reported the license plate number through the radio.
For the first time, the older cop took a good look at me and his eyes widened. “Shit. Jonathan Bane?”
“That’s me,” I admitted, and it took me a second, but he looked familiar to me too. Shock messed with the memory, apparently. “Didn’t you help us haul Jake Turner’s body out of that dump site about three months ago?”
“Yeah, that was me,” he agreed and his attitude did a 180. “Shit, shit, shit, Captain Livingston is going to have an ulcer over this. I’m McKay, this is Esposito. Sir, you’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”
“I don’t think so?” I looked down at myself blankly, honestly unsure.
Donovan looked only partially mollified at their new appreciation for my safety, downgrading from grizzly bear to just bear. “He’s fine, I don’t think there’s even a scratch on him. The shooter wore a large hoodie, but the figure looked female, and she stood about 5’6. She shot a Glock—”
“You saw the gun that well?” McKay interrupted, not disbelieving, but needing to verify.
“No, but it makes a very distinctive sound. I heard it clearly enough as she got off one more shot before I could stop her. She flew off in a white Chevy pickup, older model, and I blew the back window out.”
“Uh, sir?” McKay obviously didn’t want to ask this question but gamely did it anyway. “You mean you returned fire?”
Without a word Donovan reached for his gun, leaving it in the holster as he removed it and handed it over. “You can have it for evidence and testing but I want it back.”
“This is Donovan Havili, my partner at Psy,” I introduced belatedly. Stupid shock. “He’s authorized to fire in situations like this.”
“Oh,” McKay said, relieved that he wouldn’t have to wrestle Donovan into handcuffs. I didn’t blame him; that wouldn’t have ended well. “Good to know, thank you. Ah, if you could slip the gun into this bag for me? Thanks. Mr. Havili, Mr. Bane, I need to take you down to the station and get statements. I swear, we’ll clean up a little here after we get the guys through, and I’ll make sure someone puts boards up to keep thieves out.”
That all sounded fine, but I had more to be aware of than that. “My oven is going. Let me turn that off. Can I pack a bag?”
“Not tonight, sir,” McKay apologized. “But I’ll make sure you can come back in the morning and collect a few things until we can fully process the scene.”
I’d have to make do, then. Although I had no idea where I could possibly stay. Psy’s meditation room, maybe? There was a bed in there and a bathroom with a shower in the back of the office.
“Don’t be stupid,” Donovan muttered to me. “You’re staying with me.”
I was? Wait, how had he read that thought off my face so well? “I appreciate the thought, really, but that’s going to put the electronics in your house in jeopardy—”
He cut me off, eyes glittering, jaw working under strong emotion. The protective line in him burned like a live wire. I’d never seen it stronger. “The whole house can burn down as far as I’m concerned,” he informed me in a soft tone that had the impact of a meteor. “You’re not sleeping apart from me until we catch her. Am I clear, Bane?”
I didn’t dare argue with him right now. I didn’t know what the consequences would be, and I didn’t want to know. “Crystal.”
13
An ambulance had been automatically dispatched, although thankfully no one had been hurt. Some of the pedestrians on the streets now sported scratches from flying glass shards, and some of the shop employees were in shock, but no one had been hit. The EMT cleared me pretty quickly. She said I wasn’t in shock, just a little shook up, which made perfect sense under the circumstances. People joked that I got shot at all the time but, really, it wasn’t that often. Not often enough for me to get used to it.
For that matter, I didn’t want to be used to it, thank you very much.
I was only allowed to get my sunglasses and keys before we went to the precinct, where I spent a lovely hour being grilled on what had happened, on who might want to shoot at me, etcetera. I pointed out laconically that they would know as well I did who would want me hurt, which for some reason didn’t make anyone happy with me.
Near ten o’clo
ck, they gave up getting any immediate answers and released me. One of the uniforms followed us in Donovan’s truck and then promised we’d have a security detail outside the house all night. That relieved me. I felt better for the protection.
Donovan’s little house sat in the old Green Hills neighborhoods, a street over from his parents—not ten minutes away from where I lived in good traffic. It looked small, and definitely under construction. A large waste bin sat parked in the driveway with wood and discarded building materials sticking out of it. He’d said he had been renovating the place, and I could believe it, judging from all the supplies and sawdust everywhere. I expected a disaster zone on the inside, but when I walked in, I found that not to be the case. The floor in the living room looked new, the walls primed for a new coat of paint, and no furniture in sight. The living room opened into the dining room, which had a small table and four chairs, and I caught a glimpse of a newly redone kitchen. At least, I assumed the house hadn’t come with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. He must have been renovating room by room and cleaning up after himself.
“How about a shower?” he asked me, voice low and gentle. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat,” I allowed, my stomach giving a petulant rumble. “I haven’t had anything since lunch.”
“I’ll call my mom, then.”
I balked, throwing up both hands. “Wait, wait, you do not call your mother at ten at night to feed me.”
He put a patronizing hand on my shoulder, his expression one of abject pity. “Jon. Did you not understand after meeting her? Feeding someone is not just an expression of affection for that woman, it’s her way of making sure everyone’s safe and happy. You’re not either at the moment, and if I don’t let her know that, and at least feed you, she will skewer me. I don’t want to die this young. Let me live, okay?”
“No, but—” I protested instinctively, not sure what else to say, just talking. I’d been very strictly raised to not be an imposition to other people. I sucked at it most of the time, because I needed more help than the average person, but that didn’t mean I expected to be served hand and foot. I already inconvenienced people so much I balked at being even more of a burden.
He shook a finger at me. “No buts.”
“There needs to be a ‘but’ here,” I denied, shaking my head. “We can always call for a pizza or something—”
“Wow, you really want me dead, don’t you?” he teased.
I knew he was teasing, I did, but I flinched because the very last thing I wanted was Donovan dead or hurt.
“Whoa, I’m joking.” His large hands slid around me, pulling me into his chest, and I didn’t fight it. My emotions jumped all over the place, adrenaline still chasing through my system, so that I felt jittery and sensitive. It felt good to just lean against him, let him ground me for a minute. My arms went around his waist and up, my hands splayed over his shoulder blades. It was hard to keep myself from latching on like a limpet. Those big hands smoothed up and down my spine as he spoke softly near my temple, his breath stirring my hair. “Sorry, I forget you’re not hardened to people shooting at you. Not that I want you to be used to that.”
“I don’t either,” I confessed against his shirt, burrowing in a little more. Now that the crisis was over, the emotions were hitting me hard. I’d put my feet back under me in a minute. I’d stand again without his support and I’d be fine. I just needed a second. Just this second, and then I’d be alright.
He didn’t say anything more, just gave me that second to pull myself back together. When I didn’t feel like I’d fly apart anymore, I made myself take a half step back, taking and releasing a shuddering breath. I felt better for it, so I dragged in another deep breath and only then looked up at him. My hands lingered at his waist for a moment before I forced them down and away.
Donovan looked straight into my eyes and I realized I had one hundred percent of his attention. There was something amazing and humbling about that, that this man would choose to spend all of his energy on me. In that moment I wanted to latch onto him so badly that my hands shook with the desire. But I didn’t want to come on too strongly and scare him away, so I restrained myself.
When he judged me steady enough, Donovan ushered me silently into the very small bathroom. Only in the fifties did they make bathrooms this small. And pink. Pink tile should not be a thing, ever. Apparently, he hadn’t renovated the bathroom yet. Although it looked spotlessly clean, I had to give him that. My own bathroom wasn’t this clean. He showed me where towels and such were and then promised he’d put some sweats outside the door for me.
Sweats. Donovan’s sweats. Even with a drawstring, I didn’t imagine this would go well.
Still, my own clothes stank of sweat, probably had glass shards caught in the fabric, and I wanted a shower. So I stripped and got into the tub, pleased with the water pressure, and spent ten minutes just letting the hot spray pound against my neck and shoulders, easing the tension there. I felt considerably more human when I climbed back out again. As I cracked open the door to grab the sweats, I heard a snatch of Donovan on the phone.
“—yeah he’s shook up. I don’t blame him, I’m still shaking, honestly. It scared twenty years off my life seeing that crazy woman shooting up his place. No, not a scratch on him, I promise. He was smart enough to keep his head down until I could get there. Mom, really wish I had an answer to that, but we’re not sure who it was. I got the license plate number, at least; they have something to track her down with. Yup. Oh hell no, he’s not going anywhere without me for the foreseeable future. There’s a policeman parked out front watching the house for tonight. Yes, ma’am. I don’t know how much of an appetite he has, but he didn’t eat anything since lunch, and he said he was hungry, so—”
I let the voice cut off as I pulled back into the bathroom and changed into the sweats. I had to roll the cuffs three times, draw in the string as tight around the waist as possible, and then roll the waistband twice to make sure it would stay up. The big Army shirt dwarfed me. I felt like a five-year-old playing dress-up in daddy’s clothes. I’m not a particularly short man, I’m of average height. Donovan was just ridiculously huge.
My watch I put back on because it would be a cold day in hell before I lost that.
I nearly put the sunglasses back on, but I’d grabbed the dark shades to help protect my senses after the shooting, and they weren’t the right ones for indoors. I’d track down my medium shades in a minute. When I stepped out of the bathroom, I rolled towel and dirty clothes up into a wad and put them into the first hamper I saw, tossing the sunglasses onto the bed. Donovan was no longer on the phone, at least, but he made noise moving around in the kitchen and I followed my ears as I tracked him down.
Hearing him tell his mother how scared he had been made me want to joke, ease his tension, so I had a wise crack on my lips as I rounded the corner and stepped into the dining room. “I think this is what the girls call ‘boyfriend shirt.’”
He finished plugging his cellphone in to charge and turned to glance at me. The glance turned into an outright stare, eyes taking me in from head to toe, and I couldn’t mistake the expression in his eyes or the way his meridian lines flared with emotion. Happiness, lust, want, possessiveness all signaled like fireworks.
“Wait, it’s me?” I blurted out, stunned and ridiculously happy at the same time.
Donovan didn’t pretend to misunderstand. A little defensively, he responded, “You can see it, can’t you?”
“Hell yeah.” I probably looked like a lunatic, but I couldn’t stop the smile. I bounced to him and threw both arms around his neck, pulling him down enough that I could kiss him. Warm lips, the taste of a man, warm breath mingling with mine, it all sucked me in. I hadn’t kissed anyone in years and I’d almost forgotten how much I enjoyed it. Startled, he didn’t respond immediately, but I persisted, and two seconds later found myself lifted up by strong hands under my thighs.
I felt somewhat disoriented bu
t knew he wouldn’t drop me. Cold stone pressed up against me through the seat of the sweats and I realized he’d set me on the counter, evening out our height so he could kiss me without ducking down. Then he kissed me back in earnest, a hot tongue darting out to tangle in mine. He consumed me, there was no other way to describe it, his hands pulling me in tightly against him. I kissed him just as fervently, trying to give as good as I got.
Some small eternity later, he pulled back to breathe, lips moist, eyes nearly black with hunger. A shiver raced up my spine; I’d never had a man look at me like that before.
But the flash of uncertainty stopped me. He didn’t understand why I’d just jumped him, and from his perspective, it likely didn’t make sense. I didn’t want him to doubt me or my intentions, so I pressed in for a quick, chaste kiss. “Hey, hey, shhh. I promise this isn’t just adrenaline. I picked up a week ago that you were crushing on someone, I saw the energy for it, and saw it get stronger, but I didn’t know who. Remember, I can see emotions and the impact it has on you, but those emotions don’t come with road maps or labels.”
Donovan stopped, really looked at me, lust fading a little as his brain clicked back online. “You’re telling me that for a week you’ve known I liked someone but never once suspected it was you?”
“Hoped it might be me?” I offered tentatively, giving him my best disarming smile. “I misread people sometimes, and with you there was a very strong possibility of wishful thinking, so….”
His head sagged between his shoulders, just hanging for a moment, although his hands never left my waist. “For a man who sees so much, you’re sometimes so blind.”
Nodding, I didn’t try to argue, as I really didn’t have a leg to stand on. “I can be, sorry. It wasn’t until you saw me come out that the emotions were clearly because of me, and I could read it all properly. So, um, obviously I like you back?”