There were no red or black lines pumping venom into my head. They burned just as badly as any psychic attack possibly could.Reckless. Stupid. Arrogant... Dangerous. Unstable. Selfish. Insane.I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out of that room, out of the house.Standing up, I rushed from the room, surprising my mother, who had just opened the kitchen door. She saw my face and paled.“Caleb, what happ...”Spinning away, I yanked open the front door and fled.I had no idea where I was going. I just. He'd sit in the cruiser and watch me and say, "Uh-oh, Jack's gettin' a mood on him." And he'd be right. I would be losing my cynical guard and getting pissed about something. Good cops don't do that.Jake said there were a couple of kinds of Jack Callahan moods. One comes on slow over time because of something like, say, some lightweight brown-noser who's been fast- tracked past real down and dirty police work — street work. Then I see him getting promoted over better men and women who've paid. More

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