Blood in the Ozarks

23. Mom Voice

Jayme Donner landed in front of me with an agile thump. He braced himself on his knuckles as he hunched over in a crouch. And if I were someone who had never run into a fiend before, I would have been stunned. Maybe even impressed. But in my line of work, a jump off of a second story balcony was practically yawn worthy.

"Are you Jayme Donner?" I asked without giving him the particular attention he was seeking.

Donner continued to give me his self-satisfied grin. "That depends. Are you planning to shoot me if I am?" He nodded at Cian and Ortega who had yet to lower their weapons like I had. Ortega had turned around and his gun was now perpendicular to his body with the barrel aimed right for Donner's crotch. Cian on the other hand was aiming for the head.

"Jayme Donner," I pressed on. "We're with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about the recent murders."

He crossed his arms over his bare chest. Athletic shorts and gym shoes were hardly what you would think of someone living on a farm. Sweat was dripping down his temples as if we'd stopped him mid-workout. Regardless of what he was doing with his farm land, the sneer remained on his face and he was no more inclined on answering my questions even with guns drawn or the mention of murder.

"I didn't murder them," Donner said.

A grunt of laughter came from Ortega. "I guess we can go then." Sarcasm dripped from his words as his gun stayed steady on Donner's nether regions.

"Listen," Cian stepped in. "All we want is to ask you a few questions about how you may know these victims. I think we can do that without all the dramatics, right?"

Making the first move, Cian let go of his two-handed grip on his gun. While keeping his eyes locked on Donner, he raised his hands in the air in a sign of good faith and then put the gun behind his back and secured it in the holster. Slowly he held his hands back up to show he was unarmed. He nodded at Ortega to do the same.

Clearly not on board with disarming, Ortega raised an eyebrow before following suit. He gave a slight grumble, but nevertheless holstered his gun under the flap of his leather jacket and raised his hands to match Cian's stance.

Although I'd never drawn my weapon, I held my own hands up too.

"Now can we ask you a few questions?" I tried again.

Donner remained unfazed and unimpressed by our peace offering. But at the very least he gave a shrug before crossing his arms in wait.

"First," Cian started. "We know who you are."

"Yeah, you've made that pretty clear," Donner snipped.

"I mean we know—"

"We know you're a fiend," Ortega said bluntly.

"I should have known. You Feds probably don't hold guns in every civvy's face, huh?"

"You'd be surprised," Ortega muttered, his filter long since dissipated.

Cian cast a quick glance at Ortega. Cian gave him a stern gaze, but said nothing. As Ortega's supervisor there would have been a conversation later about his attitude, but now that he was out there was nothing Cian could do. All he had left was that withering stare.

Cian continued, "Why aren't you living near your Pack?"

The shabby farmhouse and barn were about as far from The Shed as they could possibly be without leaving the county. Normally, fiends stuck close to their Pack and Leader. If not by their own choice, then by pressure from the others.

Donner let out an exasperated sigh, but then his shoulders relaxed and he started to explain.

"I've been trying to get away from their shit. When I lived in Detroit, I tried to keep my head down and out of Pack business. But Packs don't like it much when you don't participate. So I moved north to Traverse City. But it wasn't far enough. I had to get out for good. So I accepted the post-grad offer I could find. And if I had known there would be another Pack in this shit town, I would have kept moving."