Chapter Three

Tyson

At the brunch spot I had picked out, Libby ordered a chicken-avocado panini melt and a large flat white. I insisted on paying - despite her numerous protests - and waved her away from the counter to grab us a table.

We'd managed to time our drive into Nashville with the tail end of the work rush, and now the stampede for coffee was over, we only had to share the café with a few older couples enjoying a leisurely late breakfast.

I was glad the place was fairly quiet. Seeing how Libby had accidentally gotten pulled onto a trace at the airport, I figured she could use a moment to catch her breath at a spot where she only had to deal with minimal foot traffic. Hopefully, none of the traces in this place contained anything more distressing than disappointment that the last hummingbird muffin sold out. They always sold out very early. At the office, we joked that only the early worm got the hummingbird. More than once, Sharon and Marcy had begged Donovan to pick up a dozen muffins on his morning run and bring them when he came in to work.

We were a bit of a foodie bunch at Psy, though with all the amazing local options, we could hardly be blamed. Especially when one of our psychics was an amateur gourmet chef, and his anchor's mother seemed capable of single-handedly feeding an entire army regiment.

It was a bit early in the day for me to have lunch. But I'd only had a light breakfast, and since Libby was fuelling up, I figured I should too. I got myself a kale, pumpkin and pepita salad, light but tasty, and a bottle of sparkling water.

I noticed Libby lifted an eyebrow at my choice as I brought the tray over. Oh? What was that about?

We were quiet as we both tucked into our food. The drive in from the airport had been fairly quiet, the pair of us chatting about Libby's flight and things to do in Nashville. It hadn't been awkward, exactly. But we had only just met, and were still getting to know each other. At least we seemed to have already broken the ice.

Perhaps it would break a little bit more if I could get Libby to confess why she kept side-eying my salad.

She was about halfway through her panini and three-quarters through her coffee before she commented on it. "You actually eat kale? I didn't think anyone actually ate it."

"What did you think people do with it?"

"Post photos of it on Instagram, boast about how healthy they are for eating it. I can't imagine anyone actually enjoys eating something that looks like pond scum." I didn't need Jon's eyes to see her disdain as she wrinkled her nose at my bowl.

So Libby was a salad-snob. And we'd been getting along so well up until now. I was willing to give her a free pass, since she had only just got some coffee and proper food into her; she was likely caffeine-deprived and hangry.

I gave her the pass, but also took another forkful of my salad.

"It's actually really good," I said, once I had chewed and swallowed my mouthful. "If you wanna try becoming a kale convert, get Jon to make you his kale and walnut salad. He made a big bowl of it for one of his dinner parties, and Garrett started off teasing him about serving rabbit food, but he changed his tune after actually trying it. He even asked Jon if he could give him the recipe for the creamy dressing, and while he claimed it was because he wanted to make it for Sho, he brings a kale salad to work for lunch pretty often now. Every time Donovan catches him eating it, he teases him about having a 'bunny brunch'."

The teasing usually resulted in two grown men tussling among the cubicles, until Jim called out at them to knock it off. Garrett really was a long lost member of the Havili clan. He and Donovan reminded me so much of me and my own brothers, even more so when Brandon was in town and the three of them got up to typical brotherly antics.

I wondered if Libby would take offense to my defence of kale, but instead she looked sheepish. "Sorry," she said, playing with a piece of fancy lettuce poking out of her panini. I noticed she tended to fidget a lot, usually when she had to stay still. I had seen her fiddling with the strap on her bag while we spoke at the airport, and she had been toying with the buttons on her jacket during the drive in. "Whenever I go out for a meal with other people, they tend to comment on what I eat. Because I need to be in shape for my work, everyone tends to assume I live on lean chicken and cucumber crisps. I make sure I keep in top form and eat right, but I'm not a masochist."

So it wasn't so much an anti-salad stance, just a dislike of judgements and assumptions. I could handle an inverse fitness-snob; I was a bit of one myself. "I get that. I've gotten it from both sides. On the one hand I've had folks at the gym try to draw me into conversations on which protein powder to use, or how many calories ranch dressing has compared to vinaigrette. On the other hand, as a former cop, I've had more digs about living on donuts than I've issued road violations."

Libby chuckled at that. "Nothing wrong with a good donut," she declared, with an obstinate toss of her head. "Not so much the chia puddings set in a circle mould with kombucha glaze and grated carrot 'sprinkles' that I recently saw in a cake display cabinet."

I put down my fork, pausing eating so I could be properly aghast at the notion. "Please tell me that wasn't an actual thing."

"Sure was. People eat all kinds of so-called 'food' in California. Real Californians don't just order a burger. They're on a no-carb diet, so they have a burger patty between two leaves of lettuce. Or they're keto, so they have salad sandwiched between two beef patties. Or they're vegetarian, so instead of a regular patty they have a slice of grilled mushroom. The first time I went out in Sacramento and ordered a plain old burger - with bun, meat and everything - I thought the server was going to keel over from shock. Especially when I asked for a side of fries."

"Good on you for eating for pleasure, not punishment." Sure I mostly ate healthily, but I wasn't about to deprive myself of the occasional treat. I wasn't vain enough to worry that I would downgrade myself from eight-pack abs to a mere six-pack if I ate a couple of fries. "There are plenty of good places to get burgers around here, if you want recommendations. I know Carol and Sharon are planning on taking you out to the best Italian place in the state tonight. Jon has been talking about having you over for dinner at his place while you're in town. And if she gets wind of that, Donovan's mother will likely insist you come over and put out a spread for you. I've never seen a dining table actually groan under the weight it held up until I went to a Sunday dinner at the Havili household."

Libby chewed her melt thoughtfully. I was glad she seemed to be savouring it, and proud of the local Nashville cuisine for trumping Cali's low-calorie fare. "I hope your boss has a lot of cases for me that keep me moving. Otherwise, I might have to do some extra running so I don't put on several pounds while I'm here."

"You'll be fine, though I can point you in the direction of a good gym and some nice walking trails if you're interested. But you definitely won't go hungry while you're here. If I ever hear anyone claim they didn't eat well in Nashville, I usually tell them 'something smells, and it should've been fried chicken.'"

Libby laughed outright at that: head thrown back, eyes sparkling, ponytail swaying as she shook with mirth.

It was good to see. I wanted to make sure she enjoyed her time here, set her at ease.

I didn't know her well, but Carol and Sharon had told me her background. What had happened to her former partner and anchor. I had noticed what direction her words had been taking before she had abruptly stopped talking.

I had never had a long-term partner who I had loved like that, let alone lost them under such terrible circumstances. I couldn't imagine what she must have gone through, being there when her wife had been struck, having to make the decision to turn off her life support. I could understand her grief, empathise with it, hope I'd never have the misfortune to ever feel like that myself.

If I could stop Libby from looking like that again, I'd do whatever I could to distract her and make her feel comfortable here. I kept seeing again the look on her face when she'd snapped her mouth shut. She had looked… lost. On a woman whose profession was all about finding locations and knowing where to go, it had looked so wrong to see her standing there, alone and untethered, as if she might drift off and disappear into the back reaches of the airport parking lot without my trace to follow.

Which was a ridiculous notion, of course. I knew that Libby regularly worked solo as a psychic, was experienced and had travelled thousands of miles on her own.

But I had seen how much Jon had struggled before he got Donovan. I had done what I could to shore him up when I wasn't working one of my own or Carol's cases. I knew how to be a makeshift stand-in for an anchor.

As a relatively free agent with a lesser caseload and a more adaptable schedule, I had offered to be the one to shadow Libby during her stay. Carol and Sharon had cases they were in the middle of, same for Jon and Donovan; Sho had his specialty, and Garrett increasingly prioritised chasing up leads for him over general investigative work. It hadn't taken much reorganisation to free myself up to play native guide for the duration of Libby's visit. I'd taken pointers from both Sharon and Donovan on what I should do and what Libby would likely need from me. Having seen firsthand just how my support could help her, I was determined to put myself fully at her disposal for the two weeks she was here.

Garrett might have to some cases that I would normally have handled. But he was used to covering for me when work required me to take extended trips out of town. It might mean he got to hang out at the office with Sho slightly less, but he could suck it up for a few weeks. And I was sure Sho would make it worth his while when they went home together.

"So you used to work for the local PD before you joined Psy?" Libby asked, drawing me out of my mental reallocation of office duties.

"Yeah. I've been with Psy for almost 5 years now."

"It's not often that a police officer switches to working exclusively with psychics," Libby observed, idly playing with her napkin as she spoke. "The police force tends to stay separate, and most agents who anchor or partner with psychics are specialists, either with one of the alphabet agencies or private psychic practices."

"I quite often hear that," I admitted. People were often surprised or curious when I said I was former PD and now worked with psychics. Hearing it from Libby, who had an insider's perspective, made me realize what an oddity I apparently was. "Psy works a bit differently. We're pretty integrated with the local PD. We occasionally get invites to work with other police forces in neighboring states; otherwise, about sixty percent of our cases come from the Nashville precinct directly. We often have cases initiated by private clients which eventually require police involvement, so the benefits go both ways. Our main liaison at the precinct, Harry Borrowman, has been great to work with. I'll often link up with him on cases, though by now he's worked with Jon and Carol enough that he can consult with them without me having to get involved. Mostly I follow up leads uncovered by our psychics or our IT guy that require some regular detective work to turn them into admissible evidence. Psychic testimony only counts for so much in court-"

"Unfortunately," Libby interjected, giving her excellent coffee a sour look.

I nodded in agreement, having heard the exact same complaint from many other psychics many times over. "I support their findings with my investigative work. Plus, not every case we get requires psychics. Often I get lumped with the cast-off cases for which one of Jon's or Carol's readings would be overkill, but a regular PI like me will suffice."

"I'm sure you're a bit more than a 'regular' PI," Libby said, giving me a kind smile. I hope she stuck by that evaluation after we'd been working together. I was proud of my work and considered myself fairly good at it, even if I wasn't an all-seeing psychic.

"What made you decide to switch over to Psy from the PD?" she asked.

"Jon did," I explained, huffing at the memory. The incredible nature of the story never got any less, no matter how many times I re-told it. "I actually came upon him purely by accident, while I was off-duty. I was driving out to one of my favourite walking trails when I came across some folks by the roadside who appeared to be in distress, so I figured it was my duty as a good citizen to stop and see if I could assist."

"So civically-minded," Libby teased, smirking at me over the rim of her coffee cup.

"Always. It was a good thing I did, because it turned out the guy on the ground was Jon, and he was bleeding out of a knife wound in his side."

"Oh my god!" Libby exclaimed, making a couple at a nearby table glance our way.

That about summed it up. "It gets worse. He'd been stabbed by his newly-assigned work partner, who apparently had some shady things in his past that he was afraid Jon would see. He decided his best break for it was to plunge a knife into Jon and dump him in a ditch."

Libby shook her head at me, apparently beyond words. Yeah, that's what I thought too. Criminals were one thing, but a partner taking a stab at Jon? When I'd heard the full story behind his injury, I had been just as incredulous.

"It was doubly good that I stopped, as there was already a good Samaritan there trying to help. But he had pulled out his phone to call paramedics, and-"

"Jon's abilities fried it," Libby finished for me. "I've been warned about that. Numerous times."

That was a relief. Making sure Libby left with all her electronics intact after two weeks was one of my major tasks. "Remind me to hand over the EMP-shielded case Sho gave me for your phone before we get to the office. Anyway, when I pulled over, I tried to call as well, and my phone also bit the dust. Luckily, I had an Airwave radio I kept in the trunk of my car for emergencies. Once I figured out what was happening, I backed off a safe difference and got a call through. Ed - the first guy who stopped - managed to staunch Jon's bleeding, while I found his investigator's license and psychic permit in his wallet, with instructions to phone Jim if he were in trouble, and for the love of all that was holy keep him away from any ambulances."

Libby grimaced at the idea of a decommissioned bus; those things were valuable, both in monetary terms and how essential they were to public safety. "Good detecting."

"One of the best finds of my career. We finally got Jon to a hospital in a tech-free ward, patched up and sworn off work partners. I dropped in a few times to see how he was doing. We got talking. His job and the agency he worked for sounded interesting, I was looking for a change from the PD. When Jim called me up to formally thank me for preventing his employee from bleeding out by the roadside, I offered my services. After some negotiating we came up with a work contract that suited both me and the business. I've been there ever since."

Libby pondered my story for a moment. "Must have been quite a change from police work. Positive change for the most part, I'd hope."

Since Libby regularly worked with the police, she would well know how gruelling, stressful, and sometimes soul-destroying working on the force should be. "Sure, the hours are a lot better, our offices are a fair bit nicer than the precinct, I don't have to do patrols or handle all the bureaucracy bullshit that comes with progressing through the ranks. Though it wasn't like I hated what I did before. For the most part I liked it, and I knew what I was getting into when I enrolled at the academy. After all, policing is something of a family business."

Both Libby's eyebrows went up. "Really? I didn't think you could set up our own precinct like a shopfront. We tend to refer to that kind of privately-owned enforcement as 'mafia.'"

I chuckled at the joke. "Not like that. My dad was a police officer too, up until he retired two years ago. He originally came over in his twenties from New Zealand to take a shot at acting."

"He was hoping to be the next Russell Crowe or Sam Neil?"

"That was his plan, but it didn't quite work out for him. For the couple of small roles he did manage to land, he kept getting cast as police officers and detectives, since he was this big tough-looking guy who looked imposing in a uniform."

"You obviously inherited the tough-guy gene from him," Libby teased.

I pretended to smooth my hair back into a red-carpet-worthy quiff. "You bet I'm genetically blessed. I may not look it, but I have some Maori blood on my paternal grandfather's side. Descended from a race of noble warriors, I am."

Libby snorted, in what sounded more like amusement than disbelief. It was all true; I did have some Maori in me. My skin was a bit fairer than my dad's but not as pale as mom's. I tended to tan as well as freckle in the sun, so I had some alternate combo of their skin types. I could do the Haka as well as any Kiwi; though if it didn't look quite as impressive compared to when Donovan, Brandon and Garrett did the Tongan equivalent Sipi Tau. I may be genuinely descended from a warrior culture, but I felt like a fraud compared to those three shouting at the top of their lungs what they were about to do to their enemies. I fully believed Brandon when he said doing Sipi Tau had intimidated more than one demon he had dealt with in the field. If only doing the Haka at criminals was enough to subdue them, would have saved me a lot of running and tackling. At least I likely would have still made the All Blacks proud of my work methods.

"My Dad figured since he kept getting cast as cops, he might as well have a go at the real thing. Once he enrolled in police academy, he became friends with my uncles, who were also on the force. Through them he met their sister, my mom. The rest is history."

"Wow." Libby pushed aside her empty plate, stacking her now equally-empty coffee cup on top of it. "So you have multiple uncles who are police as well? Are they all with the Nashville PD?"

"Ah, no. I actually originally come from Portland. One of my uncles who is about the same age as Dad retired when he did. The other two are still there, both senior officers now. Two of my brothers are also on the force; that's all of us except for Clay, who had to buck the trend and join the fire brigade instead." I couldn't help but smiled as I reminisced about my parents' fortieth anniversary celebration last year. The photographer had had me and my three brothers line up for a photograph: we were captured standing in a line, smiling in our black suits, all of us wearing police-regulation blue dress shirts under our jackets; except for Clay, whose shirt had been fire-engine red.

"So there were seven of you, all from the same family, working there all at once?" Libby sounded almost awed. I suppose it was quite an achievement.

"Yep, though Kyle, my youngest brother, didn't graduate from the academy until after I'd transferred. I worked in Portland with everyone else for just over seven years, then switched to Nashville PD for two years, before I joined Psy."

"Huh. That was a pretty big move from Portland to here, practically across the country."

"Yeah, I guess it was." If there was irony in the Kinetic Tracer who travelled constantly for work and was only just now visiting her cousins for the first time thinking I had moved far away from family, I didn't mention it.

I also didn't mention why I had transferred to Nashville. I screwed the cap back on my bottle of water, deciding I wouldn't get into the full explanation behind why I had moved. I didn't like to pull that story out too often with people I didn't know well. I didn't want to look like I was trotting out a sob story for sympathy. Or show off how pathetic I was. Had been. It wasn't like I was ashamed of it or anything. I had been young and foolish back then. Too willing to give my heart away. Though I had put the pieces of my heart back together and built a life for myself here, I didn't particularly like reliving that part of my past.

Maybe I'd tell Libby the full story later in the week, when we were pressed for conversation during a stakeout or something. If she asked about it, if I felt like sharing.

"Much as it would be nice to be closer to family, I've got roots here too now," I said instead. "The folks at the office are close-knit, we all feel kinda like found family in a way. Besides Carol and Sharon being actual family, of course."

Libby grinned at the reminder of the cousins she had flown in to see. "I'm so looking forward to catching up with them. It's been too long since we last saw each other in person. Thanks again for offering to act as my liaison during my time here."

"My pleasure, I'll be glad to help out." Pleasant though this brunch had been, I thought it was about time to bring things back round to the professional aspect. "Before we head over to Psy, can we run through what you need from me during these next two weeks? I know different psychics work differently and have their own requirements, and Sharon took me over the major points. But I'd like to hear it from you, to make sure I've got it right and know what I should be looking out for when we're in the field together."

Libby moved her plate and cup to the side so she didn't have to look at me over the top of them. "That's a great idea."

I likewise pushed the debris from my meal aside so I could lean my elbows on the table and give Libby my full attention. I knew from experience and Donovan's reiterations that my support in sticky situations could make or break a psychic's wellbeing. I took my duties as protective detail very seriously.

Plus, there was no way I was letting anything happen to Sharon and Carol's cousin during their stay. Carol would find the perfect remote location to hide my body, and Sharon would help her stash me there. If one of my other co-workers or the extended Palmer family didn't get to me first.

"So, you've already seen an impromptu demonstration of how my ability works."

I nodded. "Do you often get drawn to a random trace like that?"

"Sometimes, though today's incident was a bit out of the ordinary. That mostly happened because I was in a high-traffic location, and happened to come across an insistent trace."

"You said fix on the trace that has the highest urgency? What did you mean by 'urgency'?"

"The highest emotional charge would be another way of putting it."

Hang on a moment. "Does that mean that you can feel what the person you trace was feeling?"

Libby looked uncomfortable at my question, which I hadn't expected. Was my asking some contravention of some psychic etiquette I was ignorant of?

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down at the patterns she was tracing on the tabletop instead of at me. "I didn't mean to invade your privacy when I asked to step on your trace earlier. It's just, if we're spending time together at work, I would have accidentally stepped on your trace sooner or later, and I usually ask for consent from whoever I'll be working, so I can get to know their trace before that happens. Did Sharon and Carol not tell you-"

"No! No that wasn't what I meant," I hastened to explain. "Sharon did tell me you'd do that, and I knew what was involved when you asked if you could step on my trace." I chuckled wryly. "After five years of working with Jon, I'm used to being an open book to the resident psychic. I didn't mind you reading me. That wasn't why I was asking."

"Oh." Libby seemed taken aback by my response. "Right, that's… well, that's good, that you didn't mind."

"Not at all."

"Okay, good. What did you mean, then?"

"I was just curious about what you were experiencing when you trace someone. Whether you need support for just the physical effort of chasing down who you're tracking, or if there's an emotional lode as well. That trace you stepped on outside the airport, you said you could feel the person's panic?"

"Yeah, I could sense how stressed and desperate they felt. Not like I was actually feeling what they were feeling, as if they were my own emotions; more like a general impression, paired with some internal dialogue."

"Wow." That correlated with the gist Sharon had given me, but it was still pretty amazing to hear it from Libby herself. I knew from my career, the emotional toll constantly dealing with second-hand trauma could take on investigators. Even if Libby didn't experience the person's emotions directly, since she made a career out of chasing down perpetrators or their victims, that had to be a tough gig at times. "Gives new meaning to the expression 'walking in someone else's shoes.'"

"That's pretty much exactly what I do," agreed Libby with a laugh.

"That's a pretty rare psychic talent."

"It's not exactly common. Readers like Carol make up far more of the psychic community, though not all Readers work exactly like her either. You know that Carol and Jon are both Readers, but their methods and perceptions are completely different?"

"Yeah, I had wondered about that."

"It's because even within psychics of the same category, there are two further subcategories: Searching and Sensing. Readers like Carol will use a focal point to 'search' for a target person or object. Her ability is unhindered by distance, though she is reliant on her tools and having a physical source to focus on. Meanwhile, Jon is a 'sensing' type of Reader. Carol can get a fix on a person from the opposite side of the country; but she can't tell you anything about that person's personal history, situation or actions, no matter how hard she looks. All she can tell you is where they've been, and where they currently are. Jon, on the other hand, has to be looking directly at his target; even looking at a video feed from the next room-"

"While standing a safe distance away from the screen," I couldn't help interjecting. We'd all had it drilled into us to keep our tech babies safely away from Jon. When that tech was a work item and not personal gear, that also meant avoiding Sho's wrath.

"Yes, even then, trying to read someone through a screen won't work. But when he does get access to his target, he can see practically everything about them: their age, profession, medical history, personality traits, whether they have a guilty conscience, what they are feeling or have felt, in only a few glances."

"That's pretty much an exact description of what he does," I agreed. When I thought about what Jonathan Bane the psychic could do, separate from him being Jon my friend, I understood why some people were a little afraid of him. To the point that some would try to stab him, even.

"Well, my ability is actually a combination of Searching and Sensing. I get both physical location and personal data on whoever I'm tracing."

"So, what you're saying is that you could easily replace both Jon and Carol?" I asked playfully. "Once you show off your talents to Jim, I'll help you clear out their stuff; I'll take whichever office you don't want, so long as I'm allowed to install my own personal coffee machine."

Libby laughed that lovely unrestrained laugh again. "I don't think Jim should release Carol or Jon from his payroll any time soon, not only because between how well Carol knows me and what all Jon can see, they would very easily blackmail me into giving them their jobs back. I have my own limitations. Much like Jon has to look directly at his target, I have to be on the same ground they trod. While Carol can give you an accurate location instantaneously, I have to follow the trace left behind in real time, so I'm always trying to catch up to whoever I'm tracking."

"You can make a guess from where they're headed based on their trace though," I pointed out.

"Sure, I can plot the route they are likely to take, informed by whatever impressions I pick up through their trace. It's a bit more like guesswork, though. My target might decide they'll head to the right as they're going along a straight, then change their mind and head left as soon as they hit the corner."

"Ah. Hence why you do a lot of running."

"Yes. Staying on the physical trail is the best means of getting accurate results, though it does take more time."

"You'd be able to provide both kinds of data that Jon and Carol could all at once, though."

"Yes, which is required on some cases. I don't know if you're familiar with Grantland Walker?"

I knew him by name, though I hadn't met him. He'd been in the reports from the McMinnville case, had provided the psychic reading which had originally brought us in on the case, and been crucial to locating Jon and Mack after their abduction. I'd been on a road trip to Maine at the time, escorting Abigail Moore to safety; she had been a good kid, apparently a pretty good Reader - hence why we had to drive her out to her grandmother's place rather than flying - and so awestruck by Jon, she could barely stop talking about his promise to mentor her the whole way there. I had spent an enjoyable 35-hour drive alternating turns behind the wheel with her father, answering her questions about detective work and singing along to the radio between naps in the backseat, while the rest of my colleagues had been dodging bullets and putting a family of deranged killers behind bars.

I'd read all about it after the fact; without Grant, we wouldn't have uncovered the Whites' latest victim which led to the discovery of others, and the rescue of Jon and Mack wouldn't have been nearly as timely. Since Grant was now training Donovan's cousin as a prospective anchor, I was pretty sure it was only a matter of time before I got to meet him in person.

"The Dreamwalking psychic?"

"That's him. He works with various police forces and government agencies. His ability is even rarer than mine, so he tends to get called out on cases where a people-finder is specifically required, wherever and by whomever it's needed. We've actually been paired up by an FBI agent we both formerly worked with and advised to talk at regular intervals, since our abilities are somewhat similar and we can offer moral support to each other based on our shared experience. When he works, he doesn't need to physically follow his target; he can remote-view like Carol, so long as he has a focus to scry with, and he can put himself in a sub-conscious state in order to track them across the dream plane. But the way he reads both physical location and psychological profile from his target is very similar to the way I perceive things."

That was a very interesting take on psychics that I hadn't heard before. And I was sure I wasn't the only one who would find it fascinating. "You should repeat all of that verbatim to Grant's new anchor, Alan Havili. He's writing a book on psychics, and he'd probably make what you just said into a whole chapter on its own."

"If he'd find any of that useful, sure, I can repeat it to him. Likely he's already heard it all from Grant."

"Possibly. But he'll probably still want an extra opinion, seeing as his book is a field-guide for psychics who want to collaborate with other psychics or non-psychic investigators, which is exactly what you'll be doing while you're in town."

"True. If you mention it to Donovan and he thinks his cousin might want to talk to me, you're welcome to give him my number."

I nodded, making a mental note to bring it up with Donovan next time I got the chance. Perhaps we'd even run into Alan at a Havili gathering during Libby's stay. If Alan did get Libby's input for his book and wanted to thank me for providing him with another primary source by giving me a finder's fee in the form of Alani's cooking, I certainly wouldn't turn it down. No one in their right mind turned down Alani's cooking.

"So what do you need me to do to support you while you work?" I asked, pulling my mind away from future meals, remembering that since we had both finished eating brunch we should head into the office soon. I now had a much better understanding of how Libby worked, but I'd like to know what specific duties she wanted me to perform for her.

"There are a few things. The first is acting as my on-road support. While I follow a trace, I'll usually be travelling on foot, sometimes over significant distances. I need someone who will shadow me, much as if I were a marathon runner: monitoring my progress, providing food and drink when I need to hydrate or refuel, keeping in contact with me over comms, acting as intermediary between me and whatever agency we might be collaborating with."

"I can do all that," I assured her. "I've run a few marathons myself and supported buddies who did, so I've done all that before without the psychic element."

"That's great, you know just what to do then. The person acting as support needs to stay close by, in case I need something at short notice. I sometimes wear a GoPro; and I am aware of my situation during a trace, so if I suspect I might need something in the near future, I can warn you over comms."

"That explains why Sho pulled out a very sophisticated set of earwigs earlier this week and got me to test them out." I had enjoyed the opportunity to play with a new toy - making sure I didn't wear it anywhere near Jon - and I was used to using similar devices.

"The other important thing I need in the field is someone who can watch out for my personal safety. I'll be following a trace that is likely at least a few minutes old, and conditions can change. I can slow myself down enough to open doors that my target ran through before they were closed, and if I have to, I can bail by jumping off a trace. But sometimes, if a trace is particularly insistent, I can have trouble slowing or breaking my momentum. There have been instances where I have nearly run into cars that weren't parked there when my target ran through and were now blocking the trace I was trying to follow."

I winced at the thought of running face-first into a parked car. "Did you do a ninja-like flip over the roof of the car without breaking your stride?"

"I wish. I managed to get off the trace in time, or I warned my support that it was coming up and someone pulled me off the trace before I hit it. Sometimes, I might need someone to physically lift me off the trace; once both my feet are off the ground and no longer locked onto the trajectory, the psychic link to my target is broken. I can then navigate around obstacles before re-finding the trace and following it again."

"Good to know that the amount I can bench-press will come in handy." I jokingly flexed my arm, impressive muscles unfortunately hidden under my jacket, and gave Libby an assessing look. I reckoned I could lift her easily; though she was reasonably tall she was very trim, I shouldn't have too much trouble picking her up. Especially if the circumstances suddenly called for it in the middle of a case, and I had a shot of adrenaline plus necessity lending me strength.

"Just don't expect me to follow you to the gym so you can practice hefting me around like a barbell. I can give you my bodyweight and other specifics if you want to check that I am within your lifting range, but I don't think I would exactly be pushing up against your limit."

"I doubt that," I agreed. I wasn't exactly a muscle-bound power lifter - not like Quinn, an FBI anchor I'd seen photos of when Mack and Brandon had been visiting - but I was no slouch at the weighs bench. As long as Libby didn't expect me to launch her into the air, I figured I was capable.

"Great. That's everything, I think. You okay with all that?"

"Totally fine. The fact you're not threatening to zap my phone at five paces is an added bonus."

Libby chuckled. "I don't know if I should be intrigued or fearful at the prospect of meeting Jon."

"A bit of both is the standard response. Until he cooks for you the first time; then you'll be considering asking him and Donovan to adopt you." Speaking of our resident phone-killer, my phone started trilling inside the EMP case I had packed it into before slipping it in my pocket. I had an unread text.

Shaz: Where r u Ty? Did u abduct our cuz or is she leading you on a trace across town?

I chuckled, then tapped out a response.

Me: Just fed her brunch, on our way now

Shaz: No hummingbirds left? :(

I chuckled harder. Our offices really did run on caffeine and sugar. Jon alone could probably keep a kindergarten class hyped for hours on the constant supply of cupcakes Donovan got him.

Me: No hummingbirds, but will pick up mixed muffins for u guys

Shaz: Thanks ur the best :D

"We have been tasked by your cousin with bringing in elevenses for everyone," I informed Libby with a roll of my eyes. "Let me get a tray of muffins to go, then we can head over to Psy."


Author's note:

Sorry to any Californians who were insulted by Libby's scorn towards the local delicacies.
Her description of Californian burgers is based on a comic strip by blogicomics.

I wasn't sure what kind of psychic Carol is; in Jon book 1 she is described as a 'more traditional Reader', while is book 5 Jon refers to her as a Tracer (or at least says he can't track a missing person because he's not a Tracer but Carol can). Since Carol's ability seems different from Gonzalez's, I made her a Reader, but a very different one from Jon. All of Libby's spiel about different types of psychics is my own speculation and nothing established by AJ, so don't take it as gospel.

It is also not word-of-god that Tyson is part-Kiwi with Maori heritage, that was my own invention and can be taken out if AJ objects to it. I'm just an Aussie and wanted to write a Southern Hemispherer into the story; plus I like the idea of someone capable of doing the Haka round the office.
Of course Garrett would get the Havilis to teach him Sipi Tau so he can do it alongside his brothers.

I also apologize for any police jargon I got horribly wrong.

Tyson recounts how he met Jon; as mentioned earlier, Tyson's involvement in Jon's stabbing is entirely my invention, you can read Jon's take on event in my fic 'Jon's Severely Stabby Partner Pandemonium'.