Free PsyCop 6: GhosTV by Jordan Castillo Price Page A

FPMP that I’ve never been able to figure.”
    “Chip on my shoulder? Try a chip in my cell phone. I never signed up for a party line.”
    “We’re tapping everyone’s phone. That’s like being pissed-off ’cos we’re breathing your air. Don’t take it so personally.” Color me paranoid, but I took my phone tap very personally. And besides, how was it that I happened to end up in the strip-search room to begin with? I didn’t have anything on me other than the gun, which I’d been cleared to carry. Normally I would have figured a bribe passed hands. But how do you bribe a dog? Unless….
    “Animal communicator.” I said it without unclenching my teeth, but it was perfectly understandable.
    “Bravo. You think it’s all about the level-five talent, but you really don’t give yourself enough credit for your deductive reasoning. Which is why you should throw your lot in with me and really exploit your full potential. The Army’s not the only government agency where you can ‘be all that you can be.’ I’m great with Psychs.” The very last thing I wanted to be was exploited. “Screw you.”
    “Firm stance. I admire your negotiating skills, really, I do. But right now, do you honestly think you have enough time to go back and forth with me on this?”
    The clock was ticking, and we both knew it. “You can only keep me here so long.”
    “Now you’re making me out to be the bad guy. Look, as soon as we’re done with our chitchat, you’re free to go.” He pushed up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and glanced at his watch. “Your problem isn’t me—it’s the appalling lack of airline service at the Santa Barbara airport.
    At this point, you’ll be wandering around all night at some terminal waiting for your connecting flight. I thought you might be interested in a route that was a little more direct.”
    I said, “You can’t fly direct from Chicago to Santa Barbara.”
    “Not commercially. No.”
    “You’re saying you can make that happen.”
    “That’s what I’m saying.”
    Did I want to tell him to go shove his chartered flight up his ass? Sure.
    But my gut was telling me I needed to find Lisa before her trail got any colder, and my need for speed trumped my loathing and distrust of Dreyfuss. “How do I know my flight doesn’t get diverted to Area 51, where all the good Psychs go home to die?”
    “You’re mixing your life up with the X-Files. Don’t worry. I want you back so you can help me clean up my office, remember?”
    “And that’s all I’d owe you in return. An exorcism.”
    “Yes. Fine. If you need to be so formal about it—that’s our agreement.
    I fly you to Santa Barbara right now, and in return you owe me an exorcism. Does that sound kosher to you?”
    I hated it when Constantine Dreyfuss made sense. I glared at him. It seemed to me as if I should have been able to stack up my options and choose the best one, but my brain was looping around in “holy hell, I’m locked in a room” mode and nothing was particularly obvious to me except the desire to get out.
    “I can tell you’re right on the fence,” he said, “so I’ll sweeten the pot.
    I can’t tell you what the bonus would be, but I guarantee you, it’ll be worth your while.”
    So now he was resorting to breakfast cereal tactics with a “secret prize” at the bottom of the box. I don’t know if he’d actually needed to go that far, since there’s only so long I can deal with a locked room, but it was good to know my hard-won suspicion was finally paying off. “I guess,” I said as grudgingly as possible.
    He stuck out his hand. “Deal?”
    Great. Now I had to touch him. At least I wasn’t naked. I shook his hand, and said, “Deal.” His palm wasn’t moist or anything, but I still felt like wiping my hand on my pant leg afterward.
    When we emerged from the dreaded back room, the terminal security had a new group of travelers in it chasing after their baskets of watches, wallets and spare