Deathscape by Dana Marton Read Free Book Online

He kept them,” Bing said quietly.
    The highest insult to a cop. That hurt more than all the injuries put together. Jack swore under his breath. When he got his hands on the bastard—
    “ Don’t you worry about that now,” the captain said. “You’ll get a new set when you get better.”
    He watched Bing leave, then sat up experimentally and nearly passed out from the pain, sweat beading on his forehead. He might be able to walk out of here if he asked for some heavy-duty drugs, but with those drugs he couldn’t think straight and, above all, he wanted to keep his mind clear.
    He levered himself back onto the pillows and closed his eyes, ran through everything he knew about the man he hunted, from the very beginning, every case, every detail from the considerable file he’d put together over the years. And then he added every bit of new information, every impression he remembered from his three days of bloody torture.
    He put everything in neat order first, then shuffled the puzzle pieces over and over again to see what might fit together, if he could see a clear picture emerging. Hours passed, awash in pain and trying to force his brain to work, to see something he hadn’t seen before.
    A nurse came around, a kind-faced black woman, and checked his chart. “How are you, Mr. Sullivan?”
    “ I need to get out of here.” He struggled again to sit up, hoping to succeed this time, pulling on the tubes hooked up to him.
    “ You need to watch those.” She pushed him down gently.
    When he tried to resist, she frowned and did something with his IV. He wanted to protest, but his brain slowed and his tongue wouldn’t turn in his mouth suddenly. And then darkness claimed him.
    His dreams weren’t happy. He was back in the cold and the dark, in the grave.
    When he woke, the sun sat low in the morning sky outside. Long minutes ticked by as his brain slowly began clearing. Another nurse stuck her head in. This time, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to be put to sleep again. He closed his eyes, trying to work through the fog in his brain, come up with a plan. He was so focused on his thoughts, he didn’t hear the man standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat.
    “ Detective Sullivan. I was told you were awake. I’m Dr. Beacon.” The doctor, wearing dress pants, a white shirt, and a lab coat, strode into the room. He was meticulously trim and meticulously groomed, right down to his fingernails, in his midthirties, his face stretched into an artificial smile that matched the sense of artificial serenity he carried.
    “ When can I be discharged?” Jack asked with all the impatience that coursed through him.
    The man sat in a chair next to the bed, not a hurried movement there. “That will be decided by your attending physician. I’m the psychiatrist the police department called in to help you deal with your ordeal.”
    Jack’s hands fisted at his sides as he cursed Bing. The captain meant well, but no way in hell was some shrink going to poke around in his head. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”
    The doctor tilted his head, regarding him with a smarmy calm. “Here’s the thing. While your discharge is up to your attending physician, we’ll both have to sign off on your returning to active duty.” He crossed his legs, gloating in his power as he took out a small notebook from the pocket of his lab coat.
    “ Why don’t you tell me everything you remember?”
    At least he didn’t ask about his personal connection to Blackwell, which gave Jack hope that Bing had kept that part to himself. Not that the captain owed him any favors. In his place, Jack would have been just as ticked.
    He gritted his teeth and sat up, the pain in his ribs a little better than earlier. Or maybe he was just used to it. He slipped from the bed, bracing himself on the side when the room spun with him. When his vision cleared, he ripped the tubes out of his arms.
    Dr. Beacon was on his feet by then. “What do you think