Chronicles of Jonathan Tibbs 1: The Never Hero (40 page)

Jonathan couldn’t imagine what had driven Grant to indulge in this delusion, and he didn’t care.

“What, Tibbs, you want to get in my face, try and make me look like an asshole?”

He stepped between Paige and Grant, knowing he was making the man angrier, wanting him to snap.

“Go inside, Paige,” Jonathan said without taking his eyes off Grant. “He won’t follow you.”

Fuel to the fire.

“
And, Grant,” he said, “you are an asshole
.”

Grant smiled.

He’d wanted it, he’d been waiting to bring it out, to see Jonathan pushed far enough that he stopped worrying about control and do something stupid. He turned his head, just for a moment, as though he were building up for some clever retort, some harsh put down.

Instead, his sudden movement caught Jonathan off guard.

Grant’s fist connected with his face. It spun Jonathan around and he fell onto his hands and knees. The gravel of the driveway cut into his palms as he stopped his fall. The ground wouldn’t hold still, the socket of his eye throbbed, growing warm where the fist had connected.

Take the pain
.

“Who’s the asshole now?” Grant taunted him.

“Grant! Leave!” Paige screamed, her voice betraying her fear as she moved forward to get between them again.

Jonathan wasn’t scared; he felt a smile on his lips.

It was laughable to him that two months ago he wouldn’t have known what to do in this situation. No
man
, let alone Grant, was enough to scare him now, not after being accosted by an alien and having half his chest ripped out; not after facing Sickens the Fever, not after drowning.

He had nightmares that Grant wouldn’t understand if he lived to be a thousand. Getting punched in the face was just something he needed, to see he wasn’t fragile, to bring the fighter all the way to the surface.

He shook off the pain and turned to stand.

“You’re still the asshole,” he said as he reached his feet.

Paige turned, startled that Jonathan was standing, unnerved by the tone in his voice, the look in his eyes.

Grant knew how to fight, Jonathan had no doubt of that. Still, Grant had drunk five times the amount of alcohol that he’d had this evening, and Jonathan trained at his violence on a daily basis. When Grant came at Jonathan with a haymaker meant to take his head off, Jonathan moved to the outside. The punch sailed past him as he came in close and caught Grant with his elbow. Jonathan’s attack was swift and hard. The sound of bone hitting forehead was crisp and rewarding.

Grant staggered back.

The blow would’ve rocked anyone. Jonathan gave him no time to recover and used his backward momentum against him, quickly stepping into him while tripping him from behind with his leg. Grant hit the ground before he knew what was happening. Not waiting for him to regain his wits, Jonathan thrust his fist down hard into center of Grant’s torso. The man gasped as the wind rushed out of him.

It was a blow to the solar plexus, Jonathan knew. His instructor had shown him the place to put the force. Grant wouldn’t be getting himself together soon.

He wheezed and coughed trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him.

Jonathan struggled then as he hovered over him, he didn’t want to reel his anger back in yet. The thing breaking loose inside of him didn’t want to be locked away again; it wanted to beat the man’s face until he couldn’t recognize it. He was right there, vulnerable in front of him, begging for Jonathan to vent his rage.

“Jonathan,” Paige said.

He didn’t want to hear her. His mind was too balanced on the edge between walking away and giving in.

“Jonathan, don’t…” Paige pleaded.

It wasn’t the words, but the fear, the desperation in her voice, that made him hear her.

This isn’t it, Jonathan. This is not about him.

He knew that if he let himself go now, that there wouldn’t be any coming back. Not to Paige; she’d see him beating a helpless man into the pavement and she’d see it again every time she looked at him. It would confirm her fears about him.

This is not the moment.

He looked away from the man on the ground and forced himself to breath, exhaling his anger. His muscles lost their tension, beginning to relax. His fists unclenched. He became aware of the sound of Grant gasping on the ground, the hot throbbing over his eye, the rawness of his hands. He looked back to Grant, and somehow, barely, he found mercy. He turned away, walking back to Paige, leaving Grant on the ground.

“I’m so sorry, Jonathan,” she whispered, genuine, but relieved he hadn’t lost control.

Collin and Hayden were ten paces behind her. They’d seen it all. Jonathan could see it on their expressions.

“What is it, Jonathan?” Grant asked, trying to speak between coughing. “What the hell makes you so important?”

Jonathan ignored him. A few more steps and he’d do his best never to think of Grant again.

“Answer me dammit!” Grant began to raise his finger to point at Paige. “You think I care about her! They made me stay with her!”

Jonathan slowed.

“They made me,” Grant said, “so I could tell them about you.”

Jonathan stopped.

“Yeah!” The arrogance in Grant’s voice was returning. “You see? He knows I know. He knows he’s in deep shit.”

Jonathan turned, facing the man still wheezing on ground, not knowing what to think. He couldn’t tell if Grant was trying to screw with him. It was too much to process. The only thing he knew for sure, no matter what was actually going on, he had to get Grant to stop yelling about it.

“Oh yeah, Tibbs, they know.” He was smiling at the look on Jonathan’s face. “You aren’t fooling shit. They know all about you.”

“Paige, please go inside,” Jonathan said. “Please, don’t fight me on this.”

He let her see his face, the wrath no longer in control. He let her see his concern. She was confused. After all the drama, this new level of unexplained crazy talk from Grant was hard to comprehend.

“What’s he talking about, Jonathan?” she asked shaking her head.

“I’m not sure,” Jonathan said. “I’ll find out, please go inside, I’m not going to hurt him again.”

She looked at Grant bewildered, her eyes still shining from the crying and confusion. Then back to Jonathan, who nodded reassuringly. He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking, but she started to walk toward the house, toward Collin and Hayden.

“Take her inside,” he asked of them.

They seemed unsure, but nodded at his command. Paige reached for Collin, tugging at him for support. Jonathan nodded back to them as they walked into the house before returning his gaze to Grant.

He knelt next to him slowly, like he was approaching a growling dog he didn’t trust not to bite. At least, Grant didn’t look like he wanted to fight anymore. He was reveling in the reaction he was getting from Jonathan, staring him down, looking for signs that he’d regained some power that he thought was stolen from him.

“Whatever you think you’re on about,” Jonathan said in a low voice, “I doubt it’s wise for you to yell it so anyone listening can hear.”

Grant’s eyes seemed to lose their assurance.

“Maybe,” he said, only loud enough for Jonathan to hear, still wheezing a bit.

Grant started to get to his feet and Jonathan rose off his knee as he stood. When they locked eyes again, Jonathan got the feeling that Grant was trying to read his thoughts.

“What you’re involved in,” Grant said, spitting the words out. “They know you lied about what put you in that hospital.”

Jonathan said nothing.

“They’re smarter than you. They’re just waiting for you to slip up.”

Jonathan felt like the man was baiting him, a desperate bluff to trick him into talking. It was the way the man made accusations without giving specifics.

“They?” Jonathan asked. “Who’s they?”

Grant’s glare contorted with angry incredulity.

“Don’t play games with me,” he whispered.

Jonathan wasn’t playing games though. Someone may know something, but it wasn’t Grant.

“Good night, Grant.” Jonathan said, turning to leave him in the dark. “Leave Paige alone.”

When he’d gotten about five steps away, Grant spoke again.

“Uncle Sam,” he said, his voice beginning to betray desperation.

Jonathan stopped and took a deep breath.

“Make it easier on yourself, Tibbs,” Grant said. “Let me take you in, they’ll go easier on you if you surrender. Give up whoever you’re protecting.”

Jonathan hesitated for a moment. Then he left Grant in the driveway.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SUNDAY | AUGUST 14, 2005 | 12:30 AM

GRANT
watched Jonathan’s back receding up the drive. The lying prick didn’t look back, and when the door shut, he felt the finality. It was sobering.

He stood there another moment, unable to make a decision, before he saw there wasn’t anything left for him to do, no move left to make. He’d underestimated him; he’d been manipulated somehow.

No! That stupid woman set me up to fail!

Olivia, he should have expected it. Whatever game she had been playing, it had backfired. Jonathan hadn’t confessed to anything. All Grant had accomplished was to blow his cover.

She didn’t know what the hell she’d done.

As he turned and walked up the driveway, the night was darker than he remembered. There weren’t as many street lights illuminating the shadows. He’d followed her orders; well, maybe not exactly, not all of them. Jonathan knew now, but she was going to say he’d disobeyed. They weren’t going to trust him. They might kick him out of the investigation.

What if she had him dealt with? He felt a sickening in his stomach as he realized that it might be much worse. The night suddenly had eyes. He had to explain it to someone. He had to make them see that he’d still made the right call.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, turning out of the driveway. He started to shake, the weight of his miscalculation growing, the implications he imagined starting to give rise to paranoia. He was walking faster and faster, desperate to get somewhere populated, a busy street. Somewhere he could be in the safety of civilians.

He made it a block and a half before he knew it wouldn’t be allowed. The man stood before him on the sidewalk, blocking his way. He wore a government issue suit: black tie, white shirt, black blazer. Grant stopped in his tracks. The man didn’t move, just stared at him like a snake waiting on a mouse.

“It’s not my fault,” Grant said, his hushed voice betraying his panic.

The man took a step forward, and Grant’s instincts took over. When he turned to flee, he only had a moment to realize that he’d done exactly as they had expected. The fist of the other man, the one he hadn’t realized was behind him, connected with his face. His legs buckled, his vision blurred, and he fell to the pavement.

Before he knew what was happening, the two men were on each side of him, one arm under each shoulder, picking him up off the ground.

He whimpered, “please, I can explain!”

Neither man dragging him said a word. They didn’t even care what he’d done, probably didn’t even know. They were just obediently following orders. Then he heard the sound of her heels approaching on the sidewalk, and cowered inside. When they turned him around he saw Olivia, standing in the street in front of him.

She was dressed as she always was, her tailored suit and heels, but now with a heavy coat on to keep out the cold. He couldn’t read her expression. As per usual, she wasn’t wearing one.

“Please listen,” Grant said, “I figured it out. I—”

She batted her eyes to one of the men holding him, and a fist hit him in the gut.

“No,” she said, waiting for Grant to understand she didn’t care in the least what he had to say.

“When,” Olivia asked, “did I ever order you to figure out anything?”

A moment passed as the meaning of her statement was allowed to seep into the man.

“When,” Olivia asked, “did you get the idea that you were to do anything other than what I ordered?”

“What are you going to do?” Grant asked sheepishly, afraid to be hit again.

She took in a slow deep breath and let it out.

“If it were up to me,” she said, “you’d disappear.”

Grant blinked.

If it wasn’t up to her, then who was it up to?

With her eyes, she signaled to the men restraining him and they began to drag him towards a car parked a few feet away. He didn’t struggle. There was no point and he didn’t want to be roughed up anymore. They opened the door for him. He looked to each man’s eyes. He didn’t see any mercy in them, just impatience, so he eased himself into the back seat, and they shut the door. The locks triggered a moment later.

It was black leather interior. He was alone in the back seat. Next to him was a thick yellow envelope. There was an opaque black glass divider between the front and back seats.