PsyCop 5: Camp Hell Read Online Free Page A

thick of things, I loved the idea that Jacob had the strength to snap me in half. But talking about it afterward was a big wet blanket. “How about ‘ow’?”
    “You seem to enjoy it while it’s happening.”
    “I do, okay? Do we really need to discuss it?”
    Jacob didn’t answer. He pressed his lips against my neck and stroked my hair. My bare foot touched something slimy on the floor, margarine or jiz, or maybe both. I wondered if Jacob was going to stand there and kiss me until we had to leave for work. I wanted him to leave so I could grab my cell phone. But the longer things coagulated on me, the more my attention wandered, and guarding the fridge took a back seat to parking myself under a hot shower.
     

    -THREE-
    I passed Betty’s desk on the way to Sergeant Warwick’s office. Betty kept about nine hundred pictures of her grandkids on her desk, and several of her cat, too. She had on a Pepto-Bismol pink sweater, as if she could make spring come early just by dressing brightly enough. Her smile was as bright as her sweater.
    “Good morning, Detective!”
    Betty had been distributing the confidentiality paperwork that everyone I knew had been strongly encouraged to sign. She’d never mentioned it to me. And yet, there she was, with her chirpy voice and her great big smile, and I couldn’t bring myself to be a dick to her about it. She was just the middleman, after all. It wasn’t as if she was a member of the F… what was it? The FPMP.
    Bob Zigler cleared his throat behind me. I guess I’d been staring. “Hey, Betty, how’s it going,” I mumbled, and I squeezed my way into Warwick’s office.
    Now, Warwick? I could be mad at him.
    I sat in one of the two chairs that faced his beat-up metal desk, and Zig sat in the other. I slouched a little, since I was feeling like a surly teenager, and I squinted at him.
    Warwick didn’t notice, but my attitude made me feel better.
    Zigler covertly kicked the side of my shoe. Warwick was typing something on his computer, and since he hadn’t bothered to look at either of us, he didn’t notice that, either.
    “I got a call from Sergeant Owens last night.”
    Jacob’s sergeant. I squared my shoulders and eased out of my slouch.
    “Seems his PsyCop team over at Rosewood was a little heavy on the Psy.” He glanced up from his laptop and met my eye. “Good work. But you take it upon yourself to do something like that again, you clear it with me.”
    “Why? So you can arrange for my babysitters to be there?”
    Zig made a weird noise in his throat. I could tell he wanted to give me another good kick, but since Warwick was now looking right at me, it wouldn’t have been much of a warning. He probably would have enjoyed it, though.
    Warwick didn’t miss a beat. He must have been expecting me to figure it out for, what, years now. “I’ve got security on you. Is there a problem?”
    Warwick was bigger, and older, and meaner than me, and he was accustomed to bossing hot-headed cops around. I swallowed. “I want to know. If it has to do with me, I want to know.”
    “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
    “So you’re not really the one calling in the guards. It’s someone else.”
    Zigler stomped on my foot.
    Warwick’s suitcoat strained around his broad back as he planted his elbows on his desk. He laced his fingers together, he looked at me over the tops of his bifocals, and he said, “I can’t say.”
    All these years, I thought I’d been answering to Ted Warwick. I was sideswiped by the realization that I hadn’t.
    “Since you seemed comfortable enough to carry out an investigation at Rosewood Court,” Warwick went on, as if nothing had just happened, “I’ve got some deaths at LaSalle Memorial Hospital that I’d like you to look into, see if we’ve got a Kevorkian on our hands, or if certain shifts are just really unlucky. Go down and take a look at the building, see if you’re up to working in it.”
    Zig stood up and headed for the door. I