Grounded (Out of the Box Book 4) Read Online Free Page A

actually still tricky because it’s not like Google map view is designed for when you’re flying a thousand feet above the city. The roads aren’t labeled, so I had to sweep down and stare at them, then stare a little more, then hit a cross street. Finally I just gave up and looked for government buildings. Those are usually pretty easy to spot. I figured out the right one on my third attempt.
    I walked into the police precinct where Detective Calderon hung his hat and took a slow look around the place. It wasn’t in bad shape, as far as police precincts went. It had new paint, probably very recent, and a quiet hum of activity that wasn’t too nuts for lunchtime on a weekday, but busy enough to tell me that the area it served wasn’t Mayberry. Reception was a little backed up, so I subtly butted in line. “I need to see Detective Marcus Calderon, please.”
    The lady at the counter looked me up and down. “You look familiar.”
    I paused. “I was on a reality TV show once.” That was technically true, in an annoying sort of way.
    “Oh!” She looked me up and down. “Wait, are you Giada?” She frowned. “No, I’m sorry, you don’t really look like her, do you?”
    “Not really,” I said. “Detective Calderon?” I flashed my badge.
    She gave it a glance and then looked back at the line behind me. “Oh, he’s through there.” She waved at the entry doors past her. “Just ask anyone in there for help if you can’t find him.”
    “Thanks,” I said, and started past the counter.
    “Were you on that one show where they match people up with the right diet plan—”
    “No,” I said and slid through the door, glad to be leaving that conversation behind. I’d only been on one show, for a few minutes, and it had been pretty much against my will. They had used my likeness because I’m a public figure, but it had been a still frame picture of me during a phone call. I was still really annoyed about it, and it hadn’t done a ton to improve my image.
    It just totally exposed what I had thought was a private conversation by airing it in public, that’s all.
    The room I’d walked into was a crazy frenzy, a police bullpen like other ones I’d been to around the country and the world. Cubicles, police officers, and the strong smell of coffee. It was a universal thing. “Marcus Calderon?” I asked a patrolman passing by, and he pointed me toward the middle of the room.
    There was a guy in a silk shirt with dark skin. He had his badge hung around his neck and was standing up while talking on a phone, gesticulating like the person he was speaking to was inches from his face. “Maurice, so help me God, if you’re lying to me on this, I’m gonna find you. I’m gonna come knock on your door—front and back, Maurice, front and back—and I know you’re an idiot, so I’m gonna knock on the front first, leave a big ol’ flaming—not even a little bag, but like a grocery bag, like a paper grocery bag, filled with like horse crap—I’m gonna light it on fire and just leave it for you on your front porch. Then I’m gonna drop ’round back and squat down while you’re dealing with that front porch situation, and I’m just gonna leave you a little souvenir for the next time you step out back to smoke, okay? Unscrew the lightbulb out your back door so you can’t see it coming. Squish! Maurice needs new shoes!”
    I made my way over to him slowly. The hand gestures alone were screwing up my resolve to keep me from laughing.
    “You know why I’m telling you this, Maurice?” Calderon asked. “Because now that I’ve told you, I’m going to have to come up with something even worse to punish you if you’re lying to me. It’s like my version of a promise, coming up with something worse than—yeah, you believe that. Believe that. Something worse. It’ll happen, if you’re lying to me.” He pointed his finger in the air, like he was sticking it into the face of an invisible man just in front of him.