In Pursuit Of Justice

Sloan coughed and tried to catch her breath. She couldn’t think; she couldn’t feel. She wasn’t even certain her heart was beating. All she could sense was terror. A helpless terror that made her want to pound her fists against the stone. “Please. Please don’t let her die.” She looked at Catherine, her eyes fathomless pools of anguish. In a voice beyond torment she repeated, “Please.”

Catherine couldn’t offer her the one promise she begged for, so she said nothing. She placed the fingers of one hand beneath Michael’s chin, keeping her airway open, and carefully slipped a folded handkerchief which Jason had supplied behind her head to staunch the flow of blood from a large open wound. Rebecca paced back and forth in front of them, one eye on the street, the other on them, snapping orders into her cell phone. Mitchell, amazingly, had found crime scene tape somewhere and was cordoning off the street while instructing gawkers to stay back.

In the distance, sirens approached.

An hour later, Rebecca walked into the brightly lit trauma unit waiting room where an anxious group waited. Catherine approached, her green eyes darkened to nearly black with concern.

“Any word?” Rebecca asked in a low voice, running one hand down Catherine’s arm in lieu of a kiss.

Catherine shook her head slightly, but some of the tension left her chest at the sight of her lover. The waiting room, the waiting, Sloan’s torment—all of it brought back too many images still too fresh. Not long ago it had been Rebecca. Rebecca lying so still, so pale, bleeding, so much bloo…

“Hey,” Rebecca said softly, alarmed by the faint trembling she felt beneath her fingertips. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Catherine said hoarsely, forcing the memories back behind barriers still too fragile to contain them. “No word yet. I’ve been doing what I can to get updates, but it’s Saturday night, and it’s a mad house in there. All I know is that she’s still being evaluated.”

Rebecca nodded, looking past the psychiatrist to the other occupants of the cramped windowless space that might have been any of a dozen such hospital rooms she’d waited in during the course of her career. She concentrated on deflecting the pain that filled the air, needing to keep her distance so she could work. “Who’s the redhead?” she asked, remarking on the woman in the blue print shirt and chinos sitting with one arm wrapped protectively around Sloan’s waist.

“Sarah Martin,” Catherine replied, following her gaze. “Jason’s partner—and Sloan’s best friend apparently.”

“Huh,” Rebecca remarked with interest. Now I’ll bet that’s a story.

“What’s happening back at Sloan’s?” Catherine asked, needing to think about something, anything, other than this nightmare.

“I finally got Watts out of bed, and he and Mitchell are running the scene. They’re canvassing the neighborhood, interviewing anyone who was around. Or anyone who will admit to being around. There’s a tavern on the corner and they’ll need to talk to everyone they can chase down who was there. That’ll most likely take all night and a good part of tomorrow. Flanagan’s team showed up — they’re getting the crime scene photos, analyzing the impact patterns, looking for identifying tire treads. The usual. Flanagan’s fast, but it will still be at least a day or so before she has anything concrete. This kind of crime leaves a ton of physical evidence to sort through.”

Neither of them laughed at the irony of that statement.

“Was it intentional?” Catherine asked quietly, because she had to know. She had to know how close death had come this time.

Rebecca hesitated, then exhaled raggedly. “Looks like it, yeah. Someone was expecting Sloan to come back and had set it up so she’d have to get out of the car. Obviously, it didn’t go down the way they planned.”

“Why Sloan?” Catherine asked carefully, fighting to ignore the churning in her stomach. “Why not…you?”

Rebecca’s eyes shot to Catherine’s, instantly concerned. “It wasn’t me. It’s not going to be me.”

They both knew there was no way to guarantee that, but it wasn’t the time to discuss something they couldn’t change. “Still, why Sloan?”

“More importantly,” Rebecca said darkly, “why now?” Although she hated to do it, she needed to find out. “I have to interview her.”

“Oh, Rebecca,” Catherine murmured. “She’s so vulnerable right now. Can’t it wait?”

Rebecca heard the censure in her lover’s tone, and it hurt, but nothing showed in her face. “This was attempted murder. No, it can’t wait.”

Catherine watched her walk away, wishing she could take back the words. She of all people should know what it cost Rebecca to do the job she did. If the image of Sloan’s agony hadn’t been so fresh in her memory, she would have remembered that.

CHAPTER THIRTY

REBECCA SET A cup of weak vending room coffee in front of Sloan, then walked around the small table and sat down across from her. They were alone in a consulting room down the hall from the trauma unit waiting area. “How you doing?”

The other woman shuddered as if with a sudden chill, then met Rebecca’s gaze with eyes that were surprisingly clear. “I’m okay. If I could just see her…”

“Catherine’s working on that right now. She’ll come and get us if there’s any word.”

“No one knew I was going to the airport,” Sloan began as if anticipating Rebecca’s questions. “Well, Jason knew of course. But he was the only one.”

Rebecca said nothing, preferring to let Sloan tell it in her own way. The security consultant wasn’t a suspect to be interrogated, but a witness, and a traumatized one at that. Her recollection of the event would be distorted by grief and fear and the mind’s natural desire to block out the things too terrible to contemplate, but fortunately, she was also a trained investigator. She would know what they needed to do, and the things that Rebecca needed to know.

“Obviously,” Sloan continued in a weary voice, “someone set it up so I’d have to get out of the car to move the cart, and they were waiting for me. I can’t tell you exactly what happened next, because I didn’t see anything. It was over in a few seconds and for most of that time the Porsche was moving from the impact. I was getting tossed around pretty well.” As she spoke, she unconsciously twisted the band on her ring finger, something Rebecca had never seen her do before. Rivulets of sweat ran down her face, despite the fact that the room was cool.

“What about after you got out of the car?” Rebecca asked quietly. “Did you see anything then?”

Again, Sloan shivered. Her voice was harsh as she said, “All I was thinking about was Michael. By the time I got out of the car and into the street, all I could see was Michael…she was lying on the pavement…” Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Rebecca waited. She knew very well that Sloan was reliving those few terrifying seconds, seeing and feeling it all over again. After a minute, as kindly as she could, the detective probed, “Did you see the taillights of the vehicle? Did you see anyone on the street—someone who might have been watching the building?”

“No,” Sloan replied hoarsely. “Nothing.”

For now, that would have to be enough. Tomorrow, Rebecca would ask her again. Right now, her mind was numbed by shock and fear. When the horror had receded just a bit, she might remember more.

“It was supposed to have been me,” Sloan said dully.

“That’s my read on it, too,” Rebecca said, knowing that only the truth would help ease Sloan’s guilt. “The timing is too damned coincidental for this to be anything else. Who knows about the operation tomorrow night besides you and Jason?”

Sloan’s face hardened, and anger began to drive out the mind-numbing dread. “No one. Michael…Michael left town before the whole thing came down, and I didn’t tell her when I spoke to her on the phone. Jason may have told Sarah; we can ask him. But Sarah’s ex-State. She’d never say anything to anyone.”

“I’ll double check with him just to be sure,” Rebecca commented, but she was inclined to agree that the leak hadn’t come from the three of them.

Suddenly, Sloan stiffened. “Clark. Clark called this morning—uh, Saturday—yesterday morning—and I told him we had something. That we expected an operation to go off before the end of the weekend.”

Rebecca was silent, considering Sloan’s information. Clearly, their plans had been revealed to someone who felt that Sloan, as the person most likely to uncover someone via the computer traces, was the biggest threat. The choices for the source of the leak were limited. Besides Sloan and Jason, Mitchell and Catherine knew of the upcoming meet. Neither of them had the right kind of contacts, even if they had slipped and mentioned the plans, which she doubted. She herself had told Captain Henry when she briefed him about the warrant. Recalling Trish Mark’s observation that after Captain Henry and the Chief of Detectives had met with her boss, the investigation into Jeff Cruz and Jimmy Hogan’s assassinations had been dropped, Rebecca considered that it might have been him. It was hard for her to believe that John Henry was on the payroll of the organized crime syndicate, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. Then there was Avery Clark, who had come out of nowhere and put together an elite but highly unusual team. The team resembled the black ops units that worked undercover, often employing less than sanctioned avenues of investigation. Like Sloan had been doing. And if something went wrong, the government would be largely unaccountable. Clark remained a cipher, as did his true motives, and that made him a very good suspect.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this, Sloan. You have my word,” Rebecca said stonily. “For now, we have to assume that no one is above suspicion.”

Ali Torveau slid the CAT scan onto the view box and pointed. “Linear nondisplaced skull fracture, right here in the occipital area. Big scalp laceration over it. Brain looks okay, although I’m sure there’s a significant contusion.”

Catherine studied the scan, nodding. “What about systemic injuries?”

“In addition to the head injury? Bilateral pulmonary effusions, fractured left renal pelvis, and a hemarthrosis of the left knee. Basically, she got bounced around pretty good, but most of the major organ systems were spared long-term damage.”

“What about the kidney injury? Is it going to require surgery?”

“Probably not,” the trauma surgeon said. “We’ll repeat the CAT scan in six hours and follow her hemoglobins, but the perirenal space is so tight, hemorrhage usually stops on its own. Fortunately, her pulmonary status is stable right now and I took out the endotracheal tube. There’s always a possibility that she could develop acute respiratory distress syndrome, but we’ll cross that road when we come to it.”

“What about the intracranial injury?” Catherine inquired. “Any idea what to expect in terms of her regaining consciousness?”

Again, Torveau shrugged. “She’ll wake up when her neurons recover from being shaken all to hell. I can ask neurology to come and see her, but you know damn well they’re going to say they can’t tell us anything.”

Catherine smiled. She was well aware that surgeons had little regard for medical specialists who generally were unable to give a hard and fast prognosis. “If you’re confident that there’s no surgical problem, I’m sure her family will be, too. Can I see her before I talk to them?”

“Sure,” Torveau said, “She’s in trauma bay one. Bring them in whenever you want. I’ve got to go—there’s a spleen that wants to be liberated waiting for me upstairs in the OR. They can catch me later if they have questions.”

“Go ahead, and thanks for letting me take up your time.”

“No problem.” And then she pushed through the double doors and was gone.

Catherine walked through the brightly lit treatment area to one of the cubicles where stabilized patients awaited transfer to a regular hospital room. Nodding to a nurse who was busy charting the events of the resuscitation, Catherine approached the bed where Michael lay. On the far side of the small room, a rack of monitors gave continuous readouts of her status while IV poles hung with resuscitation fluids stood silent sentinel.

“Michael,” Catherine said softly, bending down close to her. It was impossible to tell what an unconscious person heard, or stored in their memory to be recalled weeks, months, or even years later. She always assumed they were listening, and she always spoke to them as if they would remember. “My name is Catherine Rawlings. I’m a friend of Sloan’s.”

To her surprise, Michael’s eyelids fluttered and her left hand twitched. Reaching for her hand, Catherine cradled the slender fingers in hers. “Michael?”

Michael opened her eyes, her pupils wide and unfocused. “Sloan?”

“She’s just fine. I’ll bring her right in.”

Catherine thought she saw a flicker of a smile before the other woman drifted away again. “And she’ll be much, much better now,” she whispered, gently releasing Michael’s hand.

Rebecca and Sloan walked out of the consultation room and the first person they saw was Avery Clark. Rebecca wasn’t even aware of Sloan moving, but in the next instant the security expert had the federal agent up against the wall with her hands fisted in the folds of his jacket.

“It’s about time you told us what the fuck is going on,” Sloan snarled, inches from his face. “Justice is famous for keeping secrets, and one of your secrets almost got my lover killed.” She punctuated each word with a shove that bounced him against the wall.

For an instant, Clark looked stunned, and then Rebecca saw his hand move under his jacket toward his weapon. In all likelihood, it was an automatic response to Sloan’s unexpected attack, but Rebecca wasn’t about to let weapons come out. “Sloan,” she barked, “let him go.”

Sloan appeared not to hear and pushed Clark’s body hard against the wall again. Rebecca moved to separate them, grasping Sloan’s left shoulder with her right hand and wedging herself between them. “Back off, Sloan.”

This time, Sloan might have heard, because she appeared to loosen her grip on Clark’s jacket. Apparently, that had been the opening he was waiting for, because he brought both arms forcefully up between Sloan’s, breaking her grip and pushing her back at the same time. The force of his blow deflected off Sloan’s arms as she let go, and his swinging fists caught Rebecca in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer. Rebecca rocked back on her heels, pain exploding in her chest.

By that time, they had drawn a crowd. Jason was between Clark and Sloan and the two men were shouting. Sarah was at Sloan’s side, gently but firmly pushing her away. Rebecca sagged against the wall, one hand pressed to her chest, struggling to get her breath.

“For God’s sake,” Catherine exclaimed, having seen the last of the altercation as she approached down the hall. “Have you all lost your minds? Sarah, take Sloan back to the waiting room. I’ll be there in a minute.” She kept walking until she reached Rebecca, her heart in her throat. Pain was carved into every line of the detective’s body, and for one terrifying second, Catherine saw her as she had been the night in Sandy’s apartment— gasping for breath, one lung down, on the brink of full arrest. Oh no, not again.

Rebecca forced herself to focus and took a slow, shallow breath. “I’m okay,” she managed, reading the panic in Catherine’s face. Taking another shaky breath, she repeated, “I’m okay. He just…surprised…me, that’s all.”

“You need to sit down,” Catherine said in a voice which she hoped sounded calmer than she felt.

“Okay, right. Just… give me a minute,” Rebecca said, uncertain that she could actually make it across the room. She looked around, putting together the events of the last few furious minutes. “Where’s Sloan?”

“Sarah has her. Rebecca, please,” Catherine said, slipping her arm around Rebecca’s waist.

“What about Clark?” Rebecca said through gritted teeth. God, her chest hurt.

“With Jason, I think.” Catherine gave up trying to keep her quiet and simply guided her slowly across the room to the row of orange plastic molded seats. “Sit. I mean it.”

Rebecca sank down willingly and leaned her head back against the institutional tan wall. “What a fuck up.”

“I’ll be right back,” Catherine murmured, returning a second later with a stethoscope borrowed from one of the trauma nurses. Unbuttoning Rebecca’s shirt, she slipped the bell under the material and murmured, “Breathe.”

Rebecca took a breath, and then another. It hurt, but she was getting air. “I’m…oka…”

“Shh,” Catherine admonished, moving the stethoscope over both sides of Rebecca’s chest. Finally satisfied, she sat back and slipped the instrument from around her neck. “You sound okay. We should probably get a chest x-ray just to be sure.”

For a moment, Rebecca looked as if she might protest, then she nodded. “Can it wait until I get everybody settled down here?”

Catherine didn’t want to negotiate where Rebecca’s wellbeing was concerned, but she recognized the attempt at compromise. Inwardly, she was still trembling, but Rebecca was trying to meet her half way, and she needed to try, also. “All right, that’s a deal. But not more than an hour.”

“Good enough,” Rebecca said, getting just a bit shakily to her feet.

“Promise?”

Rebecca brushed the wisps of hair back from Catherine’s temple gently. There had been too much fear for one evening. For one lifetime. And she couldn’t swear it wouldn’t happen again. But this she could do. “Yes. I promise.”

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

LESS THAN AN hour later, Sloan, Rebecca, and Avery Clark gathered in yet another unmemorable conference room at University Hospital. They had to meet there, because Sloan wouldn’t leave until Michael’s repeat Cat scans were done and Torveau decided if surgery was needed on her fractured kidney. Rebecca watched warily as Clark and Sloan eyed each other across the ten foot space, ready to dive between them yet again if the tension in the air became physical.

“If I’ve got some reason to apologize,” Sloan said flatly, watching Clark’s face, “I will. But I’m not convinced that I do. You find out in the morning that I’m close to nailing someone and that evening a car tries to run me down. That seems just a little too neat.”

Clark looked from Sloan to Rebecca, judging the battle lines and allegiances. Shrugging as if to acknowledge that he was outnumbered, he sat down and gestured with a hand for them to do the same. “Look,” he began resignedly, “I can tell you what I know, but I don’t have the answers you’re looking for.”

“Any answers would be a start,” Rebecca interjected sharply. “There are holes in this investigation big enough to drive a truck through. What’s the real purpose behind what you’ve got us doing?”

“This is a legitimate attempt to expose the child pornography ring that we believe is operating in this area,” he insisted. “We don’t know yet how deep or how far this kind of Internet crime extends, but it’s much broader and already more technologically sophisticated than we ever dreamed—and the dispersion of the actual pornography is just one small piece of it. It ties closely to child prostitution, and that ties strongly to organized crime. Because of that, it’s a priority with any number of federal agencies as well as your own department. We’re the advance team, in a sense.”

The two women waited in silence. There was more; there had always been more.

“The situation in this city is slightly more complicated.” He glanced at Rebecca and hesitated. “We’ve suspected for a long time that organized crime had compromised local law enforcement at the highest levels. It’s a legacy that goes back forty years or more. It’s less overt now, but it’s still there.”

“Every city has that kind of corruption to some extent,” Rebecca remarked impatiently. “It’s a fact of life. What’s that got to do with us?”

“Every time we get close to the syndicate in this region, our eyewitnesses disappear, our evidence gets lost, or some jurisdictional oversight results in the case being thrown out before we ever get to court.”

“So you’ve got a leak,” Sloan said through gritted teeth, frustrated with the typical circumspect vagaries she thought she’d left behind when she’d left Justice. “Or else you’re the problem.”

“It’s not our leak.” Clark sagged slightly, looking suddenly drained. “We were close to getting names a few months ago. We had a good pipeline to inside information—an undercover agent who was putting together the links we needed to go right to the top.” His expression darkened. “And then someone took him out.”

“Someone was cleaning house,” Rebecca said grimly. “We lost cops then, too. My partner was one of them.”

“That’s something we have in common, Detective,” Clark said with a frustrated sighed. “Jimmy Hogan was one of mine.”

“What?” Rebecca said sharply, body tensing. “Hogan was an undercover narcotics agent for the Philadelphia PD.”

“He was also a United States Justice Department investigator.”

For a moment, the room was silent, and then Rebecca said quietly, “So Hogan was doing double duty, and he was going to help you make a federal case against the Zamora crime family. That was his ultimate agenda, and the narcotics angle was just a cover. Did you know he was going to give us the Intel on the kiddie prostitution ring?”

“It was important for his cover that he function as a cop as well, and it seemed fair to feed you some information on that. We were only interested in the guys at the top.”

“But someone found out about it,” Rebecca said. “And took him down. My partner just happened to be with him.”

“That’s how we read it,” Clark acknowledged. “When we set up this task force, I wanted to keep it small so that something like what happened to Jimmy wouldn’t happen again. The fewer people who know what we’re doing, the safer I figured we’d be.”

“Any ideas who the leak is?” Sloan asked grimly, her attention on Rebecca now. Apparently Clark had convinced her of his veracity.

“Theories, nothing more at this point,” the detective replied with a shrug. First and foremost, she was a cop. She didn’t indict other cops without evidence, and she had none. Avery Clark might be telling the truth; in fact she thought that he probably was. But that didn’t mean he was telling all the truth, and it didn’t mean he could be trusted. Until she had something concrete, and maybe not even then, she didn’t intend to share what she knew. Or even what she suspected.

“It looks like we’ll need to shelve tonight’s operation,” Clark said.

Sloan’s head snapped around to him. “Why?”

“We’re compromised,” he pointed out. “Someone clearly felt threatened—and they know your name.”

“I don’t think that means the operation is blown,” Rebecca disagreed. “If the leak is inside the department somewhere, they don’t know the details of the meet or who it’s with, just the general plan. Since they only know we’re getting close to someone, they’d go after the individual who was the greatest threat to exposing the Internet connection, which would eventually lead right up the ladder to the procurers and distributors—and finally to the money men. And right now that person is Sloan.”

“I say we keep going,” Sloan said, a cold hard rage filling her chest. “It’s my lover they put in the hospital. I want them.”

“I agree,” Rebecca added. “If we don’t move now, eventually they’ll get word to all their people to lay low, including these internet entry men. We’ll never have a better shot at it than tonight.”

“They may be waiting for you,” Clark pointed out. “They missed Sloan. They might try again at the meet. With McBride inside you’ll have a potential hostage situation.”

Rebecca’s face was unreadable. “That was always a possibility. We’ll be prepared for that.”

“You’re running the ground show, Frye. It’s your call.”

“Then I say we go.”

“I’ll want my people on board for the arrest,” Clark stated.

“They can ride back up,” Rebecca countered flatly. “We have to go in fast to protect Jason and secure the computers before this guy has a chance to destroy the evidence. That means a small strike force. I’ll run it with my people.” People I can trust at my back.

“You should bring in the TAC squad and a hostage negotiator, then. Just in case it goes bad.”

“You know those guys would bring in two dozen men and a half dozen armored vans and we’d lose the element of surprise. We go small and quiet.”

He looked for a moment like he would argue, then, seeming to relent, he replied, “Then at least bring your team shrink. You’ll have a negotiator present.”

Rebecca’s jaw clenched. “No.”

Sloan regarded her steadily, suspecting that she knew the reason for Frye’s resistance. When Catherine was in the room, something softened in the detective’s hard eyes. She said quietly, “Jason could be at risk.”

Rebecca hesitated a heartbeat, then blew out a breath. “Okay. But she rides back-up with you, Clark.”

“Fine,” he said, rising. “I’ll see you tonight then.”

“We’ll brief at four-thirty at Sloan’s,” Rebecca said tightly as he made for the door. When he’d closed it behind him, she turned to Sloan. “How’s Michael?”

“In and out. She…” Sloan faltered, her voice breaking. “Ah, fuck…” After a minute, she continued, “She opens her eyes for a second every now and then, but she doesn’t seem to recognize me.”

“That’s to be expected at this point, I guess.” She couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would help. Had it been Catherine—even contemplating it made her stomach roll with dread. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Sloan.”

Sloan looked away, swallowed once, then found her voice. “Thanks.”

“Is there anyone you can call in to help Jason tonight? I’ll need Mitchell for the strike force, and I don’t know if she’s computer savvy enough to handle your job anyhow.”

“I’ll be there,” Sloan said sharply.

“Look, Sloan,” Rebecca said evenly. “Things have changed. This operation is hot now, and we don’t know what we’re walking into tonight. You’re in no shape—”

“I’m okay.”

“Like hell you are.”

“They tried to kill me. They nearly killed Michael instead,” Sloan seethed. “I’m owed, Frye.”

“I need to be able to count on you. You’ve got…” she glanced at her watch. It was ten minutes to four Sunday morning. “You’ve got fifteen hours until this goes down. If you don’t sleep most of it, you’ll be a danger to all of us.”

Sloan rubbed her face with both hands and sighed. “I’ll sleep here. You have my word.”

“I need you sharp tonight, Sloan.

“I know what I need to do. I’ll do it.”

Rebecca took a chance, and took her at her word.

“I just reviewed your chest X-ray with the radiology resident. It’s normal,” Catherine informed her after Rebecca emerged from the conference room, the relief in her voice clear.

“Good,” Rebecca replied. “How do you feel? You look beat.”

“I feel about how I look,” Catherine said with a wry smile. “How’s Sloan?”

“Ragged, but calmed down a bit.”

Catherine sensed an uneasiness in Rebecca’s voice. “What is it?”

“Clark thinks it would be a good idea if you came along on the operation tonight. A precautionary thing.” Just saying the words made her chest tighten with anxiety.

“What do you think?” Catherine asked carefully.

“I think he’s right, and it’s exactly what I did not want to have happen,” Rebecca said sharply. A glimpse of Blake, the gun to Catherine’s head flashed through her mind. “Goddamn it.”

“It will be fine, Rebecca. It’s nothing like the last time.” When her lover merely nodded curtly, she asked gently, “We’re both tired. Let’s talk about it later.” Again Rebecca nodded silently, and Catherine continued, “What are you going to do now?”

“Drive back to Old City and check in with Watts and Mitchell.” As if anticipating Catherine’s next words, Rebecca added quietly, “Just for a few minutes. Then I’m sending Mitchell home and leaving the follow-up to Watts for the time being. I’ll meet you at your place in less than an hour.”

“All right,” Catherine said. She understood that Rebecca couldn’t rest until she had taken care of these last details. She understood it, and she tried hard to accept it. It wasn’t easy, seeing the deep shadows under her eyes and remembering the pain on her face just hours before. Then again, she doubted that any of them looked fit for public consumption at the moment. “I’m going to be leaving in just a few minutes, too. I just want to check on Michael one more time.”

Rebecca grasped her hand and drew her around the corner into the deserted alcove in front the elevators. Then she pulled her into her arms and kissed her, hard. Finally releasing her, she said fervently, “You were incredible tonight. None of us would’ve gotten through this without you.”

“If things keep up this way,” Catherine said with a shaky laugh, “I’m going to have to take an emergency room medicine residency.”

“It’s not always like this,” Rebecca assured her swiftly.

“So you say,” Catherine said softly, laying her head against Rebecca’s chest, just enjoying the solid comfort of her. “Come home soon. I want to hold you.”

Kissing her forehead, Rebecca held her tightly, refusing to think about anything beyond the moment when they could be together. “Sounds like just what I need.”

She wondered if Catherine had any idea how very true those words were.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

SARAH MARTIN QUIETLY pushed open the door to room 614 and stepped inside. The vertical blinds over the one window had been closed and the room was suffused in the pale yellow light of late afternoon. A steady beep from the monitor above the bed and the faint rasp of breathing were the only sounds. Walking to the figure who slumped in a chair by the bedside, she whispered softly, “Sloan.” When she got no response, she leaned down and gently shook the other woman’s shoulder.

Sloan’s eyes flew open and she straightened with a start. Immediately, she looked toward the bed and then sagged slightly in disappointment. Michael had not regained consciousness since the one brief moment with Catherine nearly twelve hours before. Turning to her companion, she rubbed her face with both hands and said, “What time is it?”

“Three-thirty. Jason is on his way to the office for the briefing.”

“Right,” Sloan rejoined wearily, rising slowly. “Show time.”

Sarah stilled her friend’s motion with a hand on her arm. Quietly, she whispered, “Maybe you should call it off, Sloan.”

“No, we might not get another chance.” Sloan moved to the bedside and ran her fingers lightly over Michael’s cheek. Leaning down, she threaded the fingers of her left hand through her lover’s and murmured close to her ear, “I won’t be long. I love you.” She kissed her fingers, then, gently, her lips.

Then she walked out of the room without looking back. Outside in the hall, she turned to Sarah. “If Jason doesn’t make contact with this guy tonight, he’ll get spooked and suspect we’re on to him. We don’t know how closely he’s in contact with other members of this organization. He might not know anything; he might be a central player. We can’t afford to tip them off at this point.”

“Jason said the same thing,” Sarah said with a sigh, remembering their strained conversation only an hour before. “Look, go home and take a shower. If Jason’s going through with it, I’ll feel better if you’re there with him. I’ll stay with Michael.”

“If she wakes up…” Sloan swallowed hard and continued, “When she wakes up, if I’m not here, tell her I’ll be back soon. Tell her I lo…”

Smiling faintly, Sarah took Sloan’s hand. “Sloan, believe me, Michael knows that. Go get this thing done and come back.”

Sloan nodded, a hard glint in her eyes. “Jason and I will see you in a few hours.”

Catherine and Rebecca dressed silently on opposite sides of Catherine’s bedroom. Catherine pulled on navy cotton chinos and a short-sleeved polo shirt, topping it off with a blue blazer. Rebecca slipped into jeans and a button-down collar shirt, strapped on her shoulder harness, and covered it with a dark blazer of her own. They had slept most of the day and had said very little after rising and showering together.

“Be sure you stay with Clark,” Rebecca said quietly, her back to Catherine. From her gym bag on the floor she pulled two extra magazines for her automatic and slipped one into each of the front pockets of her jacket. “We’ll all be miked, and you should be able to hear everything that’s going on. Even if things get…chaotic…stay in the car. Don’t come forward until I personally call for you.”

“How likely is this to turn into some kind of standoff?” Catherine asked, registering Rebecca’s anxiety for her but considering it unfounded. Of much greater concern to her was the possibility that Rebecca would be in the middle of a firefight. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re in no condition—”

“We have no reason to believe that this guy will resort to violence,” Rebecca said immediately, facing her now. “I just want to be prepared for any contingency. On the off chance something does heat up, I don’t want you at risk.”

“If someone has to go through a door,” Catherine said persistently, “let it be Watts. Not you. Not this time.”

Rebecca looked past Catherine out the bedroom window, struggling to find some balance between who she knew herself to be and who she would need to be if she were to keep Catherine in her life. “If we need to go through the door, I’ll let Watts go through first today, but I can’t promise you that I won’t be right behind him.” She met Catherine’s eyes. “That’s the best I can do.”

“All right.”

Rebecca’s piercing gaze intensified. “And what about you? Am I going to have to worry about you while I’m trying to control the scene?”

“I’ll stay with Clark until I’m needed. I promise.”

They both moved at once and met each other in the middle of the room. Simultaneously, each slipped her arms around the other’s waist, pressing together for a fierce kiss. A minute became two until finally each drew back a fraction with a regretful smile.

“Time to roll,” Rebecca said softly, gently releasing her.

Mitchell ran through her mental checklist. Automatic loaded. Back-up .32 in her right ankle holster. Extra ammo in the right front pocket of her jeans. Badge in the opposite front pocket. Cuffs in her left rear pocket where she could reach them while holding her gun on a suspect with her dominant right hand. She stopped by the front door of her apartment and snagged her black leather jacket off the clothes tree. She was in jeans, sneakers, and a short-sleeved football jersey. She couldn’t think of anything else she needed—or needed to do. Fleetingly, she thought about making a phone call, but then thought better of it. It seemed like there should be someone, but there never really had been. Her family had never understood her reasons for wanting West Point, and had understood even less her reasons for leaving. Of course, it hadn’t helped that she couldn’t tell them why she resigned, because she would have been betraying secrets that were not hers to reveal. Now she was a cop, something else that no one in her family of business executives and investment brokers could fathom. The only person she could think of, in fact the only person she really wanted to call, was someone who considered the police her enemy. In the end, as it had always been, she was alone. She stepped through her door and went down the two flights of stairs out onto the sidewalk. A car was idling at the curb and she slid into the front seat.

“You all set, kid?” Watts asked.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

When Rebecca and Catherine arrived at Sloan’s shortly before four p.m., they found Sloan, Jason, and Mitchell waiting for them in the conference room. Avery Clark, along with two men who were apparently DOJ agents, joined them soon thereafter. Once they had all gathered around the table, Sloan and Jason flanking Rebecca at one end and Clark at the opposite end, the detective and the federal agent regarded each other expressionlessly, as if a silent debate were taking place as to who would speak first. Finally, Clark said, “Why don’t you go ahead and lay it out for us, Detective Sergeant.”

“Mr. McBride is to make contact with the subject at the Upstairs Connection, a cybercafe at 17th and Market at seven p.m. tonight.” As she spoke, none of her surprise at the fact that Clark had allowed her to take control of the operation so easily showed in her face. It wasn’t her experience that federal agents ever relinquished the lead to local law enforcement. It might simply indicate that Clark was the straightforward agent he represented himself to be, one whose only interest was in breaking the case. Only time would tell.

Then she continued speaking, letting every thought except those of the upcoming engagement fade from her mind. “As instructed, he will log on as BigMac10, his internet persona, in the usual chat room and wait for contact. Presumably, he will be given further instructions at that point. Sloan will be monitoring from a wireless unit in the lead trace car, both there and at the final destination. At this point, we have no reason to assume that the subject, LongJohnXXX, suspects Mr. McBride to be anything other than someone interested in viewing live sex with minors and a potential customer for future live broadcasts. Therefore, we don’t expect resistance. Nevertheless, the exact location on this subject within the hierarchy of the organization is unknown, and he’s considered a potential threat risk.”

“Are you going to wire him?” one of Clark’s agents interrupted, indicating Jason dismissively and drawing a quick flicker of disapproval from Clark.

“No,” Rebecca answered calmly. “We considered it, but that’s the one thing we think that the subject might check for, given even a normal level of suspicion. We don’t want to blow McBride’s cover before he gets inside the subject’s house and we have access to the most recent downloads.”

As Rebecca continued to outline the upcoming maneuver, Catherine watched her and the others at the table. She loved to watch Rebecca work. When Rebecca was in charge of an operation, every ounce of her considerable personal presence emerged—her strength and confidence and skill were undeniable. There was something both comforting and exciting in the unshakable certainty she exuded as she enumerated each detail—the order and positioning of the stakeout vehicles, each team’s role in the apprehension of the subject, and the contingency plans if the subject deviated from the scenario they predicted him to follow. It was fascinating and terrifying to listen to the individuals seated around the table discuss an upcoming maneuver which could potentially result in injury or death to any one of them. All in a day’s work, it seemed. To be able to confront that reality and ignore it required tremendous powers of both denial and self-assuredness. It also required a tremendous amount of trust. She began to understand the bond between police officers in a completely different way. It was more than just the connection that grew between two people who worked together. When you relied on someone for your very life day in and day out, the allegiance and commitment formed a bond that very little could break. She wondered what it would be like to have to work within that tight community and not have the support of one’s fellows. For an instant, she thought of Mitchell and her experience that night in a dark alley when she had called for backup and no one had come. She glanced at the young officer and saw dedication and determination etched in each intense line of her face. Then her lover’s voice penetrated her consciousness again and she saw only her.

“So,” Rebecca said, her tone shifting as she wrapped things up. “Once we have the subject in custody, the crime scene team will be standing by to oversee evidence documentation.” She looked around the room, assessing each individual. Clark seemed calm; his two agents fidgeted slightly as if impatient to get on with things. Jason had listened intently, but she had a feeling that he and Sloan had already had their own briefing. They appeared far less interested in the tactical maneuverings of the police than they probably were in their own plans for information assessment and transmission during the operation. Watts slouched next to Jason, looking bored as usual. Mitchell, next to him, had never moved her eyes from Rebecca’s face during the entire briefing, as if she were memorizing each word. To her left, Sloan had not moved during the entire time either, and Rebecca detected a faint tremor in her hand where it rested on the table. On the far side of the security consultant, Catherine sat composed as always, quietly watching, absorbing, and evaluating.

“Sloan?” Rebecca asked, “Anything to add?”

Sloan cleared her throat and straightened slightly in her seat. “The success of the operation depends upon us hitting fast with absolutely no warning. Anyone with something to hide who knows anything about computers might program a destruct sequence which can be initiated with a keystroke or two. Depending upon this guy’s level of knowledge and his degree of suspicion, he may very well have something like that in his system. We are going to have almost no time between entry and immobilization if we’re going to preserve the critical evidence on his hard drive.” She glanced to Jason once, an unreadable glance passing between the two of them, and then added, “The most important thing is that LongJohn has absolutely no reason to believe this is anything other than a meeting with a prospective client and fellow connoisseur.”

“What about arming McBride?” Clark suggested. “He would be the logical one to subdue the subject if it seems as if he’s about to destroy critical evidence.”

Rebecca shook her head. “Not advisable. The subject is very likely to search him for evidence of weapons or a wire. We’ll have a front and rear entry team, assuming there are two entrances, or a tandem front strike force. We’ll be moving very quickly. Hopefully the element of surprise will be all that’s necessary. In addition, I don’t want McBride exposed as one of us. I intend to arrest him along with LongJohn and take him in to preserve his cover. Tonight is just the beginning of this sweep.”

Clark nodded, and every law enforcement officer at the table knew that the individual at most risk in the entire operation was Jason, who would be unprotected and unarmed in the middle of a potentially violent situation.

Jason looked relaxed and calm, perfectly at ease. “Once we start receiving the live download, Sloan will be able to pick it up. I’ll be expecting you, and he won’t.” He shrugged as if that settled things.

“All right,” Rebecca said, standing. “We need the surveillance teams to move into position at 1800 hours. Assume that LongJohn is smart enough to check the area before he enters the cafe, so keep an eye out for anyone looking into parked vehicles.”

Everyone rose, then began to separate into separate groups. Rebecca motioned to Catherine with a faint tip of her chin and the two of them stepped out into the corridor.

“If we’re lucky, we won’t need you,” the detective said quietly.

“I think that I should ride with you and Sloan,” Catherine said just as quietly. “Sloan’s going to be monitoring the actual conversations that Jason and Long John are having, isn’t she?”

“That’s the plan,” Rebecca said, beginning to see where Catherine was going and searching for an argument to counter it.

“In that case, I need to know what is being said between them as well. That’s the only way I can judge the tenor of the situation, and it will give me a much better idea of LongJohn’s state of mind. If I can be of any help at all, it’s going to be in evaluating the threat risk. And to do that, I need to know what’s being said.”

“She’s right,” Sloan said from a foot away, having approached without their notice. “I was about to suggest the same thing, but I didn’t want to do it in there.”

Rebecca whirled to face Sloan, her blue eyes sharp as lasers, an acid retort on her lips. Fortunately, she managed to contain her temper, because the professional part of her knew that what Sloan and Catherine said made sense, and had she been thinking more like a cop and less like a lover, she would have suggested the same thing herself. “You’re right,” Rebecca admitted with a sigh.

Sloan, in black jeans and T-shirt, looked worn beyond exhaustion. Her normally vibrant eyes were dull with pain. Directing her next words to Catherine with just a hint of her old charm, she asked, “I assume that you can be trusted to stay in the vehicle if things get crazy?”

“Word of honor,” Catherine agreed, her eyes on Rebecca.

Rebecca rubbed the bridge of her nose with one hand, rapidly making mental readjustments. “Okay, Catherine, you’ll ride with us. I’ll advise Clark and meet you two downstairs.” She turned and walked away, leaving Catherine and Sloan alone.

“How are you doing?” Catherine asked gently.

“Okay,” Sloan lied.

“Michael?”

Sloan shook her head. “She hasn’t regained consciousness yet.” Her eyes searched Catherine’s face. “Are you sure she woke up earlier when…”

Catherine placed her hand on Sloan’s arm and squeezed gently. “I’m absolutely positive, Sloan. She’s just healing, and when her body has restored itself enough, she’ll wake up. It’s going to be all right.”

“Thanks.” Sloan sighed, accepting Catherine’s comfort gratefully.

“You don’t need to thank me. Just take care of yourself. Michael will need you strong when she wakes up.”

Sloan nodded again, then squared her shoulders, her eyes clearing and determination hardening in her face. “We have a long way to go before we get to the people behind this. Tonight’s just the opening move.”

“Well, then,” Catherine replied as they moved down the hall toward the elevators, “let’s be sure to win this round.”

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

REBECCA, SLOAN, AND Catherine sat in a nondescript beige Ford sedan half a block down and diagonal to the Upstairs Connection. Rebecca continuously scanned the street, watching for anyone who appeared to be watching for them. They had arrived an hour before Jason’s appointed rendezvous time. At 1845 they had seen him come down the street from the direction of the 15th and Market Street Subway Surface Car stop which he had taken to get there. At 1850 hours he had gone through the street level door that led to the second floor cybercafe and disappeared from their view.

Sloan worked silently, monitoring the connection she had established to the Internet using a sniffer software program that allowed her to hack into a local wireless network. She was completely unaware of anyone else’s presence in the vehicle. Right now, Jason’s safety and apprehending the suspect were her primary objective. As long as she focused on the screen, and the multiple programs she had running, she didn’t think about Michael for at least a few minutes at a time. While she worked, she could almost ignore the constant ache in her chest.

In the back seat, Catherine waited patiently, having learned the ability to separate herself from the anxiety and distractions of others during her hours of therapy sessions. She had also learned to dissociate herself from her own internal issues and concerns. Doing that in the presence of her lover, whose health and wellbeing were of paramount concern to her, was more difficult than she had anticipated, however. She found if she concentrated on trying to understand just what Sloan was doing, it helped. Thus far, from what she could glean from the occasional update that Sloan provided Rebecca, she knew that Sloan was now monitoring the chat room where Jason was to meet LongJohn.

“Anything?” Rebecca asked calmly. She sat behind the wheel of the sedan, as relaxed as she usually got during a stakeout. The long hours of waiting could lull an unsuspecting, inexperienced officer into a state of lassitude which could result in dulled reflexes and impaired powers of perception. That meant you could be taken by surprise, and that could get you killed. She had learned long ago to maintain her level of alertness despite the boredom of inactivity. She constantly surveyed her surroundings, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that LongJohn might have brought along an accomplice who would be watching for them just as they were watching for LongJohn and Jason. She needed to be certain that they were not followed when they followed their quarry.

Sloan shrugged and muttered, “I’m in the chat room. Jason just logged on. No contact yet from LongJohn.”

“Is it possible that he won’t actually come to this location?” Catherine asked. “Physically, I mean?”

“Possible,” Rebecca answered. “He may just have wanted Jason on an unfamiliar machine where he couldn’t use exactly the kind of programs that Sloan’s using now to trace him. I’m still betting that he’ll show here though. He’s going to want to get a look at Jason.”

“I agree,” Sloan offered. “Otherwise, I think he would have simply given Jason instructions for the meeting privately, in any of a million rooms they could have gone to. If he’s gotten this far, he trusts that Jason is who he says he is.”

“Either way, if we follow Jason when he leaves here,” Rebecca added, “we’ll get to LongJo-”

“LongJohnXXX just logged on,” Sloan advised, her voice sharp and her attention riveted to her laptop.

“Read out the conversation,” Rebecca ordered.

LongJohnXXX: You there, Big Ten?

BigMac10: You know it. Primed and ready.

LongJohnXXX: What are you wearing?

BigMac10: LOL. Changing horses on me now?

LongJohnXXX: No way, buddy. You know me — young and pretty and female. But hey, to each his own.

BigMac10: Olive green Dockers and a tan shirt. Pass inspection?

LongJohnXXX: Can’t be too careful

BigMac10: You know it. What next?

LongJohnXXX: You about ready to take care of business?

BigMac10: Can’t be too soon. I’m hurtin for something to ease my strain

LongJohnXXX: Give me 15, then wait outside. Your chariot approaches.

BigMac10: The service is appreciated. I’ll be there.

Rebecca keyed her mike to the frequency Clark and his people were using as well as the radio in Watt’s and Mitchell’s unmarked. “Anticipated contact, fifteen minutes. No make or model on subject vehicle.”

A chorus of Rogers floated through the air and then silence.

“Everything seems aboveboard,” Sloan said. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked to Catherine. “Impressions?”

“He wants to be sure that Jason understands he is heterosexual. He seems business-like and professional, but not particularly suspicious. I agree that he wanted to see Jason. Now he has, and apparently he feels comfortable proceeding. I don’t see anything amiss at this point.”

Rebecca set her watch to fourteen minutes and continued her silent vigil.

Jason logged off and checked his watch. He and Sloan had previously discussed communicating via aliases online after LongJohn had contacted him, but had decided against it. There was no telling if LongJohn had associates who might be monitoring the chat room after LongJohn logged off. It was possible that LongJohn was still on-line himself under yet a different alias, checking to see if there was any unusual activity after their conversation. It seemed safer at this point to follow instructions until they were closer to LongJohn in the flesh.

He looked around the room, which was one large space with a dozen small tables equipped with Internet terminals. At the far end of the room was a small bar where you could get coffee and a limited selection of junk food. Almost every table was occupied, and no one looked particularly suspicious. Of course, what did your typical pedophile look like? At any rate, no one seemed to be paying special attention to him.

He wasn’t particularly nervous. Playing roles for him was something that came naturally. The threat of physical danger didn’t particularly worry him either. He wasn’t a kickboxer like Sloan or a Kung Fu master like his lover, but he could handle himself in an altercation if he needed to. If things played out the way he and Sloan had theorized, when the time for the bust came, he doubted that LongJohn was going to pose much of a threat.

He glanced at his watch and smiled to himself. Five minutes till showtime.

“Smoke?”

“No thanks.”

“You mind?”

Mitchell stared at the detective in surprise. “It’s your car, Detective.”

“Yeah, but the Sarge always busts my balls about it.”

“Well, I guess she can.”

“Yeah.” He fumbled through the pocket of his jacket until he found the crumpled pack of Camels and fingered one free. Cracking the window a couple of inches, he made an attempt to direct the smoke in that direction. “You ever been on a No Knock bust before?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll go through the door first, and I want to feel your balls—uh, your—whatever, right up against my back the whole way. You stick to me like we’re two dogs who just finished screwing.”

“I can handle that,” Mitchell said expressionlessly. She wondered if Watts had any idea what cadet training was like at West Point. She could crawl through ditches under live fire without flinching. Had done it, leading a platoon of cadets.

“Good. I don’t want you getting separated and ending up shooting me.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Detective.”

He glanced at her, assessing her tone and expression. She looked perfectly steady and certain. “You scared, kid?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” He settled his butt a little more comfortably on the seat and continued to smoke in silence. Until he had gotten hooked up with Rebecca Frye, he’d never worked with a woman before. Not one on one. Now he couldn’t get away from them. It sure was a different world.

Precisely 14 minutes later, Jason McBride exited through the doors of the Upstairs Connection and walked to the intersection of 17th and Market. A blue Mercedes SUV driving south on 17th pulled up next to him and the driver’s window descended electrically. Rebecca saw Jason lean down, nod once, and walked around the front of the vehicle to slide into the front seat through the passenger door. She keyed her mike and started her engine. “We have contact.” She gave a verbal description of the vehicle, knowing that Mitchell and Watts would run it through VI, Vehicle Identification, as they drove. She pulled into traffic allowing several cars and a minivan to move between her and the SUV. They drove just below the speed limit through the city to the on-ramp to Interstate 95. A minute or two later, Mitchell’s voice came over the radio.

“No identification on the vehicle,” Mitchell reported. “The plates are not registered.”

“Forged, probably,” Rebecca muttered. “Roger that.”

After another minute, she dropped back and the black Buick driven by Watts pulled out from several cars behind her and passed to take over the lead position. They would alternate like this as long as needed until Jason’s vehicle stopped. Somewhere behind them, Clark followed as well. If the SUV began to take evasive maneuvers, suggesting that the tail had been spotted, the third car would split off to triangulate an interception point. For now, whoever was driving the dark Mercedes ahead of them did not appear to be aware of their presence.

“Do you think that’s LongJohn driving?” Sloan asked at one point.

“Most likely,” Rebecca said, eyes fixed on the traffic ahead of her. “I can’t see him inviting someone else to the party at this point. Any potential customer might get spooked meeting someone they hadn’t anticipated. These guys are pretty suspicious as a group.”

“I wonder what the hell they’re talking about?” Sloan mused.

Rebecca shook her head. “I’ve got a feeling it’s not the weather or sports.”

“Well, whatever it is,” Catherine interjected, “Jason is fast on his feet, and he and LongJohn have a relationship. That’s why no one other than Jason could have done this at this point. He’ll be okay.”

He better be , Sloan thought. Because I can’t take one more person I care about getting hurt.

Twenty minutes later they had circled nearly the entire city on expressways and arterials. They were approaching an area less than a mile north of Sloan’s loft which still retained the flavor of a working-class neighborhood. The neighborhood, called Fishtown, consisted of row houses and singles interspersed along narrow streets where a few trees still managed to grow.

“Here we go,” Rebecca said as the Mercedes signaled and pulled right towards an exit ramp. Once again, she opened the frequencies to the other members of the team. “Subject vehicle has turned right into a driveway on the corner of Girard and 4th. Single, two-story, white frame house—no number visible. Detached garage, front and rear entries likely. I am preceding around the block and will approach from the north.”

She deployed the other two vehicles where the officers and federal agents could easily approach the house from opposite directions. She and Sloan needed to be as close as possible so that Sloan could hack in and monitor the live download. Two minutes later, they were parked between several vehicles on the adjoining street where they had a clear sightline to the house. Lights were visible in a rear room on the first floor.

“We might be lucky,” Rebecca said. “The doors should be fairly easy to breach, and if they’re in that room, we should be inside and have containment in less than 10 seconds.”

Sloan didn’t reply, feverishly running through programs attempting to establish a strong enough signal to trace the activity from LongJohn’s computer. Finally, after what seemed like an interminable wait, an image flickered and then stabilized on her screen.

Three pairs of eyes focused on the 15 inch color monitor. For a moment, the images were indistinct, and then the focus cleared and they were able to see two young girls walking naked into a room furnished with a large bed and not much else.

“Got you, you son of a bitch,” Sloan whispered.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

“SHOULD WE GO in?” Rebecca asked Sloan, an edge in her voice. She hated having a man out of sight and hearing, particularly inside a building with a perp of unknown violence potential. Especially while she sat in a car hatching the radio.

From the backseat, Catherine placed a hand lightly on her shoulder and urged, “Wait a few minutes if you can.” She had been sitting quietly, watching the figures on Sloan’s screen. A man had entered the room, joining the two young girls. He wore a nondescript uniform, apparently supposed to represent a delivery person of some kind. The two naked girls feigned surprise and awkward shyness, all of it clearly staged but not nearly as artificial as she might have expected. There was a sense of cinema verité that was all too professional and deeply disturbing given the subject matter. “I’d give—this—a while to run, because I think LongJohn is more likely to be preoccupied the longer this goes on.”

Turning in the front seat to face her, Rebecca glanced sharply at her, aware of the hollow note in her voice. Stakeout operations like these were never easy, not when pent up, adrenalized excitement and the fear of something going wrong invariably combined to make you crazy. This time it was even harder, because she was certain that Catherine must be feeling tremendous sympathy for the young girls who were being degraded and victimized while they watched.

“No matter what we do here,” Rebecca reminded her gently, “it won’t make any difference to them. Not tonight, at least.”

“I know,” Catherine replied tonelessly, not looking directly at Rebecca. “Ten minutes. That should be about right.”

Rebecca keyed her mike and instructed the other teams, “We’ll go in ten. Team one, you have the front; team two, the rear. Move into position and wait for my signal.” After terminating the transmission, Rebecca glanced at Sloan. “Are you getting what you need?”

“Looks like it,” Sloan said without glancing up, still rapidly sequencing through programs and downloading as much information as she could.

“Okay, good,” Rebecca said. “You two stay here until the all clear.” She handed Sloan a handy talkie. “I’ll contact you on this as soon as we have secured the location. Then you can get a look at his system.”

“Good enough,” Sloan said. For the first time in the last hour she lifted her gaze from the computer monitor. “Look out for Jason, will you?”

“Absolutely,” Rebecca said. As she lifted the handle, swung open the door, and put one leg out, she glanced briefly again into the rear seat. Catherine was watching her. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Yes,” Catherine responded softly, her eyes on Rebecca’s face. Memorizing it, as if it hadn’t already been indelibly carved on her heart.

As Rebecca slipped away into the darkness, Catherine wondered once again what it was that made someone do that. What was it that allowed an individual to place herself in imminent peril to right some wrong or correct some injustice. She continued to stare at the house, barely able to make out a flicker in the shadows which she imagined would be Watts and Mitchell and perhaps the Justice agents. She tried to imagine what they were thinking, and finally decided that there was no way she could, not without having experienced it. Suddenly, she understood some of why it was that police officers rarely had friendships outside the force. She also understood why they had such a high rate of divorce. How could anyone who did not do this on a daily basis possibly understand what it was to go out day after day and face the unknown. An unknown which could very well kill you.

“She’ll be fine,” Sloan said as if reading her mind.

Without taking her eyes off the front of the building, where she could just see the door but could not see the figures whom she knew must be crouching in the shadows, she said once more, softly, “Yes.”

“Did I tell you or did I tell you?” LongJohn said with a note of both excitement and pride in his voice. “This is the real thing. Primo, man.”

The two men were seated in front of a twenty-one inch flat screen computer monitor in small comfortable easy chairs with a TV table between them. Two open bottles of beer sat on the table flanking a bowl of peanuts. On the screen, the now naked 30-year-old man, a big beefy guy who looked like a college football player gone to fat, stood by the side of the bed while one of the preteen girls performed fellatio on him. Kneeling on the floor next to them, the other girl fondled him. His large hand roamed over her barely perceptible breasts.

“Oh, yeah, it’s everything you said,” Jason said, facing the screen and fixing his gaze on a point two inches above it. He had watched enough to know that this was what they had been waiting for. He didn’t want to see the details. “Worth every penny, guy. And more so. I wouldn’t mind getting this on a regular basis.”

“Like I said, that can be arranged,” LongJohn said, his eyes riveted to the screen. “All you need is a little green and the right connections. We’ll pipe this straight to your bedroom.”

“Just tell me where to sign,” Jason replied. The live download had been running for almost ten minutes and he wasn’t certain how long it would last. More importantly, he estimated that the strike force would make their move soon. Now was the time for a little diversion.

“You know, I’ve been waiting all weekend for this,” Jason said, purposefully lowering his voice and hesitating as if he were having trouble catching his breath. “I’m afraid I might pop in my pants if I don’t do something about it pretty soon.”

“Go ahead, man. Feel free. I’m in need of a little relief myself,” his companion answered.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason could see LongJohn rhythmically squeezing the crotch of his jeans as he stared fixedly at the monitor. Jason made a show of unbuttoning his chinos and lowering his fly. He wasn’t worried that LongJohn would watch him, because LongJohn wasn’t interested in what Jason had between his legs. He was interested in watching the children performing sex acts on the man on the screen. Jason slipped his hand inside his trousers and faked a moaned. He wasn’t hard, but LongJohn would never know that. He spread his legs wider and murmured, “Oh yeah, that’s better.”

Next to him, he heard the sound of a zipper sliding down followed by a grunt as LongJohn reached inside his jeans. The sounds from the speakers were mostly moans and strangled grunts and fragmented bits of dialogue that combined with Jason’s intentionally audible breathing and LongJohn’s escalating groans. Jason hoped the noise would help mask the sounds of the police entry and add to the general confusion when the strike force descended on them. His only concern now was that LongJohn would be quicker to the finish line then he had anticipated. The guy had freed himself from the confines of his pants, and from the sound of his breathing and the rapid creaking of the chair as the other man rocked his hips in an ever increasing crescendo, Jason feared that his diversion would be shot before Frye and friends arrived.

And he hadn’t planned a second act.

“On three,” Rebecca whispered into her mike. “Three, two, one… GO.”

Watts hit the door with his considerable bulk and it broke loose from the frame, crashing inward with a splinter of wood and popping screws. Rebecca was surprised at the speed with which the big man moved. In an instant he had disappeared into the darkened room, Mitchell close behind. Distantly, she heard an echoing crash from somewhere in the depths of the house. Clark ’s team.

Rebecca moved low through the doorway, stepping up quickly next to Mitchell. They turned their backs to one another, guns extended in two-handed grips, each of them scanning opposite sides of the room. Watts was out in front, beside the door on the wall opposite the entry, peering around the corner into the next room.

“Clear,” Mitchell shouted.

“Go,” Rebecca ordered, and they all surged forward. Within a matter of seconds they were in a large recreation room filled with computers, video machines, and graphics equipment. On a large monitor on an elevated shelf the sexual scene they had observed from the car continued to run. Moans and cries and hoarse oh yeahs provided a backdrop to the general confusion.

Watts yanked the suspect, a youngish white male in a T-shirt and jeans, from the chair and pushed him spread-eagled onto the floor. Kneeling with one meaty leg in the center of the stunned man’s back, Watts glanced up at Rebecca with a satisfied smile. “What do you think, huh, Sarge? Caught the scumbags with their dicks in their hand.”

“Just read him the card,” Rebecca said, referring to the Miranda warning. Mitchell had Jason, who was loudly protesting for all to hear that he’d no idea LongJohn planned to show a sex video, in the same position on the floor and was snapping cuffs onto him as she recited his rights in a flat monotone. She lifted her radio and said, “Sloan, come on ahead.” Then, switching frequencies, “Dispatch, this is Detective Sergeant Frye. I need the crime scene team at…”

“That won’t be necessary, Detective,” Avery Clark said as he and the two agents converged on the scene from the rear of the house. “We’ll be taking the equipment into custody.”

“The hell you will,” Rebecca snapped, ignoring the faint sound of the dispatcher calling her name over her radio. “This is my crime scene and I’ll log the evidence.”

Clark shook his head. “Sorry, Detective. We have jurisdictional priority here.” He turned to one of the two federal agents with him and said, “Go ahead, Reynolds. Start packing this stuff up. Call and get the rest of the team to give you a hand.”

Sloan caught his last statements as she entered the room. “You lying son of a bitch,” she seethed, stalking towards Clark from across the room. “Is this what you call a joint investigation? We lead you to the suspect and then you take all the evidence?”

Rebecca edged forward as she noted all three of the Justice agents stiffen, ready to intervene if Sloan put hands on him. She had no doubt that this time Clark or one of his men would get physical.

“If we find anything that we can pass along to you in the way of other guys like this,” Clark said, nodding toward LongJohn, who slumped in Watts’ grasp, staring dumbly at the strangers who were beginning to dismantle his equipment, “I will. We’re after the big fish here, not the pervs sitting around getting off on this garbage.”

“What about what happened to Michael?” Sloan demanded angrily, raising her voice above the cacophony and attracting further attention from Clark’s two underlings, both of whom edged closer. “We need to follow the trail from here to find out who’s behind that.”

Clark met her hot gaze impassively. “You’ll get info on a need to know basis.”

“I’ll get the fucking info right fucking now,” she grated, heading toward the CPU the bigger of the two Justice agents was standing guard over. Clark stepped to intercept her, but before he could, Rebecca grasped her arm and stopped her in mid-stride.

“Hold up, Sloan,” Rebecca cautioned. Leaning close she whispered harshly, “You touch one of them and you’ll end up spending the night in a cell down at the Federal Building.”

For a fraction of a second, something dark passed through Sloan’s eyes. It was a mixture of fury and pain. “Son of a bitch,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Rebecca muttered through clenched jaws, just as frustrated and angry. But it hadn’t been the first time, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last time that when it came time to reap the benefits of a joint operation, the local authorities were left with nothing. A hand still on Sloan’s arm, she ordered, “Watts, get those two down to headquarters.”

“You can have him,” Clark said amiably, nodding toward Jason. “I want first crack at this guy,” he said, indicating LongJohn with his head.

Rebecca stepped very close to him, her chest nearly touching his. She was an inch taller, and for an instant his smile faltered. “To do what? Offer him a deal?”

“We just want to talk to him. Then you can have him.”

“”You’re all heart, Clark,” she snarled. Walking to where Watts and Mitchell waited, Sloan following reluctantly, she said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

“WHAT’S HAPPENING?” CATHERINE asked as Sloan and Rebecca flung themselves into the sedan and slammed the doors. “Is Jason all right?”

“He’s fine,” Sloan replied, suddenly weary beyond belief. The only thing she wanted was to get back to Michael.

“Did you get LongJohn?”

“Yeah, and we’ve been screwed,” Rebecca seethed as she ignitioned the car and pulled away from the curb in one rapid motion. “Clark’s taking first crack at the suspect and the evidence.”

“Which means,” Sloan added darkly, “we’ll never get anything out of any of it.”

Catherine stared from one to the other of the women in the front seat of the careening vehicle. The level of fury and frustration was incendiary. “What about the task force—the investigation?”

Rebecca laughed bitterly. “My guess is it will be tabled while the feds play games trying to get this guy—LongJohn—whoever he turns out to be, to name names or lead them to the next guy who will. With a real live perp, and one who is connected enough to be brokering sales of these sex videos, Clark probably figures he’s got a hotter lead than anything we can turn up from the internet. At least for now,” Rebecca clarified, trying to keep her anger at bay while she considered her options. Clark might have stonewalled her for the time being, but the investigation wasn’t dead. There was still a porn ring to break, and a leak somewhere to plug. And Jeff’s killer to find.

“And the children?” Catherine asked quietly. “Where do they fit into this plan?”

There was an uncomfortable silence, then Rebecca answered, “Eventually, the pornography ring will be exposed—either during the Feds’ sweep if they ever make a case—or by one of us at the local level. Someone will get to them.”

“That could take months, couldn’t it?” Catherine was struggling to understand how the politics of this jurisdictional battle could be allowed to affect the welfare of these innocent victims, but she knew in her heart that there would never be any sense to it.

“Clark’s agenda is to bring down the organized crime syndicate that controls drugs, racketeering, prostitution, protection—you name it,” Sloan said resignedly. “In one way or another it affects thousands, and the federal government isn’t particularly interested in saving the few.”

“But then, what about the pornographers?” Catherine insisted. “Are they going to get away with this?”

“No,” Rebecca responded firmly. “Special Crimes has always been after the guys who were marketing kids. This internet search was one way to get to them, but it’s not the only way. We know more about how the ring works now—we’ll just have to go back to the streets and do it the way we always have.”

She was thinking of what Sandy had told her about the young prostitutes who had been involved in making sex films. She and Watts needed to track them down. She remembered too Sandy’s offer to sign on for one of the films. I can pass, Frye. I’ve done it before. Rebecca blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ve still got some leads.”

“You’ve got more than that,” Sloan responded with a hint of her usual fire.

Rebecca glanced at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve got the download of tonight’s video,” Sloan said, lifting her laptop. “All of it. There’s information I can get from that. I might not be able to tell you a street address, but given enough time, I can probably give you a sector location. It’ll be a place to start.”

“You’re likely to be unemployed by tomorrow, Sloan,” Rebecca reminded her. “If Clark gets anything out of this guy, he’ll probably work that angle in preference to anything else we might get from the Internet.”

“I told you,” Sloan replied evenly, “I don’t work for Clark. Someone behind this pornography operation, or someone working with whoever’s running it, tried to have me killed. They put my lover in the hospital. I’m not done with this yet.”

“No,” Rebecca added, thinking that this someone was probably the same person who had her previous partner killed, “neither am I.”

“What a fuckarow,” Watts grumbled. “Although we should have seen it coming. You can never trust the Feds.”

Jason rubbed his wrists, trying to erase the slight indentations the cuffs had made. He was also trying to erase the images he still held of the scene on the monitor.

“You okay?” Mitchell asked with concern, looking over the back of the front seat at him. “I didn’t mean to ratchet it them so tight. Habit.”

“No,” he said quickly, “I’m fine. Just pissed off. I know that guy knows how this whole part of the operation works. Did you see the setup he had in that room? He’s a relay station. I’ll bet he remasters those feeds and makes high quality wholesale products. He’s probably got customer lists, for Christ sake.”

“Well, if he does,” Watts grunted, “the Feds will find it in about a year. You know damn well if they had anyone who could actually do the kind of voodoo you and Sloan have been doing, they’d have used them to begin with instead of coming to you.”

“Maybe.” Jason smiled wryly at Watts’ veiled compliment. “Then why cut us out now, when we’ve finally got something to work with.”

“Because they don’t want to spend time and resources on the street side of the operation,” Mitchell said cynically. “All they wanted was a key—someone they could twist who would lead them inside the organization. They’ll probably turn this guy and send him right back out to work. He could be back in the kiddie smut business in a day or two. Except this time he’ll be feeding the Feds information while he peddles skin to other guys like BigMac10. That’s how Federal cases get made. Inside informants. Rats in the garbage dump.”

Watts looked at the young woman beside him sharply. Smart kid and good in the crunch, too.

Jason sighed. “I know, believe me. I’ve seen the wheels of Justice turn, and most of the time it’s in reverse. What a colossal waste.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Watts muttered almost to himself. “Maybe not. We know some things we didn’t know before.”

And knowing Frye, we’re not about to let this go.

“Has she said anything?” Sloan asked quietly, moving carefully through the dimly lit room to the bedside where Sarah waited.

“No,” Sarah replied gently, rising. “She’s just been sleeping.”

Sloan brushed her fingers lightly over Michael’s hand where it lay motionless on the sheets, lingering for a moment on the wedding band she had placed there. “Jason’s fine,” she added, her eyes moving to her lover’s still face.

“I know,” Sarah answered. “He called me from the office. Said you were probably on your way here. I’m going to go pick him up now and take him home.”

“Good,” Sloan said wearily, settling into the chair by the bed. “He’s okay, Sarah, but the whole thing was ugly. To say nothing of pointless.”

“He sounded drained,” Sarah agreed. “And you look it. I don’t suppose you’d consider going home for a few hours?”

Sloan shook her head, a faint smile on her face. “No.”

“Okay, then.” Sarah brushed her fingers through her friend’s dark hair, letting her fingers rest on her cheek. “Try not to worry.”

“Sure.”

When the door had closed, Sloan leaned forward and took Michael’s hand. “Hey,” she murmured softly. “I love you. I’ll be here.”

Rebecca leaned against the shower wall and let the steaming water pound over her body, hoping it would drive some of the tension from her body and the disillusionment from her consciousness. The door slid open and Catherine stepped inside.

“Mind company?”

“Nothing I’d like better,” Rebecca answered, reaching for the shampoo. “Turn around. I’ll wash your hair.”

Catherine turned her back, resting her hips against Rebecca’s thighs, and tilted her head back so that her lover could work the lather through her hair. As strong fingers massaged her scalp, she groaned, “God, that’s criminally good.”

“You look criminally good,” Rebecca murmured, leaning forward until her breasts pressed into Catherine’s back and her pelvis moved against Catherine’s rear. For the first time in hours, she realized that she wasn’t thinking about anything at all—anything beyond how the faint brush of her nipples over Catherine’s skin started a pulse thudding between her legs. She moved her soapy hands from her lover’s hair and slid her palms over the tops of Catherine’s shoulders, then down her arms. “I love you.”

Catherine closed her eyes, aware of the tingling wherever Rebecca had touched. Reaching for those clever hands, she drew them to her breasts, gasping as willing fingers closed over her nipples. “Oh, God.”

Rebecca braced her back against the wall, cradling Catherine in her arms, still back to front—working her nipples, massaging her breasts, brushing her fingers lightly down her belly and then back up again. “You make me so hot,” she whispered, her lips close to Catherine’s ear. “You make me wet just thinking about touching you.”

“Don’t just…think,” Catherine replied, her legs shaking. “Touch.” Reaching behind herself with one hand, she insinuated it between their bodies, working her palm down Rebecca’s abdomen, feeling muscles tighten under her caress. When she reached the space between her lover’s thighs, she slid a finger on either side of her clitoris, squeezing steadily until Rebecca groaned against her neck. “Cause I’m way past hot already.”

“Careful…you’ll make me come,” Rebecca warned, her voice low and tight. Catherine seemed not to hear and continue to milk her length until she jerked against Catherine’s hand, a fist of pleasure threatening to burst inside. “Oh fuck…”

“Uh huh,” Catherine gasped, her free hand on Rebecca’s wrist, guiding her hand between her own legs. Moaning at the first press of Rebecca’s fingers, she turned her head, her teeth catching skin at the base of Rebecca’s throat.

As Catherine worked her relentlessly toward orgasm, Rebecca pushed deeper between Catherine’s thighs until she was inside her, enclosed by the smooth grip of firm muscles. Then she took her with quick, hard, driving strokes that echoed the blood pounding fiercely through her depths—the fury of her thrusts propelled by Catherine’s sharp cries of encouragement. Shuddering, barely breathing, she locked her knees as she came to keep from falling, supporting her lover’s body as Catherine stiffened, then convulsed in her arms.

Eventually they managed to finish the shower, both of them quiet. When they stood together naked, toweling off, Catherine said, “What the hell was that?” At Rebecca’s quizzical glance, she added, “The last thing I was thinking about when I joined you in there was sex. I wasn’t certain after watching that awful video when I would think about it again. Then, I’m practically ready to come the second you touch me.”

“Adrenalin,” Rebecca replied, reaching for an old pair of gym shorts. Pulling them on, she continued, “It happens after that kind of operation—the fear and the stress come out like that sometimes.”

“What did you do when you were unattached?”

“When I was still drinking, I drank. After I quit, I went to the gym. Once in while,” she shrugged, grinning sheepishly, “I’d find company.”

“Hmm,” Catherine mused, slipping into her robe. “See that you come directly here should the occasion arise in the future.”

“That was my plan,” Rebecca responded, pulling her close.

“What else are you planning…about…all of this?” Catherine asked, threading her arms around her waist.

“I’ll be back on regular duty in a day or so. I’ll have other cases, Clark will pull the plug on this task force…and I’ll keep doing what I’m trained to do until we make this right—for Jeff, for Michael, for those young kids.”

“Yes,” Catherine murmured, “until justice is done—for all of them.”