2

To everyone’s complete lack of surprise, the prison staff LOVED Jon. The warden especially loved him, but the people who loved him the most?

The parole board.

Parole board members were not above bribing Jon to come sit through hearings for them. Fancy dinners had been involved. Just saying. They fought dirty to get him. Mostly because he made their lives so much easier. He could tell in a glance if a prisoner was actually remorseful or not. Sometimes prisoners didn’t even clear the doorway before they spotted him, sighed, and walked right back out. Which was comical in its own way.

Today, we had special permission from Warden Lopez to bring Abby in with us. I felt a little cautious about this whole idea, but it was true Abby would get all sorts of experience reading people by being here. Warden Lopez damn near shat himself, he was so excited there was a Jon .0.

With Abby on board, it meant doing double duty for a while, but I didn’t mind. Abby was a great kid. She was smart and studious, much like Jon. She wasn’t the type to look for trouble, which sincerely helped because two beings walking around who could kill electronics? Felt like I was playing an extreme-mode RPG.

No lie, I sometimes felt like asking my dad to play anchor for Abby. It hadn’t come to the point where I needed to, but it was a “when” question more than an “if.”

Anyway, today was easy enough. Abby sat next to me, yellow pad in her hand, busy taking notes on the prisoner who had just walked in. Abby had dressed up a little in a turquoise summer dress that accented her pear-shaped build and green eyes in a very nice way. I thought it was cute she was trying to give people a more professional impression. Frankly, she could wear cardboard and they’d welcome her with open arms.

This current case was interesting. Dude was guilty of vehicular manslaughter, bootlegging, and driving under the influence. Triple whammy of poor life decisions. He sat there before the three board members, visibly nervous, and kept glancing at Jon like he had no idea who Jon was or why he was sitting in. He seemed to mostly ignore Abby and me.

The room wasn’t large—twelve by twelve with a single long table, chairs for everyone, and absolutely nothing else. They kept these rooms bare to help control the collateral damage if a prisoner lost his temper. I didn’t think we’d have trouble from this guy, though. For one thing, Jon hadn’t signaled incoming trouble. For another, the prisoner’s body language screamed fear and nervousness, not aggression.

Abby leaned against me, showing me her pad. In very cute, swirly handwriting she’d written, He’s really sorry but he’s also kinda…I dunno, resigned ? He doesn’t think he’ll get released .

Huh. Well, if he was showing remorse, Jon would say something. So his fear probably was groundless.

Chelsea Martin, one of the most senior members on the board, glanced at Jon after asking her questions. “Jon?”

With that, Jon knew he had the go-ahead. He cast a sympathetic smile at the prisoner. “Thomas, I can see you’re genuinely sorry for everything that happened. But I can also see you’re severely sleep deprived, you have an addictive personality, and you’re dying for a drink. Which is a recipe for another disaster.”

Abby nodded along, like she’d seen all that too.

Readers were scary, man.

“So here’s my recommendation,” Jon continued smoothly, speaking to the board. “I think therapy and some time in a rehabilitation center would be the best thing for Thomas right now. Say, a year of therapy, then six months in a rehab center, at the very least.”

“Agreed, it’s a great idea.” Lee, another friend on the board, bobbed his massive head. “Everyone in favor?”

All hands rose in the air.

“Then that’s what we’ll do. Thomas, you’ll be on probation for that year and a half, okay?”

Thomas looked around the room like he could not believe he’d heard things right. He had truly thought he wasn’t going to get out. Then his eyes welled up with tears and he nodded, so emotional he couldn’t get a single word out.

Aww, poor guy. He’d made some bad decisions, but apparently he wasn’t a bad person.

“Th-thank you,” Thomas choked out. “Thank you very much. I promise to do better moving forward.”

An incredibly low bar from my perspective, but without question the right direction to aim.

Thomas was escorted out, and the whole room relaxed a hair. Jon waved Abby in closer. He did this between each hearing, wanting to see her notes.

Everyone else stood, stretching their legs, including me. These hard plastic chairs were not comfortable.

Lewis came over to speak, grinning from ear to ear. Generally he was a happy man, but today he practically beamed. “Donovan. Can we keep Abby?”

“You’ve got to wait until she’s fully trained and out of school at least, man.” I grinned back at him. Abby had job security waiting for her, that was for sure.

The fifty-year-old ex-cop made a face. “But Jon’s always so busy!”

“She’s not cleared to work without supervision yet. Hold your horses. She’s good though, isn’t she?”

“Hell yeah, she is.” Lewis turned so he could grin at her, which Abby returned, tickled at the praise. “Some more experience doing this, and she’ll be another Jon running around, and god knows we need the help. Cuts the workload and guesswork way, way down.”

“That it does. Was that our last one for today?”

“No, one more,” Chelsea corrected from the table. She remained standing in her low-heeled shoes, but she flipped through the file in front of her, reviewing it. “This one’s the most challenging of them all.”

Oh. Finishing strong, I guessed. “What’s his deal?”

“Name’s Torres, forty-eight, spends more time in the system than out, according to his record. He’s in for several accounts of arson and causing a lot of property damage. Talking over two million. He’s served his base time.”

Base time was what the judge set during the trial. If the judge stated an inmate was eligible for parole, there was always a certain amount of time they had to serve first. “What was Torres’s base time?”

“Ten years.”

I let out a low whistle. Long time to be in, all right. Two million in property damage was no joke.

The guard outside the door gave a warning knock, and we all went back to our seats. Abby was a very happy girl, pleased she was doing so well. I did see a few corrections with Jon’s blue pen, showing her what she’d missed or slightly correcting what she’d seen. But they looked like minor corrections, and Abby was clearly not worried about it.

The door opened and a man in an orange jumper—who was covered in tattoos and had a shaved head—stepped through. He had mean written all over him in capital letters. I didn’t like the vibe from him at all. Most of the prisoners we’d seen today hadn’t been antagonistic, but this guy? He’d throw hands with little to no provocation.

Jon caught my eye and gave the signal, a T resting under his chin.

I gave him a nod in return. Got it.

Abby leaned in to whisper, “What did that mean?”

“Our sign for this guy’s trouble,” I whispered back.

Her mouth formed an O in enlightenment. “Can I use it too?”

“Please. In fact, I’ll teach you all the hand signals later.”

“Okay.”

It would so make my life easier if she could subtly signal me for help. I really should have thought of this before.

Torres dropped into the chair, but his eyes were on Jon. Sometimes his gaze flickered over to me and Abby, assessing, like he was sizing us all up for a fight. No sign of remorse from this guy. I had a feeling I knew how this would go.

“Normally three in a hearing, right?” Torres challenged.

Chelsea stared him down. Honestly, I wouldn’t cross Chelsea; she was the type of woman who would tear you up. “Mr. Bane is a psychic who works with us, Mr. Torres. Show him the same respect.”

Torres chose to shut up. Then again, he’d been through this process before, so he knew to make nice at this point. Not that it would do him much good.

I wasn’t an expert, but I could read Jon’s face, and Abby was busy over here making notes, and none of them were positive.

Yeah, Torres wasn’t getting out anytime soon.

Still, there had to be a formal hearing to adhere to procedure, so Chelsea sucked in a tired breath and started in.

“Mr. Torres, you have applied for parole. Please plead your case.”

Torres started talking, which wasn’t the best move, in my opinion, even though he’d been urged to talk. Him talking did not make things better.

Jon had a system worked out with the parole board members. Every time a lie was told, he’d tap his pen. An easy, simple way of saying uh-uh . Man looked like he was fidgeting, he tapped so much. Torres calmly spewed one lie after the next, proving he was an experienced liar.

Finally, the man rounded down and looked proud of himself, like he’d gotten his whole speech out perfectly, as planned.

Dummy, dummy, dummy.

Chelsea finished scoring her paper. She didn’t even glance in any other direction to verify with people, just put her pen down and looked up. “Denied, Mr. Torres. Please return to your cell.”

He sat there, looking at her with this poleaxed expression. “What? Why?!”

“Because there’s no remorse in you.” Lewis shook his head. “We don’t even need Jon to see that. You just spent five minutes lying to our faces. Frankly, until you come to grips with your pyro side, you’re a menace to society.”

Torres lunged out of his chair, but I’d expected the move. I left my seat the second he did, reaching him in two long strides.

Oh no you fucking don’t, you asshole. You’re not getting near anyone in here.

Torres noticed my approach but couldn’t turn around fast enough. I caught him in a bear hug from behind, lifting his feet right off the ground.

Torres wiggled, trying to fight my hold or kick at me. “Let me down, dammit!”

“Not on your life.”

The guard caught up, so I put Torres down and spun him, giving the guard the right access to slap cuffs on him. “I got him, Havili. Thanks.”

“No problem, man.” The guards here were good guys. I let go completely and let him do his job.

Chelsea had a hand over her heart, and she looked a little wide-eyed. “And this is the other reason why I love it when you come, Jon. We always get some extra protection.”

I winked. “Happy to serve.”

“Thank you, Donovan. And I want you all—you too, Abby—at my barbecue party this weekend, all right?”

See? Fancy dinner bribes. No complaints from me. “You got it.”

We all cleaned up and then walked out the door—Jon reviewing Abby’s notes as we left. He kept a hand on my arm, letting me guide his feet. It always tickled me when he trusted me blindly like now. And he knew it, so he did it often. This man spoiled me.

While walking through the main hallway, heading for the doors leading outside, I asked Abby, “What did you think?”

“Like, it was really interesting. I didn’t always understand what I was seeing, having never seen it before. But I can understand why Jon brought me, as it’s good practice.” She nodded firmly, her curly brown hair swaying in its high ponytail. “I want to do it more.”

“You’ll definitely be doing it more. Trust me. Now that the warden and parole board members know about you, you have job security.”

“There’s worse things in life.” A bounce appeared in her stride.

I hadn’t thought she’d react any differently.

We went through the process of signing out at the front desk and giving back our visitor badges. It neared four o’clock now, close enough to quitting time we might as well go back home and send Abby on her way. That being said, what to do about dinner?

Abby abruptly stopped, lifting a hand to shade her eyes from the summer sun, and stared hard toward the yard. I stopped as well, not sure what she was looking at, and Jon stopped too. The prison yard had people in it, some of them playing football, others walking around, enjoying being outside. I didn’t see anything nefarious going on, so what had caught her attention?

“Uh, Jon?” Abby’s voice dripped with uncertainty. “I dunno if it’s the light playing tricks on my eyes or what, but…that guy over there? The one leaning against the wall, staring at the ground. I don’t see any guilt lines in him.”

Uh.

Come again?

Jon peered the same direction, shielding his eyes, and—after a taut ten seconds—went “Huh.”

Never a good sound from Jon. “Guys, don’t leave me hanging. What are you seeing?”

“Nothing,” Jon answered, the words coming out slowly while he continued to stare hard. “Nothing at all, and in this place? That’s very much a problem.”