Free PsyCop 5: Camp Hell by Jordan Castillo Price Page B

me to cool off before I did something stupid.
    But the phone started to vibrate, too, and I realized it was Jacob. And I felt vaguely guilty that he was calling me while I was scoring pills. But only vaguely. “I’ve got to take this,” I told Stefan. “Hello?”
    “Are you still at work?”
    “No. I’m at Stefan’s office. But we’re just finishing up.”
    “Perfect. Carolyn and I are at the courthouse. I can pick you up.”
    How coincidental. Or maybe not. They’d been in and out of court all week. I never went, myself, because “no court, no jail,” had been the only clause I insisted upon when I negotiated my contract. But Jacob and Carolyn were regulars.
    I gave Jacob the address, which I suspected he already knew, and he took it down to be polite. “Be there in ten. Bye.” He used the sexy
bye
.
    “That was, uh, my boyfriend.”
    “You’re dating?”
    “Yeah, we just bought a building, actually.”
    “You’re dating seriously. Interesting.” Stefan pulled a can of air freshener from his desk drawer and doused the room, then he tucked away his ash tray. “So what’ve you got to be nervous about?”
    Was I nervous? My gut was clenched and my hands felt clammy, but that was nothing new. But Stefan would know. He’d tapped me a million times before.
    “What’s the worst case scenario?” he said.
    I’ve never been very good at making things up, but I closed my eyes, and I thought. “That you see us together, him and me, and you think I’m a sellout for joining the force.”
    “And seeing you with your lover would lead me to that conclusion because…?”
    “He’s a PsyCop, too. It’s more obvious when we’re in a group.” Otherwise, I just look like a used car salesman. So I’ve been told.
    “I promise, I’ll be nice. And I can’t believe you just used the word
sellout
.”
    Both Jacob and Carolyn came up to get me. I would’ve thought Carolyn would stay in the car to keep it from getting towed by an overzealous truck that didn’t notice the police plates. Was she just curious, or did Jacob invite her up because he thought there’d be some conversation that required her professional opinion?
    We met them out in the reception area of Stefan’s office, which smelled slightly less like air freshener and pot. “Steven Russeau,” I’d almost slipped and called him Stefan Russell, “Detectives Carolyn Brinkman and Jacob Marks.” Everyone shook hands. Jacob and Stefan stared at each other hard.
    “Victor knows you from Heliotrope Station?” Carolyn asked. Or maybe stated.
    “That’s right.”
    She walked over to the print with the funky perspective, tilted her head and looked puzzled. “Do you have an online presence? Victor seems to think the lack of information about him on the Internet is something he should be concerned about.”
    “Geez,” I said, “Your small-talk skills are worse than mine.”
    “My practice has a website. Of course, my name isn’t my name. What’s your talent, if you don’t mind my asking?”
    “Telepath two.”
    “Mm. I’ve always had a soft spot for telepaths.” He looked at Jacob. “And you?”
    “NP.” That’s short for non-psychic. Giving those two initials was probably just as difficult for Jacob as spelling it all out.
    “I thought you were a PsyCop.”
    “I am. One Psych, one Stiff on each team.”
    Stefan’s unreadable gaze lingered on Jacob. “If you say so.”
    “Are you doing anything for dinner?” Jacob asked. “You’re welcome to join us.”
    Now
what was he up to?
    “Maybe next time. Fernando would never forgive me if I stood him up.”
    “Bring him along.”
    “Thanks, but no. Theater tickets.”
    “Ah.”
    Given that Carolyn didn’t have anything to say about that, Stefan’s excuse must have been legitimate. Then again, he didn’t actually say he
had
theater tickets. I hadn’t told him anything about Carolyn’s talent—but maybe I didn’t have to. Stefan was the strongest empath I’d ever met. Maybe he