Justice For All

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Acclaim for Radcly ffe’s Fiction Lammy winner “…Stolen Moments is a collection of steamy stories about women who just couldn’t wait. It’s sex when desire overrides reason, and it’s incredibly hot!” – On Our Backs

Lammy winner “…Distant Shores, Silent Thunder weaves an intricate tapestry about passion and commitment between lovers. The story explores the fragile nature of trust and the sanctuary provided by loving relationships.” – Sapphic Reader

Shield of Justice is a “…well-plotted…lovely romance…I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough!” – Ann Bannon, author of The Beebo Brinker Chronicles A Matter of Trust is a “… sexy, powerful love story filled with angst, discovery and passion that captures the uncertainty of first love and its discovery.” – Just About Write

“The author’s brisk mix of political intrigue, fast-paced action, and frequent interludes of lesbian sex and love…in Honor Reclaimed…sure does make for great escapist reading.”

– Q Syndicate

Lammy Finalist Justice Served delivers a “…crisply written, fast-paced story with twists and turns and keeps us guessing until the final explosive ending.” – Independent Gay Writer Change of Pace is “… contemporary, yet timeless, not only about sex, but also about love, longing, lust, surprises, chance meetings, planned meetings, fulfilling wild fantasies, and trust.” – Midwest Book Review

“Radcly f fe has once again pulled together all the ingredients of a genuine page-turner, this time adding some new spices into the mix. shadowland is sure to please—in part because Radcly f fe never loses sight of the fact that she is telling a love story, and a compelling one at that.” – Cameron Abbott, author of To The Edge and An Inexpressible State of Grace Lammy Finalist Turn Back Time is filled with…“wonderful love scenes, which are both tender and hot.” – MegaScene

“Innocent Hearts… illustrates that our struggles for acceptance of women loving women is as old as time—only the setting changes. The romance is sweet, sensual, and touching.” –

Just About Write

In Lammy Finalist When Dreams Tremble the “…focus on character development is meticulous and comprehensive, filled with angst, regret, and longing, building to the ultimate climax.” – Just About Write

“Sweet No More…snarls, teases and toes the line between pleasure and pain.” – Best Lesbian Erotica 2008

“Word of Honor takes the reader on a great ride. The sex scenes are incredible…and the story builds to an exciting climax that is as chilling as it is rewarding.” – Midwest Book Review By the Author

Romances

Innocent Hearts

Fated Love

Love’s Melody Lost

Turn Back Time

Love’s Tender Warriors

Promising Hearts

Tomorrow’s Promise

When Dreams Tremble

Passion’s Bright Fury

The Lonely Hearts Club

Love’s Masquerade

Night Call

shadowland

The Provincetown Tales

Safe Harbor

Beyond the Breakwater

Distant Shores, Silent Thunder

Storms of Change

Winds of Fortune

Honor Series

Justice Series

Above All, Honor

A Matter of Trust (prequel)

Honor Bound

Shield of Justice

Love & Honor

In Pursuit of Justice

Honor Guards

Justice in the Shadows

Honor Reclaimed

Justice Served

Honor Under Siege

Justice for All

Word of Honor

Erotic Interludes: Change Of Pace

(A Short Story Collection)

Radical Encounters

(An Erotic Short Story Collection)

Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.:

Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games

Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery

Visit us at www.boldstrokesbooks.com

JUSTICE

FOR ALL

by

RADCLY f FE

2009

JUSTICE FOR ALL

© 2009 By Radclyffe. all Rights ReseRved.

isBN 10: 1-60282-074-0e

isBN 13: 978-1-60282-074-6e

This ElEcTronic Book is PuBlishEd By

Bold sTrokEs Books, inc.,

P.o. Box 249

VallEy Falls, ny 12185

FirsT EdiTion: aPril 2009

This is a Work oF FicTion. naMEs, characTErs, PlacEs, and incidEnTs arE ThE ProducT oF ThE auThor’s iMaGinaTion or arE usEd FicTiTiously. any rEsEMBlancE To acTual PErsons, liVinG or dEad, BusinEss EsTaBlishMEnTs, EVEnTs, or localEs is EnTirEly coincidEnTal.

This Book, or ParTs ThErEoF, May noT BE rEProducEd in any ForM WiThouT PErMission.

cRedits

EdiTors: JEnniFEr kniGhT, ruTh sTErnGlanTz and sTacia sEaMan ProducTion dEsiGn: sTacia sEaMan

coVEr dEsiGn By shEri (GraPhicarTisT2020@hoTMail.coM) Acknowledgments

This book belongs to all the readers who asked for this series to continue and who have supported and encouraged me in its creation. My deepest gratitude.

Many thanks to first readers Connie, Diane, Eva, Paula, RB, and Tina, and to Jennifer Knight, Ruth Sternglantz, and Stacia Seaman for outstanding editorial guidance. Congratulations to Sheri for reading my mind on cover design yet again.

And to Lee, for always wanting another story. Amo te.

Radclyffe 2009

Dedication

For Lee

All Ways

Justice for All

PROLOgUE

Tell me again, Vincent, how it is that in six months I’ve lost a third of my income.”

Before the visibly sweating man standing in front of his desk could reply, Kratos Zamora swiveled his leather desk chair to face the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows. His office on the twenty-fifth floor of the high-rise he owned in Center City commanded a view from downtown Philadelphia across the Delaware River into southern New Jersey. The panorama was book-ended by the Benjamin Franklin Bridge to the north and the Walt Whitman to the south. The Port of Philadelphia stretched off to his right and, as the silent seconds passed, he contemplated a cargo ship lumbering up to the pier loaded with twenty-by-forty-foot containers stacked ten high. Some of those carried his legitimate products, and others should have carried his far more lucrative merchandise. And there was his problem.

Squinting slightly in the late afternoon sun, he continued in a conversational tone as if reading from a grocery list. “Seventy-five percent of the online entertainment revenues and over half of the escort service’s have dried up. And now,” he paused to spin back around,

“you’re telling me our direct line to City Hall has disappeared. Did I hear that right?”

“Not exactly disappeared,” the big man in the ill-fitting suit answered diffidently. “More like…dead.”

Kratos winced inwardly, because even though his offices were routinely swept for surveillance devices at the start of every eight-hour shift, he still avoided discussing business indoors. He’d rather take his chances outside where traffic noise and physical obstacles made long-

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range audio surveillance problematic. However, most of his men had grown up in a different era and were slow to retrain. He had inherited the business from his father only five years before, at the age of thirty-two, even though his older brother Gregor was the first son. Gregor had his talents, but they tended to be of the physical variety. Kratos had earned his MBA at Wharton and their father, in a break with tradition, had named him heir to Zamora Enterprises. Surprisingly, Gregor hadn’t objected and now served as Kratos’s security chief. Many people assumed Gregor headed the family and Kratos was content to let the fallacy go unchallenged. There were advantages to being seen as a legitimate businessman. In fact, he considered himself a modern entrepreneur, even if on occasion he employed methods that were never covered in his curriculum at the University of Pennsylvania. A flexible approach was necessary in order to secure his goals.

“You didn’t answer my original question,” he prodded gently. He knew the answer, of course, but in lieu of killing the messenger, he would merely make him suffer. Crossing his knees and casually flicking a nonexistent wrinkle out of the leg of his charcoal gray blended-silk trousers, he regarded Vincent Costa with a bland expression.

Vincent, one of his more trusted captains, folded his hands over his crotch and stared into space. “There’s this new unit…the High Profile—”

“Yes, I’m aware of it.” Kratos glanced at the single sheet of paper in the center of his desk.

A list of names and nothing else was typed down the left-hand side: Detective Lieut. Rebecca Frye, Detective First William Watts, Detective Third Dellon Mitchell, JT Sloan, and Jason McBride. The High Profile Crimes Unit. An odd assortment of local law enforcement and civilian consultants first formed to break an Internet pornography ring that used underage models. That online entertainment operation just happened to be neatly folded into one of Zamora Enterprise’s subsidiary corporations, and its loss had been costly. Only days ago, this crime unit had intercepted a delivery of young girls destined to become stars in high-demand pornography films as well as call girls for an exclusive escort service also run by Zamora Enterprises.

“What I don’t understand is how they’ve managed to do in a few months what an entire police force hasn’t been capable of in two decades.”

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Justice for All

“I don’t know, boss.”

“Guess, Vincent.” Kratos needed men like Vincent, men who were close to the street, far closer to the blood and the grime than he had ever been. While he was welcome at $10,000-a-plate benefit dinners and luncheoned frequently with the mayor, he had never personally pulled the trigger on an enemy. He’d never walked the mean streets except as a boy under his father’s protection. He wasn’t bothered by the fact there were things his men could do better than he, as long as he was certain that they never knew it.

“It’s the computers,” Vincent said, blinking as a trickle of sweat settled in the corner of his eye.

Interested, Kratos sat forward and clasped his hands in the center of his desk on top of the offending list. The sunlight glinted off the heavy gold signet ring he wore on the small finger of his right hand.

The edge of his pristine white cuff covered a portion of the list, so all he could see was the name Rebecca. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not like the old days, you know? Used to be cops were out on the streets, listening to the chatter and squeezing their snitches to find out what was going on. Hell, now they can follow you with that little chip thing in your cell phone. They don’t even have to get out of their car.”

“Are you saying our electronic security is a problem?”

Vincent lowered his gaze to meet Kratos’s. “Couldn’t hurt beefing it up, but that’s not gonna stop them. They fingered our inside man at City Hall pretty fast, and they pulled in all the midlevel porn distributors by tracking them through their computers. They’re good, boss.”

“We’ve got some muscle in that area too,” Kratos said, thinking of the leggy redhead who had set up the spyware that had ultimately given him access to confidential records at City Hall and One Police Plaza. She was good, very good. But one of the first things he’d learned from his father was never to go into a fight with only one plan of attack.

“What happens if we break up this unit?”

“Buys us time. Maybe permanently.” Vincent’s eyes glinted. “You want me to arrange some accidents?”

Kratos sighed, bothered less by the indiscreet question than the option itself. Assassination was not his preferred approach, not because it concerned him to neutralize his adversaries, but because murder was usually sloppy and always drew unwanted attention. He’d been opposed

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RADclY fFe

to eliminating the undercover officers who’d gotten close to exposing the kiddie porn operation but had finally consented in order to assuage his new Russian business partners. The compromise seemed necessary to gain a greater percentage of the profits, but as a result, he and his businesses were coming under far more scrutiny than the Russians. He didn’t want to invite even more.

“Perhaps there’s another way,” he said, recalling another of his father’s lessons. Where there was an obstacle, there was usually an opportunity also. “After all, we need a new representative at One Police Plaza.”

“Turn one of those cops?” Vincent laughed, then quickly smothered his smile. “From what I hear, they’re all a bunch of Boy Scouts.”

Kratos leaned back and tapped the list with one finger. Five people—three women, two men. “Find me the weak link.”

“I heard some of them are queers.”

“If you heard it, then it’s common knowledge and blackmail would be pointless. No,” Kratos mused. “It won’t be greed that provides the lever we need, and it won’t be power. It won’t even be fear of death.”

He smiled, enjoying the challenge. “It will be love.”

“Boss?” Vincent frowned.

“Bring me everything you can find about their families.”

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Justice for All

ChAPTER ONE

Rebecca Frye studied her face in the mirror over the tiny sink in her hospital room’s bathroom. The harsh institutional light mercilessly highlighted the purple-and-green bruise that extended from her left temple down her cheek to the angle of her jaw. Her upper eyelid was so swollen she could barely make out the ice blue rim of her iris.

At least the blood in her hair was gone. She’d finally gotten a shower after two days of insisting to the nurses that she was perfectly capable of standing upright. Actually, the first time she’d tried to get out of bed, the room or her head—or possibly both—had spun so badly she’d nearly vomited. Thank Christ Catherine hadn’t been there to witness the episode.

Rebecca wasn’t bothered by the mess the gunshot had made of her face. To her way of thinking, if she was standing up and able to see the damage, she was way ahead of the game. What bothered her was that every time her lover, Dr. Catherine Rawlings, looked at her, she would be reminded how close Rebecca had come to being a casualty.

Catherine tried to hide her worry and her fear, but the shadows flickering just below the surface of her green eyes gave her away. For Rebecca, the pain of being shot was nothing compared to the pain of knowing Catherine was suffering because of her.

She opened and closed her jaw carefully. Stiff and sore, but in working order. For a few seconds she contemplated trying to cover the bruises with makeup, but that would only call more attention to the injury. And no attempt at camouflage was going to diminish the reality

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of what had happened. She turned away from the mirror, flicked off the overhead lights, and padded barefoot back into her room.

Catherine stood by the windows, her arms folded beneath her breasts, her back to Rebecca. She wore a sage green silk suit, the slim skirt coming to just above her knees, the jacket cinched at the waist.

Her auburn hair fell in waves to her shoulders, and for the first time, Rebecca noticed the silver at her temples. She was elegant and beautiful and tender and wise. She was also strong and intuitive. She was all the things that Rebecca was not, and Rebecca could still not understand what it was Catherine needed from her.

She stopped by the end of the bed, feeling disadvantaged in nothing more than a hospital gown and a pair of gym shorts. “Aren’t you supposed to be in clinic?”

“I’m playing hooky.” Catherine turned from the window, her gaze going immediately to the bruise. She quickly smiled, but not fast enough to cover her flinch of distress. “It’s good to see you out of bed.”

“I’m clean, too.”

“Even better.” Catherine crossed to Rebecca and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Not bad. I don’t suppose you know when I’m getting out of here?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Catherine tried to keep her tone light.

“Since I expected that would be your first question, I made some calls on my way over.”

She appraised the damage to Rebecca’s face. Even though she knew, rationally, that Rebecca would heal, she couldn’t prevent the sinking feeling she got in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the injury.

The bullet had glanced off Rebecca’s skull just above her temple. The impact had been enough to flay open her scalp and give her a hairline fracture, but the neurosurgeons assured Catherine once the concussion resolved there would be no permanent damage. Still, it was impossible to erase the image of Rebecca lying so still and pale on a stretcher, her blond hair matted with congealing blood. Catherine tried to tell herself it was because Rebecca was so skilled, so good at what she did, that she’d managed to avoid serious injury. If she pondered the possibility that it was only luck that had kept the bullet from striking Rebecca a half-inch lower or a half an inch farther to the right and killing her

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Justice for All

instantly, she’d never be able to sleep again when Rebecca was out on the streets. Luck was far too fickle a lady to be the guardian of her lover’s life.

“Ali said she’ll stop by as soon as she’s finished in the OR, and if you promise to behave, she’ll let you go.”

“I’ll promise her anything she wants,” Rebecca said.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “It’s a good thing I trust Ali Torveau, then.”

“You can trust me.” Rebecca slipped her arm around Catherine’s waist and kissed her. When she felt Catherine’s resistance, she loosened her hold and eased back. She looked away, fearing what she might see in Catherine’s eyes. “I should get dressed.”

“Let me get your clothes.”

“I can do it.” Rebecca walked to the tall narrow closet next to the door. “I know you have patients waiting.”

“I want to drive you home.”

“That’s okay,” Rebecca said briskly. “I’ll call one of the team.”

She opened the closet. A shirt and clean pair of jeans hung on hooks where Catherine had placed them when she’d brought them from home. They weren’t officially living together, but they might as well be. Rebecca still had her small, spare apartment above a mom-and-pop grocery store in South Philadelphia, but she spent almost every night in Catherine’s Victorian near University Hospital where Catherine was the assistant chief of psychiatry. They’d been talking about living together, but that was before the shooting—the second time Rebecca had been shot in the line of duty since she and Catherine had been together. She wouldn’t be surprised if Catherine wanted to reconsider. Every other woman Rebecca had ever been with had eventually decided that the demands and risks of her job were too much to deal with.

“You should get back to work,” she told Catherine without turning around.

A pair of hands slid over her shoulders and Catherine leaned ever so gently against her back. With her mouth very close to Rebecca’s ear, she whispered, “I’m not going anywhere and you can’t chase me away.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Rebecca stared into the closet.

She hadn’t realized she was cold until the heat of Catherine’s body

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RADclY fFe

warmed her. She never realized what she needed until Catherine gave it to her without being asked. She covered one of Catherine’s hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Turn around.”

Slowly, Rebecca turned.

Catherine’s heart clenched at the fear she glimpsed on her lover’s face. Rebecca was the bravest, strongest woman she’d ever known, and she couldn’t bear to think that anything she had said or done might have put that look in Rebecca’s eyes. “Do you love me?”

“More than my life,” Rebecca whispered.

Catherine laced her arms around Rebecca’s neck. “As long as that’s true, I’ll be right here.”

Rebecca clasped Catherine’s waist and kissed her again, and this time nothing stood between them. Immediately, her heart felt lighter.

Catherine was a few inches shorter than her own six feet, and she loved the way Catherine’s body fit against hers. Holding her, knowing Catherine was hers, was like shining a light in the dark places in her soul. “I love you.”

“That’s all I need, Rebecca.” Catherine feathered her fingers through Rebecca’s sleek, fair hair. “It’s really so simple.”

Rebecca leaned her forehead against Catherine’s. “Why can’t I understand that?”

“You will, darling. You—”

The hall door swung open at the same time as a sharp rap sounded, and a brunette in surgical scrubs breezed into the room. Ali Torveau, Rebecca’s trauma surgeon and a good friend to them both, planted her fists on her slim hips and regarded them quizzically.

“Why is it every time I have a cop for a patient I end up finding her in a clinch with some good-looking woman before I even have a chance to sign the discharge papers?”

Catherine slipped out of Rebecca’s arms. “This is not a clinch.

Clinching is for teenagers. What you witnessed is an embrace.”

“Uh-huh. Looked a lot like a clinch to me.” Ali pointed toward the bed. “Rebecca—in bed.”

“I feel fine,” Rebecca protested.

“Down,” Ali repeated with just a hint of a growl.

“Okay. Okay.” Rebecca stretched out on the narrow bed. As soon

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Justice for All

as she did she noticed that her headache dialed down a notch or two.

She decided to keep that information to herself.

“Any double vision?” Ali flicked the beam of a penlight back and forth between Rebecca’s eyes.

“No.”

“Headache?”

“No.”

“Let’s try that one again. Headache?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca could see Catherine’s concerned expression. “Mild. Nothing worse than a bad hangover.”

Ali swung her stethoscope from around her neck, hooked it in her ears, and pressed the bell to Rebecca’s chest. “Take a deep breath.

Again. One more time.” Then she straightened and slung the stethoscope over her shoulder. “Fortunately the x-rays don’t show any evidence of sternal or rib fractures. I don’t expect you’ll have the same kind of pulmonary problems you had after the chest wound.”

The last thing Rebecca wanted was Ali reminding Catherine of another brush with death. “Look, this was nothing. I was wearing a vest and it did its job. I got caught with a glancing round. The ER guys should’ve sent me home with a couple of stitches.”

“We all know what happened, darling,” Catherine said quietly.

“And we all know what could have happened. Let’s just—”

Another knock sounded and a slightly overweight, gray-haired man in a brown suit that was shiny at the knees lumbered in. He took in the group and quickly looked at the ceiling. “Is everything covered?

I hope not.”

“You should be so lucky.” Rebecca had never been so happy to see her partner, William Watts. She hadn’t wanted to work with the sometimes crude, reputedly over-the-hill detective after her longtime partner had been executed along with another undercover cop just less than a year before. But her captain had insisted and it hadn’t taken her long to realize that Watts was no burned-out cop putting in time until his pension. He was astute, hardworking in his own laid-back way, and most importantly to Rebecca, completely trustworthy.

Watts grinned, his blue eyes twinkling in his heavyset, ruddy face.

“I always thought those little hospital johnnies were a turn-on. Better view from the back, though.”

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RADclY fFe

“Jesus,” Rebecca muttered. “Get out of here so I can get dressed.”

“Getting sprung, huh, Loo?”

“Yes, and you’re my ride.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be outside.” He nodded to Catherine and Ali as he headed out the door. “Ladies.”

“I can drive you home, darling.” Catherine glanced at Ali. “If you’re going to let her go?”

Ali stood back from the bed. “Your CT scan shows a small hematoma just below that hairline fracture in the left temporal area.

Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time it resolves over the course of a few weeks. Every once in a blue moon we see delayed bleeding, usually from a vein tearing during excessive exercise or something else popping because of severe hypertension. What that means is you need to take it easy. No driving for two weeks. No workouts, no jogging, and no vigorous sex.”

“Got it,” Rebecca said through gritted teeth.

“There’s an even smaller chance, maybe one in five thousand, that this hematoma could resolve with a small area of scarring. Scarring in the brain equals a focus of irritation, and we sometimes see seizures. If you notice weakness, numbness, olfactory disturbances, memory loss, tremors, I need to know about it immediately.”

“What about prophylactic Dilantin?” Catherine asked.

Rebecca’s stomach tightened at the slight quiver in Catherine’s voice. She hated this—she just wanted it over, fast.

Ali shook her head. “The risk is smaller that she’ll have problems than the potential complications of taking the drug. I’d rather just wait and watch.” She fixed Rebecca with a piercing stare. “If I have your word that you’ll follow instructions.”

Rebecca reached for Catherine’s hand. “You have it.”

“Good enough. I’ll leave prescriptions for you at the nurses’ station.

You can pick them up on your way out. I want to see you next week in clinic.” Ali started toward the door, then looked over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay. Keep the rest of your people that way too.”

“I plan to,” Rebecca said.

v

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Justice for All

Watts was slouched against the wall next to the door when Rebecca and Catherine walked out.

“You really should go downstairs in a wheelchair,” Catherine murmured.

Watts grinned and Rebecca shot him a look. “By the time someone finds one, I could be relaxing in the car. You did park out front in the fire lane, didn’t you, Watts?”

“Right at the curb, Loo.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.”

Catherine sighed. “I can’t fight you both.” Then she stepped closer to the big detective. “I’m counting on you to look after her, William.”

The smirk disappeared from Watts’s face and he straightened, warmth replacing the usual sarcastic gleam in his eyes. “Yes ma’am.

I’ll do that.”

“Move it, Watts,” Rebecca grumbled. The last thing she needed was babysitting. She kissed Catherine’s cheek. “I’ll see you later. Don’t worry.”

Catherine brushed her fingertips over Rebecca’s uninjured cheek.

“Get some rest.”

“I won’t do anything strenuous. Promise.”

The three rode down in the elevator together and then parted in front of the hospital as Catherine hurried off to the medical arts building down the block. Rebecca eased into the front seat of the department-issue Crown Vic and was instantly at home. The interior smelled of smoke from Watts’s cigarettes, grease from the McDonald’s containers on the floor in the backseat, and the unmistakable scent of dozens of bodies. For the first time in days she felt like herself.

Watts settled his belly behind the wheel and pulled out into traffic.

“Your place or the doc’s?”

“Neither. Let’s head to the office.”

“I don’t want to get my balls in a vise here, Loo. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

“No one said I couldn’t sit in a chair and talk.” Rebecca leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Assemble the troops.”

“I ought to be wearing a cup,” Watts muttered. “My balls are aching already.”

“Shut up, Watts.” Rebecca smiled to herself when she heard his happy chuckle.

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v

JT Sloan took the call at just after 2:00 p.m. Watts’s message to meet at the unofficial headquarters of the HPCU in her private office building was a welcome reprieve to a life prison sentence. She’d just spent the last five hours working with two detectives who, along with her, made up the fledgling Electronic Surveillance Unit at the Philadelphia Police Department. In a moment of pure insanity, she’d signed on as the civilian consultant to help set up the unit and train the newly assigned detectives whose knowledge of cybersleuthing began with being able to turn on a computer and ended with signing on to the Internet for their e-mail. Fortunately, they made up for their lack of knowledge with eagerness. Still, there was a limit to how long she could rein in her temper, not one of her talents.

“Gotta run, fellas,” she said, clipping her phone back to her belt.

“Go ahead and start the downloads from the archives.”

Lloyd Elliott, a sandy-haired, boyish-looking detective who was the reverse of Sloan’s black haired, blue-eyed good looks, straightened up in his chair in alarm. “Without you? What if—”

Sloan waved a hand and headed for the door. “There’s nothing you can do I can’t fix. Have fun.”

Hearing their grumbles as she made her escape, she laughed. There was a lot to be said for being her own boss. On her way to her Porsche, she made another call.

“Michael Lassiter’s office,” a smooth, sophisticated voice answered.

“It’s Sloan. Is she around?”

“Of course, Ms. Sloan. I’ll get her.”

“Just Sloan,” Sloan said automatically. She wasn’t sure why her partner’s executive assistant couldn’t get that straight.

While she waited, she put the top down on the Carrera and took a deep breath of the cool autumn air. The sun was bright, but it lacked heat. She should probably get her leather jacket out of the trunk, because she’d feel the chill in just her usual white T-shirt and blue jeans, but she didn’t bother. She wasn’t going far and she liked the freedom of the air blowing against her skin. She’d spent three days behind bars once and

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that was enough to make her hate any kind of confinement for the rest of her life. She pushed the thought away. All that was behind her.

“Sloan?”

“Hi, baby.”

“This is a nice surprise,” Michael Lassiter said.

Sloan got a little rush just hearing her speak. Michael not only had a kind of Lauren Bacall beauty, she had the voice to go with it. “I’m headed back to the office. Rebecca is out of the hospital.”

“That’s wonderful news.”

“How are you feeling?” Sloan asked. Michael had been injured herself not long before and was still only working half days at Innova, the design corporation she headed.

“I’m fine.”

“No migraines?” Sloan started the engine and let it idle while she talked.

“Really, sweetheart. A little tired, maybe, but I’m all right.”

“Don’t overdo, okay?”

“I promise. I’ll see you at home in a little while.”

“I might still be in the office when you arrive,” Sloan said. The cyberinvestigation company she’d founded with another ex-federal agent, Jason McBride, after she’d been falsely arrested and dismissed from her Justice position, occupied the third floor of a renovated warehouse in Old City. She’d been sharing her loft apartment on the floor above with Michael for the last two years. “Call me when you get home.”

“Sloan,” Michael chided softly. “You know very well if you’re involved in something I won’t be able to drag you upstairs.”

Laughing, Sloan gunned the Porsche across the lot and out onto the Benjamin Franklin Parkway heading east. “Baby, I want to see you.

And being dragged away sounds like fun.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can think of other fun things too.”

“Can’t wait. See you soon.”

Michael said good-bye and Sloan hung up, just barely managing not to ask again if Michael was sure she was all right. She had argued against her going back to her job so soon, but she understood the need to work. Until she’d fallen in love with Michael, all she’d had was work.

Even now, when the hunt was on, the chase consumed her. Sometimes

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she couldn’t tell the difference between being the hunter and the hunted and all she could do was keep running through the complex labyrinth of cyberspace until she won or dropped. Only Michael had ever been able to call her back.

v

“Tell them no,” Sandy Sullivan mumbled, wrapping her slim arm around Dellon Mitchell’s narrow waist and tethering her with a leg across the thighs.

“Work, babe,” Dell whispered, trying unsuccessfully to extricate herself from Sandy’s grip. Not that she really wanted to go anywhere.

Sandy might be half her size, but she was curvy in all the right places and her skin was so smooth Dell could lose herself for hours just running her fingertips over every inch. Not that she could really last for hours without doing more than just touch her, but it felt that way sometimes.

The only thing in the world that could get her out of bed with Sandy was a call to arms. The only thing she loved as much as Sandy was being a cop. She was the youngest member of the High Profile Crimes Unit and awakened daily hardly able to believe she was part of the team. She’d do anything to prove herself. “I gotta go, babe.”

“Screw that, Dell. It’s your day off.” Sandy propped her head on her elbow, her short blond hair spiky and her eyes even sharper. “Even cops and whores get a day off.”

“You’re not a whore. You were never a whore.”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “Okay. Even classy streetwalkers like myself get a break once in a while.”

“I had a day off. Well, most of the day. And you kept me busy.”

Dell pushed up against the pillows, brushing strands of dark hair back from her face. Sandy automatically curled up against her chest and Dell stroked her hair. “The lieutenant’s out of the hospital.”

Sandy stopped playing with Dell’s nipple, thank God, and sat up facing Dell. “Frye’s okay?”

“I guess so, or they wouldn’t have let her out. I told you I would have taken you to visit her.” Dell wasn’t crazy about the fact that Sandy was her lieutenant’s confidential informant. In fact, she hated the risk Sandy took every time she went out on the street to gather intel. It only bugged her some that Sandy was a little bit in love with Rebecca Frye.

• 24 •

Justice for All

She trusted the lieutenant. She trusted Sandy. It’s just that she couldn’t imagine measuring up to the lieutenant in anybody’s eyes. Frye was not only good-looking, she was an awesome cop. Dell thought if she turned out to be half as brave and smart at her job as the lieutenant, she’d be satisfied.

“She had enough people hanging around her,” Sandy said dismissively. She ran her finger down the center of Dell’s thigh, smiling when Dell twitched as if an electric current had shot through her. “Sure you have to go?”

Dell grabbed Sandy’s hand. “You know I gotta. And yeah, I’m gonna be thinking about what I’m missing the whole time.”

Sandy kissed her, rubbing her breasts lightly over Dell’s.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dell grabbed her and flipped her onto her back. Then she settled her hips between Sandy’s legs and gently bit down on her neck.

She could spare ten minutes.

• 25 •

• 26 •

Justice for All

ChAPTER TwO

Rebecca shook Watts’s hand off her elbow as they climbed the few stairs to the alcove at the entrance to Sloan’s building.

“Will you cut that out. I’m fine.” She glared up at the palm-sized surveillance camera tucked into the corner. “Rebecca Frye and William Watts.”

Watts leaned forward so the camera could pick up his face. “You look like shit,” he muttered without moving his lips.

“Thank you. Now that you’ve registered your opinion, stop hovering.”

When the door didn’t automatically click open, she knew they were the first to arrive. A few seconds later a faint beep sounded and she quickly keyed in her security code. The door opened and she stalked into the cavernous ground level with Watts on her heels.

“I was just saying, you—”

“Unless you want to walk up to the third floor,” Rebecca said, punching the button to the elevator, “you should put a sock in it.”

Her voice echoed around the unfinished brick walls. Wood beams extended twenty feet overhead, enclosing the space that housed Sloan’s vehicles and the sophisticated mechanics controlling the building.

Sloan’s security was beyond state of the art and her company’s electronic surveillance center made the NSA look antiquated. With its hi-tech equipment and privacy, her building was the perfect place from which to run the HPCU.

“Man,” Watts muttered, hastily sliding into the elevator, “it was so nice and peaceful the last couple of days. Nobody bitchin’ at me.

Nothing more strenuous to do than fill out a few forms.”

• 27 •

RADclY fFe

“I’ll bet it was great,” Rebecca said as the elevator whisked soundlessly upward. “Bored yet?”

“It was enough to make a man cry.”

Rebecca smiled as she stepped off into Sloan and Jason’s domain.

Two huge U-shaped workstations holding more than a dozen computers faced each other around an open central area. No one was currently at work but data streamed across many of the oversized plasma monitors.

“I’ll be in the conference room. You think you can rustle up some stuff to make coffee?”

Watts frowned. “Is it okay, do you think? I mean, coffee’s like a stimulant, right? Makes your blood pressure go up?”

“Don’t tell me you were listening at the door.” Having Catherine worry about her was bad enough. Appearing weak in front of her colleagues, especially those she commanded, was just adding insult to injury.

Watts held up both hands. “I’m not saying a word.”

“Coffee. Black. Strong. Now, Watts.”

As soon as he headed off to the small kitchen tucked into one corner, Rebecca made her way to the only other enclosed area in the expansive space. The conference room held a massive antique library table surrounded by ten chairs, a counter in the back where a never-empty coffeepot usually sat on a warmer, and one entire wall of monitors. The screens provided views of the streets in front and rear of the building in both directions, the entry alcove, the elevator, and everywhere else in and around the building except Sloan and Michael’s living quarters one floor up. A laptop rested on the table in front of Sloan and Jason’s customary seats. Rebecca eased into a chair in her spot on Sloan’s right, happy to be off her feet. She needed to be able to think, and the less she moved around, the less her head bothered her.

It felt good to be back at work. She’d been part of the special sex crimes unit until her previous partner, Jeff Cruz, was murdered. She’d been in the middle of an intense manhunt for a serial rapist, and between the stress of the case and Jeff’s death, she’d almost come unglued. But she’d met Catherine, and her life had changed in ways she’d never dreamed. Then her captain had assigned her to head the HPCU. She had worked in multijurisdictional task forces before, but not with civilian consultants. She’d resisted at first, even though both Sloan and Jason were highly skilled ex-federal agents. Now she couldn’t envision her

• 28 •

Justice for All

team without them, any more than she could envision her life without Catherine.

“Here you go, Loo.” Watts slid a mug of coffee in front of her and put the pot on the warmer at the back of the room. Then he dropped into a chair across from her and sighed. “Home sweet home.”

Rebecca was about to answer when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s about time you two showed up,” she said when Sloan charged in.

Sloan’s sleek dark hair was windblown, her face flushed from the fast ride in the cold air. Jason McBride, a svelte handsome blond with piercing blue eyes, followed her in. As usual, he was impeccably attired in an open-collared pale blue shirt and dark trousers. He looked every inch the successful young businessman, which he was. What everyone on the team knew, but few others did, was that he was also a breathtakingly beautiful transvestite named Jasmine.

“How you feeling, Frye?” Sloan asked as she and Jason took their seats.

“Good.”

The sounds of running footsteps heralded the arrival of the last team member, newly minted Detective Dellon Mitchell. Five-eight, black hair, blue eyes, slim and muscular, she wore low-slung black jeans, a black T-shirt molded to her slender torso, scuffed black motorcycle boots, and an equally well-worn leather motorcycle jacket.

At first glance she might be thought either a strikingly handsome young woman or a beautiful boy. At times, she was both.

“Lieutenant!” Mitchell’s eyes sparkled with welcome. “Hey. Great to see you.”

“Detective.” Despite her headache and fatigue, Rebecca put some force into her voice. The team would function without her, but just as much as she needed to be here, they needed to believe she was fit and ready to lead. “Sorry to interrupt your day off.”

“No problem.” Mitchell slouched into a chair, her legs spread casually. “It’s just so good to see you…” She colored. “I mean—”

“So,” Rebecca interrupted, saving both Mitchell and herself further embarrassment, “somebody fill me in on what the hell we accomplished the other night.”

She’d been shot in the middle of a raid and, despite her demands,

• 29 •

RADclY fFe

none of her team was given access to brief her. Consequently, she had no idea where things stood with their ongoing investigation into a web of human trafficking and sex slavery that extended from the Port of Philadelphia deep into the heart of the city.

“We blew away the scumbag who shot you, for starters,” Watts said, his eyes hard and flat.

Rebecca hated to let on that she couldn’t remember exactly what had happened, but she knew who’d been backing her up. “Thanks, Sloan.”

Sloan nodded. At the instant she’d pulled the trigger, she hadn’t been thinking of anything except that if she didn’t shoot the guy, he was going to shoot her and finish off Rebecca too. Afterward, she hoped the dead man was the one who had nearly killed Michael during a thwarted attempt on Sloan’s life. She wanted retribution for Michael’s injuries even more than she wanted to put a stop to the abuse of young girls and dismantle the organization behind the prostitution, pornography, and drugs.

“Anything on the ballistics yet?” Rebecca doubted they’d hit the one house where the man who’d assassinated her partner just happened to be guarding a group of smuggled Russian girls, but stranger things had occurred. Sometimes police work was just a lot of sweat, drudgery, and occasional luck.

“No match to anything in the system,” Watts said. “He was using a semiautomatic. These guys probably import them by the case.”

“So the weapon used to kill Jeff and Jimmy is still out there. And presumably the shooter is too,” Rebecca summarized. Initially they’d theorized that her partner Jeff and an undercover fed, Jimmy Hogan, had been executed by a contract killer who was long gone. However, an assistant district attorney, George Beecher, was murdered more recently, only days before the HPCU raid. He was shot with the same weapon used to kill the detectives.

Mitchell piped up. “So what are we thinking? That the shooter is local? A mob guy, maybe?”

“Pretty ballsy for anyone local to kill a cop,” Watts said.

“Yes, if we’re talking about the usual suspects,” Rebecca said.

Organized crime bosses preferred not to bring down heat in their own backyards. The killings were an escalation that suggested direct

• 30 •

Justice for All

involvement from outside players, most likely foreign interests, since the girls were being smuggled in on ships from Eastern Europe.

“Mitchell,” she said, “grab the whiteboard and let’s put down what we know and what we better find out.”

Several hours passed as the team shared information and speculated. Finally, Mitchell put the marker down and they all stared at the names and arrows and tried to complete the picture.

“What do we know?” Rebecca looked around the table. “Who’s bringing these girls in and how?”

“They have to have local contacts to work the container switches on the docks and to put them to work in the sex clubs,” Sloan said.

“That’s the Zamoras’ territory.”

“Probably,” Rebecca agreed. “But the Zamoras are not in it alone.

Are we getting any information from Irina?”

Dell Mitchell turned bright red. She had gone undercover as Mitch, a drag king, to establish contact with a young Russian woman, Irina, who appeared to supervise a group of smuggled girls when they were dancing in local strip clubs. Mitch had needed to seduce Irina to discover the address where the girls were held at night under armed guard. Some of the surveillance team had listened in during the seduction, a fact that still embarrassed the young detective.

After a minute, Mitchell said, “I tried to get information on the girls who were in the house, including Irina, down at headquarters. The story is as soon as our people brought them in, Immigration claimed jurisdiction and moved them to a federal facility. No one’s heard anything since then.”

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose, trying unsuccessfully to back off the headache that was accelerating by the moment. “It’s not Immigration. It’s probably Justice, and it’s probably Avery Clark.

Immigration doesn’t have the pull to get in the middle of an operation like this. But Clark and the Justice Department do. God damn it. Every time we get close to inside information, he shuts us out.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Watts and I will track him down and see what we can squeeze out of him.”

As if tuned into her fatigue and frustration, Watts picked up the ball. “We know a lot more than we did a week ago. We know the Russians are bringing young girls in through the port in containers

• 31 •

RADclY fFe

and we know where some of them were working. What we need is to connect the Zamoras to these girls, because if we can, that’s a federal crime and they’re going down for a long long time.”

“We need eyes and ears back in the clubs.” Rebecca straightened and looked at Mitchell. “Is your cover good?”

“Yes ma’am,” Mitchell said. “As far as anyone knows, including Irina, I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m pretty sure she saw me get cuffed.”

“Good. Then I want Mitch to reconnect with his drag king buddies and get back into the clubs. Jasmine too, for backup. There’ll be a lot of talk on the streets, and we’ll need our CIs working their sources hard.”

“Oh goodie,” Jason breathed in a husky whisper that was pure Jasmine.

“Yes ma’am,” Mitchell said stiffly. Sandy was one of Rebecca’s CIs. A friend of hers had been murdered just a few days before, when she’d gotten too close to some major players in the porn film business, and Mitchell wanted Sandy off the streets, but it wasn’t her call to make. If she pushed her, Sandy would get pissed and be less likely to tell Mitchell if she ran into trouble.

Jason leaned forward. “Somebody has to be doing fancy work with the computers at the port to reroute the containers with the girls in them and bury the shipping manifests. I don’t see anyone down there having the know-how for that.”

“Plus,” Sloan added, “someone injected a very smart Trojan horse into the City Hall system to hack into confidential files.”

“What are you saying?” Rebecca asked. “There’s a high-level hacker at work for the opposite side?”

“Undoubtedly,” Sloan said.

“Can you find them?”

Sloan grinned, her eyes darkening to indigo with the scent of the hunt. “Oh yeah. Now we’ve got two intrusion sites—at the port and City Hall. Even the best hacker leaves fingerprints.”

“Do it,” Rebecca said. “Watts, I need you to pave the way at the port for our people. And check in with the organized crime team and see if they’ve got any intel on Zamora’s activities that might help us.”

She took a deep breath. “Our target is the Zamoras. The feds will chase the Russians. If we happen to trip over them, all the better. But we need to clean up our own house first.”

• 32 •

Justice for All

“The OC guys aren’t going to like us poking around on their turf,”

Watts pointed out mildly.

Rebecca shrugged. “The HPCU has cross-divisional jurisdiction.

We’ll be polite, but we’ll go where the trail leads.”

Watts chuckled again. The day just got better and better.

v

Michael turned the corner for home with a mental sigh of relief.

She’d gotten caught up in a project meeting that afternoon and hadn’t realized how very tired she was until it was close to six. Just the short drive across town seemed endless. Her eyeballs pounded as if she hadn’t slept in weeks, when all she seemed to do was sleep. As she slowed to pull into the garage, she noted a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost a few yards ahead. Sandy looked even younger than her eighteen years in the muted glow of the streetlight. She also looked like she must be cold in her very short skirt and her thin red faux-leather jacket. Hugging herself, Sandy strolled up as soon as Michael got out of the car.

“You can’t be waiting for a bus,” Michael said, “since none of them can get down these streets.”

Sandy smiled shyly, as if caught out doing something untoward.

“I might as well be waiting for some bus that will never come. Waiting for Dell when she’s in a cop meeting isn’t much different.”

“Ah.” Michael shifted her briefcase to her other shoulder. God, she ached all over. “Still at it, are they?”

“Either that or they’re up there sitting around drinking beer and watching television.”

Michael laughed. “I sincerely doubt it. You know they’d rather talk shop than anything else.” She touched Sandy’s shoulder. “Come on upstairs. I’ll make some tea.”

“Oh,” Sandy said quickly, “that’s okay. I’m good here.”

“I’d like the company, and this is perfect timing. I was going to call you tomorrow.” Michael knew that Sandy was sensitive about her history on the streets, despite being proud and self-sufficient and incredibly brave. Michael was fond of the young woman and admired her. The last thing she wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

• 33 •

RADclY fFe

Sandy looked concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Michael said, gently grasping Sandy’s hand. “Come upstairs. I’ll tell you.”

“Okay, sure.” Sandy fell into step with her, nervously smiling, her hand still in Michael’s.

v

Across the street and six floors up, Angelo DeVito stood at the darkened window, his video camera trained on the building he was supposed to be watching. He absently reached down and rearranged his crotch while he filmed the two blonde babes as they cozied up together.

The one he’d first taken for a hot little whore seemed to know the tall leggy one with the shoulder-length hair and movie star face. Man, he’d love to see them get it on for real. From what he understood about the targets, he just might get the chance. He flicked off the camera when the women disappeared inside hand in hand, and noted the time to mark the spot on the tape and the license number of the car. Then he settled in the chair in front of the window to wait.

• 34 •

Justice for All

ChAPTER ThREE

Excuse me,” Sandy said to Michael when her phone rang out the melody to “I Kissed a Girl.” She fished it out of her jacket pocket and swiveled away from the breakfast bar where they’d been drinking tea and talking.

“Hi, babe,” Dell said. “I’m at Sloan’s. We’re just wrapping up, but I’ll be a little while yet. You anywhere nearby?”

“Like upstairs?”

“Oh hey, that’s good.” Dell didn’t sound all that glad.

“What’s up?”

“The lieutenant is here. She wants to talk to you.”

“In person? Now?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be down in a few.” Sandy disconnected and shrugged at Michael. “Sorry. Frye wants me.”

“Of course. I understand. Are you still…helping out?” Michael hesitated. “You don’t have to tell me, if you can’t.”

“I don’t think it’s a secret. I mean, Sloan probably tells you everything, right?”

Michael smiled, but said nothing.

“Dell tells me stuff. Not much. She’s really all about the rules when it comes to the cop stuff.” Sandy grinned. “She’s loosened up some since she’s been hanging out with Jasmine, though.”

“Sloan doesn’t like to talk about her work very much either,”

Michael said. “In fact, when she’s involved in a case, she pretty much forgets to eat, sleep, or do much of anything else except work.”

“That worries you, huh?”

• 35 •

RADclY fFe

“Oh,” Michael said quickly. “I didn’t mean… She’s intense. I fell in love with her because of how focused she is, how driven. How…”

She blushed. “Passionate.”

“I get that part all right.” Sandy laughed. “Any girl with a beating heart gets that part about Sloan.”

“Apparently.” Michael laughed. “I had to get used to that pretty quickly. Fortunately I’m not really the jealous type.”

“I am.”

“I don’t think you have much to worry about from what I can see,”

Michael said softly.

“I didn’t know I was—jealous that way. Until her.” Sandy shrugged. “Dell is the first one who ever mattered, you know.”

Michael nodded. “I do know. Exactly.”

Sandy grinned. She had girlfriends, sort of. Girls she hung with on the street. Girls she looked out for and who looked out for her. But mostly they talked about what they needed to know to get by—which johns to avoid and which pimps were quick with their hands and which cops wanted favors. And the rare ones, like Frye, who didn’t. But she’d never talked to any of them about Dell. About being with her. About having someone of her own. “I should go. Frye gets cranky if you keep her waiting.”

“Does she now.” Michael chuckled. “She’s never been anything except completely chivalrous with me.”

They eyed one another for a few seconds, and then burst out laughing together. Michael draped her arm around Sandy’s shoulder and walked her toward the door.

“You’ll think about what I said?”

“I will. I should talk to Dell, you know?”

“Absolutely. Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks,” Sandy said, feeling so much more than gratitude but not quite knowing what to say.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Michael said gently. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” Sandy said with a sense of wonder as she stepped into the elevator. “We are.”

v

• 36 •

Justice for All

“Hiya, Frye,” Sandy said as she plopped into a chair across the table from Rebecca in the conference room. On her way through the main room she’d seen Dell bent over a computer with Jason and Sloan, but Frye was alone. Frye never talked to her about street stuff in front of others, especially not Dell. “You look like crap.”

“I’ve heard that two times too many today.”

“You okay or just playing macho cop?” Sandy didn’t add that she’d been scared just about brainless when she’d heard that a cop had been shot in a raid, because Dell had been in on the bust, and she’d felt only a little less terrified when she’d learned it was Frye. Frye was special in a crazy kind of way she couldn’t explain. Frye was a hard-ass and pain in the ass, but she’d never lied to Sandy about what she wanted from her. Even back in the early days when Sandy was working the streets for real and Frye squeezed her for information, she never took advantage like some cops. Frye always paid and treated her like she mattered. She was the first person who ever had.

“I’m okay enough,” Rebecca said. “Everything quiet?”

“As far as I know.” Sandy picked at a chip on the red polish on her thumbnail. “I haven’t been out since things went down the other night. I wasn’t sure—” She glanced through the open door in Dell’s direction, but Dell was busy tapping away at a computer. Dell always got hinky when she was working for Frye. She liked that Dell worried about her, but she didn’t want her to worry too much. She liked that Dell got a little jealous. Okay, sometimes a lot jealous. She liked that feeling of being special and cared about. But she would never make her jealous on purpose. She’d played games to survive her whole life, and she would never do it with Dell.

Rebecca stood. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Are you kidding me? You look like—”

“You said that already. Come on. We won’t go far.”

Sandy shook her head, but followed Frye to the elevator. Dell looked over once as they walked through the room, then quickly back to her keyboard. Sandy kept her distance while they rode down, aware of the cameras everywhere. But once outside on the street, she looped her arm through Frye’s without being invited.

When Frye gave her a raised eyebrow, she snapped, “You don’t look that steady. I don’t want you falling into the street and getting run

• 37 •

RADclY fFe

over. I’ll never get any dinner, which is what I came here for to begin with.”

“Let’s go to the deli around the corner,” Rebecca said, moving her arm out of Sandy’s grasp to curl it around her shoulder. “Why the hell don’t you ever dress for the weather? You’re shivering.”

“I’m used to it.”

“That’s not what your body is saying.”

“I’m in charge of my body,” Sandy said flatly.

Rebecca said nothing. A few minutes later they slipped into a greasy spoon on the corner of Market and Fourth that smelled like fried onions, strong coffee, and tomato sauce. They claimed a booth at the back and a waitress asked them what they wanted, not bothering to offer them menus. Rebecca ordered a sandwich and coffee, then thought better of the coffee and switched to water. She still had a headache and maybe the caffeine wasn’t such a good idea.

“Just a Bud,” Sandy said.

The waitress cocked her head at Rebecca and Rebecca nodded.

Sandy was legal in all the ways that counted. She’d proved herself enough times to deserve a beer.

“So, what’s the deal,” Sandy asked.

“Things have changed,” Rebecca said. “We’ve put a crimp in the supply line by exposing the trafficking operation down at the port. I’m sure there’s plenty of those foreign girls still around, but my guess is whoever is running them is going to be very cautious for a little while.

That means a lot more action is going to come to your friends.”

Sandy sipped the beer the waitress brought her. “Don’t you mean me and my friends?”

“Not if you’re not hooking, which you aren’t. Right?”

“Jeez, don’t start sounding like Dell.”

Rebecca frowned. “Are you and Mitchell having problems about that?”

“No,” Sandy said quickly, afraid that she might get Dell in trouble somehow. “She’s just, you know…overprotective. Must be a cop thing.”

“Must be.” Rebecca waited until the waitress slapped a heavy white plate with a thick sandwich down on the table. She wasn’t really hungry, but she couldn’t remember the last time she ate. She knew she

• 38 •

Justice for All

needed the food, so she forced herself to take a bite. “I want you to find me a replacement.”

“For Dell?” Sandy said, her heart rising in her throat. Man, Dell would lose her mind if Frye let her go.

“No,” Rebecca said in exasperation, trying not to shake her head and make the pounding any worse. “For you.”

“Why? I’ve got the contacts, I like the money, and besides—you know you can trust me.”

“Like I said, the situation is different now.”

Rebecca had thought long and hard about this while she’d been lying in a hospital bed. Any reliable confidential informant was invaluable, and Sandy was not only trustworthy, she was smart and street savvy. She was as much a member of the team as any of them.

But she was also the least trained and probably the least capable of taking care of herself. Rebecca had intentionally used her, put her at risk, more than once. It was necessary because she needed Sandy to get the job done, and the job was everything. The job had always been everything, more important than her lovers, more important than her life. But something had changed, and she wasn’t quite sure how or what.

Six months ago, if Sandy had been hurt while gathering information for her, she would’ve been angry. If Sandy had been killed, she would’ve been saddened, hurt. And she would’ve hunted down whoever had done it no matter how long it took. Because that was her job, and Sandy was hers to protect. Now if Sandy got into trouble some night, if she was hurt, Rebecca wasn’t sure she could live with it. She knew Mitchell wouldn’t be able to. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose again. How the hell had she gotten this attached to one of her CIs? And how did she end up with a cop on her team involved with her CI, a prostitute no less? It was a recipe for disaster, completely against protocol. Why hadn’t she put a stop to it? At times like this, she thought maybe she still should.

“Look,” Sandy said, gripping Rebecca’s arm. “I’m careful. I’m smart. And I’ve got friends out there. People I care about, just like you care about Dell and Jason and Sloan. Hell. Even Lard Ass.”

“That’s Detective Watts to you,” Rebecca said, smothering a smile. “I’ll look after your friends. That’s my job.”

• 39 •

RADclY fFe

“Yeah yeah. You’ll look after everyone. Sure. Look at you. You are as gray as this floor.” Sandy pulled her phone out of her jacket again. “I’m calling your lady to come and get you.”

Rebecca jerked upright and winced. “No! I’m heading home soon.” She looked at her wrist and for the tenth time that afternoon remembered she didn’t have her watch. Catherine must have taken it home from the hospital when she’d been admitted, because it hadn’t been with her personal effects. “What time is it?”

Sandy looked over her shoulder at a round-faced wall clock with a faded Hershey’s ice cream logo hanging on the wall behind the counter.

“Almost six thirty.”

“Oh, Christ,” Rebecca whispered. Catherine would be home any minute. She pulled money from her pocket and dropped it on the counter. Thankfully, Catherine had made sure she had cash when she left the hospital. “I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“You’re not driving, are you?”

“No, Watts is my ride. He went back to headquarters to finish up some paperwork. I’ll call him to pick me up outside of Sloan’s.”

Sandy jumped up and wrapped her arm around Rebecca’s waist when Rebecca swayed. “Gimme your frickin’ phone and tell me his number.”

“It’s number two on speed dial.” Rebecca didn’t resist the help.

She really did feel like crap.

v

“So,” Vincent asked when Angelo picked up the phone. “You doing anything over there besides pulling your crank?”

“Hell, yeah.” Angelo raised his left shoulder to hold the phone against his ear while he handled the video camera. “Are you sure you don’t have me watching some kind of whorehouse? There’s more action going on in that building than in some of our joints.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like girls coming and going. Real lookers and real friendly-like.

Some of them are dykes for sure.”

“Heard that. You getting ID?”

“They’re not wearing name tags, but I’ve shot some great footage.

Real boner material.”

• 40 •

Justice for All

“Just keep it in your pants. The boss wants to know who’s shacked up with who.”

“There’s some little blonde who looks like she’s servicing the whole team. She has to know plenty. We ought to put one of the boys on her.”

“Don’t worry. The boys are gonna be plenty busy soon. See you in the morning, and you better have more than tits and ass on film.”

“Believe me, I’ve got plenty.” Angelo dropped the cell phone on the windowsill and zoomed in on the face of a tall, chiseled blonde in casual clothing who climbed into the passenger side of a Crown Vic.

Had to be a cop. When the car pulled away, the skinny little whore in the red leather jacket went back into the building. Man, she was a busy little beaver. He settled back into his chair and laughed at his own joke.

v

“Hey, babe,” Dell said as Sandy leaned against her back and wrapped her arms around her from behind. She shivered when Sandy kissed the side of her neck. Technically, she wasn’t on duty, but she was scanning shipping manifests for Jason, looking for discrepancies that might indicate other deliveries of girls from Eastern Europe. “I’m sort of working here.”

“And I’m sort of hungry. Maybe a few other things too.”

Dell grinned, closed the file she was working on, and swirled her chair around. “Yeah? Already?”

Sandy let out an uncharacteristic squeal as Dell pulled her down into her lap and nuzzled her neck. “Jesus, Dell,” she snapped, pushing her away. “What if Sloan walks in?”

“She won’t care.”

“Well, Frye would kick your ass.”

Dell stiffened. “She’s still here?”

“No. Watts is taking her home. She shouldn’t have been here at all this afternoon. What’s wrong with the bunch of you?”

“She’s the boss. She calls the shots.”

Sandy snorted. “Are you gonna take me somewhere for dinner or do I have to go by myself?”

“I’m done here for now. Take off your jacket.”

• 41 •

RADclY fFe

Sandy punched her. “I said not here. Geez, rookie. What’s wrong with you?”

Dell rose, pulled her leather jacket off the back of a nearby chair, and held it out.

“I don’t want your jacket,” Sandy said.

“You do if you want a ride. You’ll freeze in what you’re wearing.”

Dell waited. “Besides, it turns me on when you wear my clothes.”

Sandy rolled her eyes, but she took off her skimpy vinyl number and accepted the black leather jacket Dell slung around her shoulders.

“What about you?”

“You’ll figure out some way to keep me warm.”

“If you’re lucky.” Sandy slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip.

“I’m always lucky.” Dell kissed her quickly and held up five fingers as she started away. “See you downstairs.”

When Dell pulled up in front of the building on her Ducati, Sandy climbed on behind her, leaving the heavy leather jacket unzipped. It enclosed them like a tent as she wrapped her arms around Dell’s waist.

The only thing between her breasts and Dell’s back was her thin bra and Dell’s T-shirt. Sandy’s nipples got hard.

“I’m not so hungry anymore,” she breathed, licking the rim of Dell’s ear. “Maybe we should just go home.”

Dell grabbed one of Sandy’s hands and cupped it in her crotch.

“We’ll pick up some takeout and eat it in bed. Later.”

Sandy laughed and squeezed until Dell yanked her hand away.

“Much later.”

v

Angelo craned his neck to watch as the motorcycle roared down the street. Then he shut off his video camera. “Gotcha.”

• 42 •

Justice for All

ChAPTER FOUR

Catherine slowed as she turned the corner onto her block, a five-minute walk from the hospital. Streetlights in her West Philadelphia neighborhood of Victorian twins were few and far between, making visibility a challenge, but she thought she recognized the dingy gray Crown Victoria idling at the curb in front of her house. She told herself she was imagining things. It couldn’t possibly be a departmental vehicle, and the hulking form behind the wheel couldn’t possibly be William Watts. It was almost 7:00 p.m. and Rebecca must have been home hours ago. William wouldn’t be coming by to discuss business at this hour. He knew Rebecca needed more recovery time.

Catherine took a few steps, chiding herself for her overactive imagination. She’d barely slept in the last few days and had been stressed and apprehensive in the weeks leading up to the raid. It didn’t matter that she knew Rebecca was superb at her job, or that the odds of a mortal injury were low. She didn’t believe in statistics, not where the woman she loved was concerned. So she’d worried and tried to keep her fear from distracting Rebecca. Because Rebecca would do what Rebecca would do, and she needed all of her mind on the job to do it safely. Then Catherine had opened the door in the middle of the night to find Sloan on the porch, and for one terrifying second the rest of her life gaped empty and barren before her. Rational thought or even the reality of Rebecca beside her could not mitigate the agony of that moment. It would haunt her forever.

Let it go, she thought, although she suspected that was one battle she wouldn’t win.

Then Rebecca climbed out of the passenger side of the sedan.

• 43 •

RADclY fFe

She didn’t notice Catherine but walked slowly up to the house, obviously exhausted. For a few seconds, Catherine hovered on the verge of turning and walking away, she was that angry. Not only angry. Hurt.

At times like these, being a psychiatrist was not the least bit helpful.

It didn’t matter that she knew what she should do, what she should say, what might help defuse the emotional situation. It didn’t matter that she understood some of the things that drove Rebecca to drive herself. At this moment, she didn’t care about all the things she knew or sympathized with. She was hurt and disappointed and frightened, and thinking her way through this was not going to be easy.

She waited until the Crown Victoria pulled away because she didn’t want Watts to witness anything personal between her and Rebecca.

Rebecca would hate for a colleague to get a glimpse of their private life, and Catherine was far too personally reserved to allow it either.

Rebecca, moving at only a fraction of her normal pace, had just reached the landing in front of the door when Catherine fished her house keys from her briefcase and climbed the four broad marble stairs to reach around her.

“Are you just coming home?” Catherine fitted her key into the lock.

“Yes, I—”

“Don’t,” Catherine said softly. “I’m not quite ready to hear it just yet.”

Rebecca hesitated on the threshold. “I can call Watts. Have him come back and take me to my apartment.”

Catherine looked back at her for a second. “Rebecca, I’m upset.”

She deposited her briefcase on the parson’s bench in the foyer and shrugged out of her coat. “You look exhausted.”

“I didn’t do—”

Catherine shook her head. “Now is not the right time to talk about this, but what’s happening is part of being together. Come inside.”

“I hate this,” Rebecca said.

“I know. So do I. Are you hungry or do you want to go straight to bed?”

“I’m not hungry, but you must be. I’d like to sit in the kitchen with you while you have something to eat.”

Catherine took her hand. “Come on, then.”

• 44 •

Justice for All

v

Kratos Zamora poured another glass of Bollinger Blanc de Noirs and leaned across the table in the private dining alcove to light the redhead’s cigarette. He enjoyed watching her slowly exhale a thin stream of fragrant smoke. Even in the candlelight he could make out the emerald tones of her eyes. Her shoulder-length curls were the color of a summer sunset over the ocean, the same blood-red that often heralded a storm. She regarded him with a hint of amusement, but rather than be annoyed, he was intrigued. Women usually fawned or primped or seduced, but they never laughed at him. Or challenged.

“You think very highly of my talents,” she said.

“You’ve never disappointed me.” Kratos never ate at the same restaurant twice in a row, and there were half a dozen private dining areas like this one in the restaurant. The likelihood that a listening device had been planted was slim, but his men had swept the space earlier, and he felt secure discussing business here.

Talia raised an eyebrow. A smile played over her perfect lips.

Kratos shrugged. “Where business is concerned.” He’d tried to seduce her once, and she’d refused. He’d been surprised and that was rare. He wasn’t deluded enough to believe women were drawn to him rather than his power and wealth, but he was used to getting what he wanted. This woman had merely said no, but when she refused she’d held his eyes in a way few men dared, and he understood that persisting would be to no avail.

“Five years ago almost no one had the skill to detect electronic intrusion. That’s no longer the case.” Talia tapped the delicate ash against the edge of a crystal ashtray and it shattered into powdery shards. “What you ask is difficult.”

“But not impossible.” Kratos watched her maroon-tinted lips close deliberately around the end of the cigarette. Her mouth tightened slightly as she inhaled and her flawless high-boned cheeks hollowed.

His erection throbbed, and he enjoyed the sensation, but didn’t let the pleasure distract him. “Disrupt the communications and you create chaos. Chaos leads to inefficiency and distrust.”

“What about the new investigative division at One Police Plaza?”

she asked. “How much of a threat are they?”

• 45 •

RADclY fFe

“My friends there tell me that the unit is barely functional. I doubt there is any danger from that direction.”

“And yet you said our plant inside City Hall was identified. That took a sophisticated cyberinvestigation.”

Kratos waved a hand. “He was careless.”

He was not about to admit his concern that the HPCU might be able to trace the man they’d had inside back to him. Besides, he was always careful to keep several layers of people between himself and culpability. If by some miracle the authorities were able to determine who had placed the spyware in the PPD computer systems, they would not come up with his name. But he doubted that was a possibility.

Talia regarded him through narrowed eyes as the smoke curled in the air between them. “Tapping into computer files is different than actively sabotaging a police communications network. The government no longer takes cyberterrorism lightly.”

“Of course,” Kratos said. “And your payment will reflect the risk.”

“Three hundred thousand,” Talia said evenly. “Fifty percent to be wired immediately to my account.”

Kratos nodded.

“I need everything you can tell me about the principals. Can you be certain of your sources?”

“My family came to this city almost a hundred years ago.

Politicians and lawmen have always been our friends. Nothing has changed, it’s only more subtle.” Kratos handed her a piece of paper folded lengthwise and covered in single-spaced typing. “The names and background briefs.”

Talia took the paper and slipped it into her purse. “Which one is my target?”

“Her name is JT Sloan.”

v

The first thing Sloan saw when she stepped off the elevator into the loft was Michael curled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace, a book on her lap and the firelight casting her face in a soft, warm glow. She wore a loose white shirt and silky black slacks, and she was barefoot, her legs drawn up beneath her. When she turned in Sloan’s

• 46 •

Justice for All

direction and smiled, Sloan’s heart stutter-stepped in her chest. Michael was the calm center of her universe, solid ground in the surging seas of her unrest and barely contained anger. She didn’t deserve her, and she knew it.

“Hi, baby,” Sloan said, her throat tight.

Michael patted the couch beside her. “Come sit down and tell me about your day.”

“Sorry I’m so late.”

“You don’t have a curfew. Did you eat?”

Sloan shook her head as she dropped onto the sofa next to Michael.

When Michael put her book aside and shifted to lean against her, Sloan drew her close and kissed her. “Do potato chips count?”

“I’m not answering that.” Michael stroked Sloan’s face. “There’s a plate with chicken and pasta in the kitchen. It should still be warm.”

“How was your day?”

“I asked you first,” Michael teased.

“Routine.” Sloan rested her chin against the top of Michael’s head. Michael’s hair was fragrant, her body supple, her breath warm against Sloan’s throat. Sloan saw herself stretched out in a green glade in the warm sunshine, a breeze ruffling the leaves overhead and teasing over her sweat-damp skin. She caught her breath as Michael eased her T-shirt from her jeans and slid a hand underneath. The breeze carried a hint of distant thunder now and Sloan tensed.

“Your days are never routine,” Michael murmured.

“How was yours?”

“Tiring but good.” Michael kissed the hollow of Sloan’s throat, then the side of her neck, then just below her ear. She laughed softly when Sloan shivered. “I had a nice talk with Sandy, and then I took a nap while I was waiting for you.”

“That sounds…nice.” Sloan’s voice was strained. Michael, for all her sophisticated elegance, could seduce her with the barest touch of her fingers, a mere brush of her lips. Sloan bent to her will as a seedling bends to the sun, trembling and needy. She knew with absolute certainty that all her strength was a ruse, a handful of sand that would slip through her fingers and disappear on the wind without Michael by her side. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not tired now.” Michael pressed more tightly against Sloan, continuing to kiss the side of her jaw and her neck. She let her fingertips

• 47 •

RADclY fFe

dance over Sloan’s breasts and up and down her abdomen before skating lower and streaking beneath the top of her jeans. “What, darling?” she asked, hearing a groan.

“I’m not hungry either.” Sloan clasped the back of her neck, tilting Michael’s head so she could slant her mouth across Michael’s.

Michael opened to her, and as they kissed, Sloan groaned again, lost in the seductive warmth of Michael’s mouth, a steady pulse of desire unfurling in her depths.

“You’re going to be busy with another case soon, aren’t you?”

Michael pushed Sloan down on the couch and stretched out on top of her, fitting one leg between Sloan’s thighs. She slid her hand up to cup Sloan’s breast. “With Rebecca back?”

“Work?” Sloan gasped, opening the buttons on Michael’s shirt with one hand while she caressed her ass with the other. Michael made it impossible for her to think. She was the only one who could do that.

“You want to talk about work?”

Michael kissed the tip of Sloan’s chin, then her mouth. “No. I want you all to myself for as long as I can have you.”

“I’m all yours,” Sloan whispered, never meaning anything more in her life.

v

“Babe? You want that last French fry?” Dell reached over Sandy’s prone body and scooped the fry in question from the Styrofoam container on top of the bedside table.

Beneath her, Sandy pushed her butt up firmly into Dell’s crotch.

Dell paused, her arm extended and the French fry forgotten. Sandy had nearly made her come on the ride home on her Ducati, and once they reached the apartment they shared south of Bainbridge, Sandy had finished the job. Twice. In between orgasms and takeout, Dell had reciprocated, plus an extra just because it made her feel ten feet tall to hear Sandy cry out her name when she climaxed. Now her clit was swollen and satisfyingly sore and she’d thought they were done. Or maybe not.

She dropped the French fry back in the box, let her weight settle on Sandy’s back, and then bit and sucked a spot in the curve of her shoulder until Sandy squirmed under her. “Still horny?”

• 48 •

Justice for All

“Maybe,” Sandy murmured, her face burrowed in the pillow.

“What time is it?”

“About midnight.” Dell eased off to one side and stroked the inside of Sandy’s thigh. She cupped her sex from behind and squeezed gently, slowly circling Sandy’s clitoris with the tip of one finger. Sandy was hot and wet. For her. Lust shot through Dell like a fever and she struggled not to slide inside her right away. Sandy liked it hard and fast, but slow and teasing was good sometimes too. It’s just that Dell had a hard time keeping her head when she was excited, and Sandy always excited her. She rubbed the hard prominence at the apex of Sandy’s center and Sandy made a little sound, halfway between a whimper and a purr. Dell thought her head might explode, but she kept the pressure light and languid. Sandy’s hand clutched the pillow, and just that little movement made Dell’s clit pound. She kissed Sandy’s cheek, then the corner of her mouth. “I love you.”

“Don’t make me come,” Sandy whispered. She groped behind her, grabbing Dell’s hand when she found it. “I don’t want to come until you fuck me.”

Dell groaned, pressing her forehead to the back of Sandy’s shoulder as she ground against Sandy’s ass. She kept up the slow steady massage, careful not to push Sandy over the edge, but she couldn’t control her own runaway clit. “Fuck, babe. I’m gonna come again.”

Sandy laughed, her voice shaking. “Let it go, baby.”

“Oh man,” Dell moaned, her stomach turning somersaults as a cannon went off inside her. She panted against Sandy’s back, openmouthed and trembling like a first-timer. Beneath her, Sandy twisted, pushing Dell away until she could roll onto her back. Then she grabbed Dell’s hand and pushed it between her legs.

“You’re up, rookie,” she breathed into Dell’s ear. “Now fuck me until I come.”

And just like that, Dell felt the power surge through her. She braced herself on one arm and filled Sandy with her fingers. Then she kissed her, stroking inside her mouth to the rhythm of her thrusts between her legs. She used her thumb to work Sandy’s clit because she knew Sandy came harder that way. Distantly she felt Sandy’s hands dig into her shoulders, her nails scratching in anxious circles. Sandy tightened around her fingers, body arching into a tight bow. Dell broke their kiss so Sandy could breathe.

• 49 •

RADclY fFe

“Oh God, Dell,” Sandy cried. “Baby, baby, I’m coming so hard.”

Her eyes slammed shut as her face twisted in pleasure, but Dell kept her eyes open, drinking her in, filling her mind and body with the sights and sound and sensation. Sandy was so beautiful, so open and vulnerable and trusting in that moment that Dell wanted to cry. She kept going until Sandy collapsed bonelessly onto the bed, her arms flopping out to her sides, her breath fluttering out on a long, contented moan.

Dell stopped thrusting and lightly caressed Sandy’s still turgid clitoris.

“Get your hands away from me,” Sandy muttered.

Dell laughed and kissed her nipple.

Sandy swatted at her head. “I mean it. Off. No mouth either.”

“You said you wanted—”

“Shut up, Dell.” Sandy stroked the back of Dell’s head, then yanked on her hair. “Who said you could get off by yourself like that?”

Dell leaned on her elbow and pulled the sheet up to their waists. “I can’t help it if you get me so excited I practically pop.”

“Geez, what are you? Fourteen?”

“Only where you’re concerned.”

“Better remember that,” Sandy said, her expression suddenly serious.

“I remember, babe,” Dell said just as seriously. As part of her cover, she had to hang out in strip clubs and get friendly with the working girls. Sometimes acting friendly meant getting a little physical. She’d had a hard time at first not responding to the foreplay, and Sandy knew it. It wasn’t that she wanted to get turned on by anyone except Sandy, but the adrenaline rush of being undercover coupled with the physical stimulation was arousing. “I’ve got a handle on it now.”

“Uh-huh.” Sandy wrapped one leg around the back of Dell’s thigh and curled more tightly into her embrace. “You’re not going out tonight, are you?”

“Not tonight. I have to call the guys tomorrow to set something up. Probably tomorrow night.”

“Me too,” Sandy said sleepily.

Dell wanted to argue about that, but not now. Now she just wanted to hold her. She settled against the pillow, Sandy in her arms, and closed her eyes. “Love you.”

“Yeah, me too, rookie.” Sandy sighed. “Michael offered me a job.”

• 50 •

Justice for All

“Yeah?” Dell asked carefully, suddenly wide-awake. “What did you say?”

“That I’d think about it.”

“That’s good.” Dell’s heart did a little dance at the thought of Sandy being off the streets and tucked away somewhere safe. But the decision was Sandy’s, and Dell vowed not to push.

“Yeah, I guess.” Sandy sighed again. “I’m not so sure.”

“Go to sleep, baby. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah?”

Dell kissed her. “Promise.”

• 51 •

• 52 •

Justice for All

ChAPTER FIvE

I didn’t know Rebecca was planning on going to work,”

Catherine said to Watts.

The doorbell had chimed at seven forty-five just as she was pouring the morning coffee. She’d rearranged her early-morning patient hours so that she could be home with Rebecca on her first day out of the hospital. Apparently, she was the only one who thought her lover needed a few days to recuperate.

“Sorry, Doc.” Watts quickly found something fascinating to study on the ceiling. “The Loo isn’t answering her pager or cell phone, so I figured I’d just swing by.”

“Her cell phone is missing. I think her pager’s in a drawer somewhere. They gave it to me at the hospital with the rest of her things.”

Except her weapon. They hadn’t given her Rebecca’s shoulder harness and gun. She imagined those were somewhere at police headquarters and, seeing Watts at the door, she was sure Rebecca would be wearing them before the day was out.

“Right. I would’ve used a landline, but I thought maybe you’d be sleeping.”

Catherine laughed wryly. “Usually I’m gone by now.” She held the door wide, glad that she was wearing a loose long-sleeved pullover and cotton pants rather than her normal sleepwear. “Come in, William.

Have some coffee. I’ll tell Rebecca you’re here.”

“I can wait in the car.” Watts halted just inside the door. “Uh…

maybe I’ll just come back—” He broke off, his attention riveted across the room.

Rebecca came downstairs into the living room, wearing faded

• 53 •

RADclY fFe

chinos and an open-collared shirt, toweling her hair as she walked. She slowed when she saw Watts. “Problem?”

“Sorry, Loo. I got my signals crossed. The captain wants us in his office, and I thought…” He glanced at Catherine and started to back out onto the porch. “I’ll fill you in later.”

Catherine turned to Rebecca. “Are you going in?”

“I thought this afternoon.” Rebecca glanced at Watts. “Is it urgent?”

He held up his hands and shrugged. “Henry called me. Said he wanted us in his office first thing. I’m just the messenger, Loo. I’ll tell him I couldn’t reach you.”

“William,” Catherine said, “go get that coffee. Rebecca and I just need a few minutes.”

Watts glanced at Rebecca, who nodded, and he hurried toward the kitchen.

“It didn’t occur to me you were planning on going back to work today,” Catherine said as she walked to the far side of the living room.

She stopped in front of the French doors that opened onto the small, stone-walled backyard. Rebecca came up beside her. Catherine could smell the woodsy tang of her cologne and thought of all the nights she had gone to sleep alone with only a hint of Rebecca’s fragrance for company. She pushed the thought away. She needed to deal with now.

“I meant to talk to you about it last night,” Rebecca said, “but I fell asleep. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault. You needed to sleep.” Catherine watched the fallen leaves, only shriveled brown ghosts of their former gloriously colored selves, swirl across the gray flagstones on the small patio.

Winter was right around the corner.

“I didn’t realize you’d taken the morning off.” Rebecca brushed her fingertips across Catherine’s shoulder.

“I forgot to tell you.” Catherine shook her head. “It seems we’re both guilty of assumptions.”

Rebecca shoved a hand through her hair and made an exasperated sound. “Could we be any more civil?” She grasped Catherine’s shoulders and gently pulled her around until they were face-to-face. “I should have come straight home yesterday. Or at least I should’ve told you where I was going. It was thoughtless of me. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you?” Catherine waved a hand. “Not the call me part,

• 54 •

Justice for All

but why didn’t you come home? What was so important that you had to go straight from the hospital to work?”

“I’d been out of the loop for a couple of days and I had no idea what was going on with the operation,” Rebecca said, searching for the right words. “It felt like part of my life had dropped into a black hole. I just wanted to get reconnected.”

“Reconnected.” Catherine tried not to be hurt at Rebecca choosing her work over their relationship. She tried to imagine how she would feel if she were suddenly unable to go to the hospital and keep her patient appointments. She’d be concerned over not taking care of her responsibilities, and she’d be anxious until she had arranged for someone else to cover for her. But she wouldn’t feel as if a piece of her life were missing. But then, she was not Rebecca.

“You’re wrong about that,” Rebecca whispered.

“What?” Catherine asked, startled from her internal analysis.

“The job isn’t more important to me than being with you.”

And there it was—what she feared most, even though she was embarrassed to admit it. That she would never be first in anyone’s life.

That just as the child she’d been—of two people who loved her, but had loved each other more—she would always be waiting to be seen.

Catherine sighed. Rebecca’s words reminded her of why she had fallen in love with her, despite how hard some parts of being with her could be—moments just like this, when Rebecca saw her so clearly, even more clearly than she could see herself, and gave her the very thing she needed most. The certainty that she was loved. She believed in Rebecca’s love even when Rebecca’s life, Rebecca’s needs, hurt and frightened her.

“I’m terribly in love with you,” Catherine whispered. “And I need you so much.”

Shifting her hands from Catherine’s shoulders into her hair, Rebecca cradled Catherine’s head tenderly as she kissed her. “I’m an idiot. When I hurt you like this I want to shoot myself.”

Catherine pressed her fingers to Rebecca’s mouth. “Don’t even joke.”

“I’m not joking. You’re the best thing in my life. The best thing that’s ever happened to me, or ever will. I don’t mean to make you unhappy. I don’t mean to frighten you.”

“I know that. In my heart, I know that. And that truly is what’s

• 55 •

RADclY fFe

most important to me.” Catherine wrapped her arms around Rebecca’s waist and kissed the side of her neck. “But you must promise me that you’ll stop and think. And remember that you’re not indestructible.”

“When I went in yesterday, I was only planning to sit at a desk,”

Rebecca said. “That’s what I’m still planning on doing.”

Catherine fixed her with an intense stare. “Are you going to tell me the only thing you did yesterday was sit with your feet propped up somewhere?”

Rebecca looked away. “I went for a very short walk with Sandy.”

“Sandy?” Catherine shook her head. “Sandy is a remarkable young woman, but I would rather have William or Sloan or Dellon protecting you.”

“I don’t need them protecting me. I’m their boss.”

“Yes, darling, you are. And when you’re a hundred percent, there’s no one better qualified. But you’re not a hundred percent. Not quite.”

Begrudgingly, Rebecca nodded. “And that’s why I’m going to sit my ass at a desk. All right?”

“Can I ask William to be sure that you do?”

Rebecca’s eyes shifted from their ordinary icy cool to blue flame.

“Hell, no.”

Catherine laughed softly. “I had to try.”

“Are you also trying to make my blood pressure go up?” Rebecca teased, tightening her grip and skating her lips along the edge of Catherine’s jaw. “Because if that’s your goal, I can think of more pleasurable ways to achieve it.”

“Don’t play with me, darling,” Catherine whispered. “Because we don’t have time and we have instructions not to make love, remember?”

Rebecca growled. “Like that’s happening.”

“No.” Catherine eased away. “We’re not. Not until Ali says we can.”“You can’t be serious. I feel fine.” Rebecca had the sudden urge to drag Catherine upstairs and show her just how fine she really felt.

She was willing to take a backseat at work for a while, but she’d be damned if she’d keep from touching Catherine. Not when she needed to be sure Catherine understood just how essential she was. Maybe, Rebecca thought, she didn’t always have the right words, and maybe she was selfish most of the time, but when they made love, she came as

• 56 •

Justice for All

close as she ever could to showing Catherine how much she loved her.

“And I want you.”

“Go talk to William.” Catherine caressed Rebecca’s face. “No coffee.”

“Jesus,” Rebecca muttered under her breath. “No coffee, no work, no sex. I might as well have stayed in the hospital.”

“I’m not going to say I agree, but I do.” Catherine clasped Rebecca’s hand and kissed the back of her fingers. “So stop grumbling.

Call me later?”

“I will.”

“Go then, Detective,” Catherine murmured, because she had to let her go. Rebecca was many things, but first and always a cop.

v

Rebecca buckled her seat belt as Watts pulled away from the curb.

After a few seconds of silence, he said, “So I guess you got your balls busted for going back to work, huh?”

Rebecca slowly turned her head. “Sorry?”

“Nothing, Loo,” Watts said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Didn’t say a thing.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Despite rush-hour traffic, Watts made it across town in record time and pulled into the parking lot at One Police Plaza at a little past 8:30. They walked across the parking lot to a side door, avoiding the main lobby that serviced the administrative offices. A back elevator took them to the third floor. Since the formation of the HPCU, Rebecca reported directly to Captain John Henry, one of the few administrators she liked and respected. A former street cop who had worked his way up through the ranks, he gave her as much room as he could to run her unit the way she wanted. As she and Watts wended their way through a jumble of desks assigned to detectives from homicide, vice, and special crimes, Rebecca nodded and muttered her thanks to the colleagues who congratulated her on the recent successful raid or asked after her health.

At that hour of the morning, most of the desks were occupied with men and women reviewing reports, organizing case files for court, and planning the day’s work. She disliked fanfare for just doing her job,

• 57 •

RADclY fFe

and she definitely didn’t want to dwell on almost taking a bullet in the face.

Henry’s door was open a few inches. With a sigh of relief, she rapped and a deep voice inquired, “Yes?”

“Frye and Watts, Captain.”

“Come in and close the door.”

Rebecca and Watts entered and remained standing until Captain Henry waved them to a couple of straight-backed chairs in front of his desk. As usual, he wore a crisp white shirt, subdued tie, and dark jacket, and sat ramrod straight, his smooth mahogany features giving no clue as to his thoughts. Only the sharp glint in his dark chocolate eyes revealed his irritation. That and the early-morning summons confirmed Rebecca’s suspicions that she was about to hear bad news.

“I got a wake-up call from Agent Clark this morning,” Henry said.

Watts uttered an insult directed at Clark’s parentage just low enough so that Henry wouldn’t be able to hear. Rebecca managed to contain her own oath. Avery Clark was a federal Justice Department agent who managed to show up just in time to claim jurisdiction every time she and her team made an arrest. They’d been ordered from the brass on high to cooperate with him. Unfortunately, no one had told Avery that teamwork was a two-way street.

“What does he want now?” Rebecca asked.

“He wants us to know he appreciates the HPCU’s expertise, and he knew there were things we could accomplish that he couldn’t.”

Beside her, Watts snorted. Rebecca shook her head. “He doesn’t pay compliments without a price.”

Henry nodded. “My guess is his resources are stretched thin, and he needs to ride our coattails as long as he can. He figures that we have the best chance of tying the sex slavery business to the local crime syndicate. If we can prove that they’re taking these girls across state lines for purposes of prostitution, the federal case gets a lot stronger.”

“He wants us to make his case for him,” Watts grumbled. “Just like old times.”

“Clark has a point,” Henry said. “The best shot at finding the people behind the trafficking operation is to uncover the link to the local crime organization.”

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Justice for All

“That means we have to get someone deep inside,” Rebecca said.

“That kind of undercover operation takes a lot of time to set up. And the Zamoras are going to be looking for a plant, especially after Jimmy.”

Running an operative undercover was one of the most frustrating jobs someone in Rebecca’s position could have. She had to put her people in danger and could do very little to protect them. She didn’t like it. Jimmy Hogan had managed to infiltrate the Zamora organization and he’d turned up dead. Undercover cops knew the risks, and often thrived on the constant stress and adrenaline high, but Zamora knew he was a target. The timing was all wrong.

“We’ve already got someone inside his organization,” Captain Henry said. “Courtesy of Avery Clark.”

“Uh-oh,” Watts said. “I’m starting to feel like there’s a dick up my ass.”

Henry pursed his lips. “Thank you for that personal revelation, Detective Watts.”

Watts grunted. “Fucking Clark.”

“If the organzied crime unit has an undercover agent inside the Zamora family, why are we just hearing about it?” Rebecca asked.

Interdepartmental communications weren’t always seamless and cops could get territorial, but her team had been poking around the edges of the Zamora organization for long enough that someone in OCU would have either waved them off or filled them in by now. Something wasn’t adding up. And that something had to be Avery Clark’s doing. When she’d woken up that morning, her headache had receded to a low-level throbbing. Just thinking about Clark interfering in her investigation, yet again, made her eyes ache.

“What aren’t I seeing here, Captain?” Rebecca asked.

Henry rose and carried a file folder with him around to the front of his desk. Opening it toward Watts and Rebecca, he displayed several typed pages and a glossy photograph clipped to the inside cover.

Rebecca leaned forward, recognizing the woman in the photograph at the same time as Watts.

“Hey,” Watts said. “That’s our boy Mitch’s new squeeze.”

“Irina Guterov,” Henry elaborated. Anyone else would’ve leaned against the edge of the desk, but he didn’t.

“She was picked up in the raid the other night,” Rebecca pointed

• 59 •

RADclY fFe

out. Irina had unknowingly led them to one of the houses where the Russian girls were being held under armed guard. Mitch and Irina had been about to have sex when Rebecca’s team burst in.

“Clark has convinced her to work for us,” the captain said. “She’s our way inside.”

Rebecca replayed the details of the raid earlier that week. Mitch and Irina had been in the back bedroom, and all the working girls had been upstairs. The only other occupant of the house, the girls’ armed captor, was dead. The girls had immediately been sequestered by Immigration and would probably be deported, so no one in the crime ring knew Mitch’s true identity.

“Does Irina know Mitchell is one of ours?” Rebecca asked.

“Clark says no, but she’ll have to be briefed since the whole plan hinges on Mitchell being her contact.”

“That might fly,” Rebecca conceded. “Irina has worked with the handlers who send these girls out on jobs. It’s one step further up the ladder.” She took the folder from Henry and studied the photograph.

Even the stark black-and-white police photo couldn’t diminish Irina’s haunting beauty. “The problem is, Zamora’s people have to know she was in that house when we raided it.”

Henry nodded. “Her story is going to be that she and Mitch went out the back window and they’ve been hiding until the heat died down.

No one knows we’ve had her under wraps.”

“Then she has to get back into circulation quickly. With Detective Mitchell.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Henry said. “You need to get your boy back on the streets with her. Tonight.”

“And we’re going to trust her, why?” Watts asked, his voice laced with suspicion and anger. “Mitch is gonna be hanging out there by himself. You can bet Clark isn’t going to lose any sleep over him.”

“According to Irina, her little sister is in a house just like the one you took down the other night,” Henry said. “That’s part of the reason Irina has been willing to work for these people to begin with. She’s been trying to find her.”

“She says,” Watts snorted.

Henry lifted a shoulder. “Clark believes her.”

“And I’ve got a ten-inch pecker.”

• 60 •

Justice for All

“If her story’s true, she’s got motivation to play along. At least until she finds her sister. Do we have an ID on the sister?”

“Not yet. The feds are searching the international databases, but she’s probably not in any of them. Irina says she has a picture of her at the club where she works,” Henry said.

“Ziggie’s,” Watts said.

“Right. Another reason we need her and Mitchell back there.”

“Where’s Irina now?” Rebecca asked.

“Clark’s got her stashed somewhere.” Henry’s face showed a flicker of anger. “He doesn’t trust our security and won’t tell me where.

He’ll deliver her when we arrange a meet between her and Mitchell.”

Rebecca rubbed her forehead. “Do we have any room to negotiate here? I’d like to talk to her before I put Mitchell in the middle of this.”

“Clark already took the plan to the top, and the brass like it. It’s an election year, and it looks good whenever we take a bite out of organized crime.”

“Let’s hope they don’t take a bite out of us first,” Watts muttered.

“They won’t,” Rebecca said flatly. It was her job to make sure that didn’t happen.

• 61 •

• 62 •

Justice for All

ChAPTER SIx

Dell clenched her fists under the table, trying like hell not to let anything she was feeling show on her face. Lieutenant Frye was still talking, but she was having a hard time concentrating.

Her mind was going in a million directions at once. The lieutenant had called them all together to brief them on a new operation, an undercover operation targeting one of the biggest crime families in the country.

And she was the point man. Never mind that it was a career-making assignment. What mattered to her was making the lieutenant proud.

Making her team proud. But hell—Irina. Jesus. She hadn’t figured to see her again, although she’d tried to find her after the raid, just to be sure she was all right. Now they’d be working together, pretending to be a couple. Irina and Mitch, that is.

“Are you with us, Detective?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Dell snapped, straightening in her seat.

Rebecca stared at her hard for a few seconds, then turned back to the whiteboard. As she talked, she blocked out the highlights of the operation. “Mitch will continue with his cover as a friend of the Kings.

He’s been seen with them a couple of times in Ziggie’s and at the Troc.

He’s known to have a girlfriend, but he plays around. It helps that he’s already been seen with Irina.”

“The boy gets more action than most guys with real dicks,” Watts groused.

Ordinarily Dell would have shot back that it wasn’t what you had in your pants, but what you did with it, but her stomach was in knots and she couldn’t muster up any levity. Since she’d started

• 63 •

RADclY fFe

working undercover in drag, she’d discovered that Mitch wasn’t just an assignment. She’d connected with a part of herself that felt natural and necessary. Lucky for her, Sandy liked Mitch too. And so did Irina.

“Maybe Mitch scores so well because he knows how to treat a lady,” Jason said with just enough of a lilt in his voice to remind everyone he knew what he was talking about.

“Mitch needs tighter backup than we can provide with ordinary surveillance,” Rebecca said. “We can’t wire him routinely because we’re hoping Irina will be taking him places where he’s going to get patted down.” Rebecca focused on Jason. “I can’t order you to do street work, but—”

“I hope you’re not going to suggest that a lady can’t be trusted with Mitch’s ass,” Jason said, his tone still light but his eyes serious.

“You’re a civilian, Jason. And it won’t be just Mitch’s ass on the line.”

“I’m in,” Jason said. “Jasmine has a show Saturday night before the Kings go on. Mitch can bring Irina. She’ll figure Jasmine is just part of the group.”

Rebecca nodded. “I like it.”

Dell was glad Irina would know she was a cop because she didn’t want to lie to her anymore, but she started to sweat when she imagined taking Irina to the Troc like it was some kind of date. They’d just be acting, she reminded herself. Both of them.

“This might be our only chance to find out who took out your cops,”

Sloan said to Rebecca. “We’re not going to quit with the middlemen, are we?”

“A few token arrests might be enough to make City Hall happy,”

Rebecca said, “but we’re going after the top dogs.”

“Fucking A,” Watts muttered.

Sloan nodded. “I still want to continue the forensic analysis of the computers at the port. We might find a tie-in there.”

“Agreed. Stay on it.” Rebecca looked at Watts. “Talk to the captain down there today so Sloan can get started.” She wrote “midnight” on the board and circled it. “Mitch and Irina are due to show up at Ziggie’s tonight at midnight. Watts and I will take surveillance.”

Watts’s eyebrows rose as if he were going to object, but a look from the lieutenant shut him down.

• 64 •

Justice for All

Dell cleared her throat and hoped her voice didn’t crack. “Where’s Irina going to stay? She can’t go back to the house where she was living with those girls, not alone.”

“Her cover story,” Rebecca said, “is that the two of you went out a back window and hid out in Mitch’s apartment. For now, that’s where she’ll be staying.”

“Mitch’s apartment.” Dell’s stomach rolled. The studio she’d rented when she went undercover was down the hall from Sandy’s apartment and its only furnishings were a mattress and a ratty sofa. Her mind shut down before she could think about taking Irina there. “Okay.

Right.”

Rebecca sighed. “Unfortunately, there’s more.”

“There always is when the feds are involved,” Sloan said grimly.

“Clark wants more information on the Zamoras’ political connections, and he thinks we’re in a better position to get it than his people.” Rebecca pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “He’s probably right. Kratos Zamora is a big supporter of the mayor’s campaign.”

“Pretty dicey association for the mayor,” Sloan said.

“Kratos Zamora is a legitimate businessman, and he donates big bucks to the local political machine.” Rebecca shrugged. “And for all intents and purposes, he’s squeaky clean.”

“So what’s the brilliant plan?” Sloan asked.

“There’s an upcoming fund-raiser for the mayor, and Clark wants us there.”

“Us?” Sloan narrowed her eyes. “Why would we be there?”

“I’ll be there representing the force, to show the department’s support for the mayor. Normal politicking.” Rebecca stared at Sloan.

“Clark thinks you’d have a chance at getting close to Zamora if you were with Michael, because she’s one of the wealthiest businesswomen—”

Sloan shot to her feet. “Clark can go fuck himself. Michael’s not going anywhere near Zamora.”

“All right,” Rebecca said. “I understand.”

“Are you planning on taking Catherine?” Sloan asked angrily.

“Catherine’s already going.” Rebecca would have preferred Catherine stay far away from anything even remotely connected to the case, but she couldn’t ask her to skip the event. “She’s on the board of the city’s AIDS/HIV commission. She attends a lot of fund-raisers.”

• 65 •

RADclY fFe

“Michael is out of it.” Sloan sat back down, her eyes stormy. “I’ll go stag. Sloan Security does business with all the big firms in the city.

We’re not without resources, so I’d have a reason to be there.”

“What about the rest of us?” Dell asked.

Rebecca shook her head. “You need to stay away from Zamora for the time being.”

“Sandy’s going to be pissed she missed it.”

“No doubt.” Rebecca grinned fleetingly.

Dell would have laughed, except she was thinking that Sandy was going to be pissed about a lot of things.

v

“Talk to you a minute, Loo?” Watts said as the others filed out of the room.

Rebecca nodded, mentally reviewing her hastily thrown together operation. Mitchell might end up chasing a dead lead. With the girls Irina had been supervising out of the picture, Irina’s conduit to the crime organization might have closed. If that was the case, they’d waste a few weeks of surveillance time. But if Mitchell actually did get inside, she’d be there on her own. Because there was no way backup was going to be able to follow her where she needed to go. Rebecca had lost one partner. She wasn’t losing a member of her team.

“…my ass.”

“What?” Rebecca said sharply. “Nobody likes surveillance, Watts, but it’s necessary—”

“I’m not saying I don’t want to freeze my ass off out in the cold while Mitch is inside a titty bar getting his crank pulled,” Watts shot back. “Hell, what guy wouldn’t want to be the one freezing his nuts off in the car? All I’m saying is, you can’t go.”

“What?” Rebecca straightened. “I don’t think I heard you right, Detective.”

“Excuse me, Loo, but you’re supposed to be on desk duty. And excuse me again, but I don’t feel like having my ass chewed out by your…woman. Whatever.”

“My woman?” Rebecca raised her eyebrows.

Watts shrugged. “The doc. I sort of promised her.”

• 66 •

Justice for All

Rebecca turned around and strode to the opposite end of the room. She braced both hands on the counter and closed her eyes. She’d promised her too. Except that she hadn’t known at the time that Henry planned to put the team back out on the street so fast. Units like hers typically spent months building cases through surveillance and wiretaps and gathering street intel. They tapped their confidential informants, they followed midlevel drug dealers, they rousted street pushers and pimps. They toiled at their desks and spent endless hours cruising the streets, until maybe they got lucky and could put a case together. But this was different. They were going hunting, and they were sending their youngest, their least experienced, into the jungle alone.

“God damn it,” Rebecca said quietly.

“Yeah, it blows,” Watts said from behind her.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Rebecca said without turning around.

“Sure thing, Loo.”

Rebecca listened to Watts’s fading footsteps, then went to find Sloan. She needed a car.

v

Kratos Zamora ended his conference call with his European business associates, finished his coffee in a single swallow, and pushed the ceramic mug to the front of his desk where his secretary would pick it up and refill it upon his return. Then he stood, donned his silk and wool blended double-breasted charcoal suit jacket, checked the knot in his tie, and walked to the double mahogany doors separating his office from the adjoining conference room. When he stepped through, his brother Gregor was already seated near Vincent. On the opposite side of the room, a matching pair of double doors led to Gregor’s office.

Kratos sat down at the head of the polished walnut table. Another cup of coffee awaited him. He sipped it and regarded the other two men steadily.

“Well? What have we learned?”

Gregor clicked a remote to lower the room lights, then activated an LCD projector. “JT Sloan’s business address is a matter of record, and Angelo has been shooting everyone going in and out. Mostly women,

• 67 •

RADclY fFe

one guy who is definitely a cop, and another young guy who we figure is Sloan’s partner. There’s a Jason McBride listed on their corporate holdings.”

“Let’s see them,” Kratos said.

Angelo had done a good job, shooting multiple photos of people coming and going. Two were clearly cops—a beefy middle-aged man and a tall, thin blonde who looked to be all business. Probably the detective lieutenant in charge. She looked like she could be a lesbian.

Kratos leaned forward. “Stop right there.”

Angelo had caught a full-face view of another blonde, this one elegant and sleekly beautiful. In her thirties, smooth-skinned and slender. The face of an artist’s model.

“Who is that?” Kratos asked.

“No name yet, but she’s a looker,” Vincent said.

Kratos shot him a steely glare and Vincent averted his gaze.

Another shot came up, this one showing the beautiful woman holding hands with a thin, wild-looking girl. A friend, maybe, because a woman as sensual and feminine as that one couldn’t possibly be a lesbian.

“I want her name,” Kratos said.

“Sure thing, boss,” Vincent said.

Gregor clicked off the slides. “Angelo has a straight sight line right down to their front door. He could take one out, probably two or three, and still get away clean.”

“And we’d have police in our lobby before the bodies hit the ground,” Kratos murmured, still thinking about the beautiful blonde.

“For now, we watch.”

“Papa would never have let puttanas like that interfere with our business,” Gregor grumbled.

“Papa was a great man,” Kratos said softly as he stood, turning his back on his brother to address Vincent. “Have Angelo print out head shots of all of them. And I want names to go with them.”

v

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Ali Torveau greeted Rebecca as she stepped into the examining room and closed the door.

“No need to apologize,” Rebecca said, already regretting her

• 68 •

Justice for All

unscheduled visit. Ali’s wrinkled, faded green surgical scrubs looked about as worn out as she did. The shadows under her eyes, which already seemed a permanent fixture, were darker today than Rebecca remembered them. “I’m the one interrupting your day when you’re probably due to go home. Sorry.”

“Not a problem. I’ll be here awhile.” Ali pulled the stainless steel stool out from under the tiny shelf that served as a writing table and instrument stand and sat down, leaning her back against the shelf. “Just finished a fifteen-hour marathoner. A couple of rival gangs went to war last night. Three dead. Two others may be joining them soon. Just kids.”

“Rough.”

“Stupid waste.” Ali shook her head, then focused on Rebecca, her fatigue appearing to vanish. “So what’s wrong?”

Rebecca hadn’t bothered to undress even though the nurse had instructed her to when she ushered her into the room. She sat on the examining table, the white paper covering crinkling beneath her. She detested being in a position where she had to ask someone else to empower her to do her job, even when that someone was a friend. “I need you to clear me for active duty. Today.”

Ali was silent for a long moment. “And how is today different than yesterday morning when I said two weeks of desk duty?”

“Yesterday morning I didn’t have a new street operation about to kick off.”

“What’s so important that someone else can’t pinch-hit for you?”

Despite Ali’s conversational tone, Rebecca felt her temper rising.

If it hadn’t been for her promise to Catherine, she wouldn’t be here at all. She didn’t need medical clearance because she’d only been admitted to the hospital for observation. Her discharge sufficed to clear her for duty. No one actually knew about the restrictions that Ali had imposed.

Except Catherine. And Watts, who couldn’t keep his nose out of her goddamn business all of a sudden. She bit back a sharp reply because Ali looked like hell and it wasn’t her fault that Rebecca hadn’t been fast enough to dive out of the line of fire. If Sloan hadn’t been so quick to back her up, she’d be dead and Catherine’s pain would be on her head.

The wave of remorse was enough to cool her frustration.

“This isn’t something I would ordinarily tell anyone.” Rebecca hesitated. This was not something she wanted Catherine to hear, and

• 69 •

RADclY fFe

Ali’s quick nod confirmed that their discussion was confidential.

“I’ve got a young detective going undercover tonight. It’s dangerous.

Anything could happen, and I need to be there. Me. No one else. But I’m just going to be sitting in a car to coordinate.”

Ali made a face. “Don’t give me that, Rebecca. You just told me anything could happen.”

“I won’t be alone. Watts will be with me.” Rebecca took a breath.

“I don’t expect anything to happen, at least not right away. But that doesn’t mean I can sit at home with my feet up.”

“What happens if I don’t clear you?” When Rebecca said nothing, Ali stood up. “If I wanted to play hardball, I could call your captain.

Get you sidelined for as long as I wanted. The city is very antsy about lawsuits, and an impaired cop on the streets is a liability.”

“You won’t do that,” Rebecca said with confidence.

“You’re right. I won’t. I could call Catherine.”

Rebecca stiffened. “Catherine has enough to worry about.”

“No, Catherine worries about you, and she’s not going to worry any less if I give my blessing for you to head straight back out into the same jungle that almost got you killed.”

“I’m a cop. That’s what I do.”

“I know that. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be standing here.” Ali pulled an ophthalmoscope out of the charger next to the examining table.

“Look over my left shoulder.”

Rebecca complied while Ali shone a bright light into first one eye, then the other. She felt like an ice pick was piercing her brain, and her eyes watered. “Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Ali said, not sounding particularly remorseful. “You understand that there’s a small but definite risk that you could have an intracranial bleed?”

“That could happen if I were sitting at my desk, too, right?”

“It could, that’s true. But every day that passes without an incident makes the risk less likely. The first seven to ten days after the injury are the high risk period.” Ali put the ophthalmoscope away, and then took Rebecca’s blood pressure.

“I’m not going to do anything crazy,” Rebecca said. “If it weren’t for Catherine, I’d never say that. But I’m not going to do anything else to hurt her.”

• 70 •

Justice for All

“You’re cutting that line pretty thin just by going back on duty,”

Ali said.

“I know. But it’s the best I can do.”

Ali removed the cuff from Rebecca’s arm. “All right, Detective, I’m taking you at your word. Be careful.”

“I’ll try.” Rebecca shook Ali’s hand, thanked her, and headed out the door. She had one more stop to make.

v

“Rebecca?” Catherine dropped the file she was reviewing onto her desk and stood. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Rebecca said hurriedly. “I’m sorry. Joyce said you were free.”

“I am. I don’t have another patient for almost an hour. What are you doing here?” Catherine came around the front of her desk and met Rebecca in the center of the Oriental rug that covered most of her office floor.

“I’m not allowed to visit you?”

“You’re welcome here anytime, darling, but you generally only drop by if you’re worried, upset, or have something serious to tell me.”

Rebecca tossed her blazer onto one of the two leather club chairs in front of Catherine’s desk. She’d sat in one of those chairs the first night she’d come to interview Catherine, six months ago. She’d been sure that Catherine would not help her. Certain, too, that Catherine would never be able to understand how badly she needed to catch the man who was violating the city’s women, because no one had ever understood what drove her to put an end to violence and abuse no matter the cost. She’d been wrong about Catherine’s willingness to help, wrong about pretty much everything where Catherine was concerned. She winced, trying to remember the last time she’d sent Catherine flowers or just called her to ask after her day. “I’m a crappy lover, aren’t I?”

“No.” Catherine clasped Rebecca’s waist but resisted embracing her, which she would have done on any other day. Lightly tracing the sharp line of Rebecca’s jaw with her fingertips, she said, “You’re a wonderful lover. This is about whatever Captain Henry wanted to see you for this morning, isn’t it?”

• 71 •

RADclY fFe

“You’re starting to sound like a cop’s wife.”

“That must be because I am.” Catherine kissed Rebecca’s cheek and led her to the moss green upholstered sofa opposite the windows. A small coffee table stood in front of it. They’d eaten takeout off that table more than once. They’d made love on that sofa one night when they’d been barely more than strangers, desperate to banish the terrors of the night with the heat of passion. Thinking about it now made Catherine flush, not with embarrassment at something so out of character for her, but with desire.

“What is it?” Rebecca asked quietly.

“Not anything I want to talk about just now.”

Rebecca laughed as she settled onto the sofa. “Later, then?”

“Most definitely later.” Catherine angled away from Rebecca so she could see her face and not be tempted to touch her. “Tell me what Henry wanted.”

“He laid out a new operation for us this morning. Starting tonight.”

Catherine drew a sharp breath. “What kind of operation?”

“Pretty much what we’re planning to do anyway, although on an accelerated schedule.” Rebecca hesitated.

“Don’t censor it, Rebecca.”

“The plan is a little more aggressive than I might like.”

“Define aggressive,” Catherine said carefully, locking down her emotional responses. Rebecca was here, sharing the kinds of things that were difficult for her to share, and Catherine needed to hear them, no matter how hard.

“Clark wants someone undercover. Mitchell.”

“Isn’t that what she’s been doing all along?” Catherine had the clearance to be informed of procedural details, because in her capacity as a consultant to the police department, she often spoke with officers and their supervisors about classified information. She’d participated in some of Rebecca’s recent investigations. She knew Dellon’s role.

“This time she’s going undercover with one of the Russian women who helped hold the girls captive.”

“Why?”

“We’re supposed to get a line on the local organized crime syndicate, and Mitchell is the one going inside.”

• 72 •

Justice for All

“Well.” Catherine gave a pensive sigh. “That’s definitely aggressive.”

“I can’t sit on the sidelines, Catherine. I’m sorry.”

“No, I don’t suppose you can.”

“I just came from Ali’s office. She said—”

“What happened?” Catherine’s heart raced. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I just wanted Ali to take a look at me so she could clear me.”

Catherine blinked. “You voluntarily went to see Ali for an examination?”

“Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” Rebecca shook her head. “Felt that way too.”

“What did she say?”

“She said I could work. And to be careful.”

Catherine moved closer on the sofa and laid her hand in the center of Rebecca’s chest. “I know you didn’t do it because you wanted permission.”

Rebecca laughed.

“Thank you,” Catherine whispered. She leaned closer and kissed Rebecca. “I know you must have hated that.”

“Not as much as I hate upsetting you.” Rebecca cradled Catherine’s head and kissed her back. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

“Don’t apologize. Just keep your promise to Ali and to me.”

Catherine closed her eyes. “Would you mind just staying here for a few more minutes?”

Rebecca rested her cheek against Catherine’s hair and held her tightly. “I’ll stay just as long as you want me to.”

v

“Hi, baby,” Sandy said as she breezed through the door of the two-room apartment. She dropped a shopping bag on the single chair, shed her jacket, and climbed onto the couch, pulling up her short skirt so she could straddle Dell’s lap. Then she wrapped her arms around Dell’s neck and kissed her, giving her a little bit of a lap dance while she dueled with her tongue. “Mmm, you taste good.”

• 73 •

RADclY fFe

Dell clasped Sandy’s ass in both hands. A little bit of something covered an inch or so of the space between Sandy’s legs, but Dell didn’t think a scrap of satin that small could really be called panties. Otherwise, despite the cold, Sandy’s legs were bare. Dell got a mental picture of the wet spot she bet Sandy was leaving on her fly and was instantly totally stoked. She skimmed the cleft between Sandy’s legs with her fingertips and Sandy moaned, tilting her hips just enough so Dell could tease her from behind. Dell flicked one finger over the firm knot poking up against the soft satin and Sandy bit down on her tongue.

“Ow!” Dell jerked her head back and laughed despite the fact she’d been worrying about seeing Sandy all afternoon. “Jesus, what have you been doing? You’re so hot you’re going to shoot off like a rocket.”

“I met Michael for lunch and we went shopping,” Sandy whispered, licking her way around Dell’s ear. “It was so much fun.”

Dell dropped her head back, her mind going fuzzy for a second.

“Shopping turned you on?”

Sandy bit her earlobe. “No, blockhead. I kept thinking about dressing up for you, and then I imagined you taking everything off me.

Then I got horny.”

“So you want to give me a show?”

“Uh-uh.” Sandy dived in for another kiss. “Later. Now I want you to make me come.”

Dell massaged Sandy’s ass some more, encouraging her to keep circling in her lap. She wished to hell she’d known Sandy was gonna come home like this, because she would’ve been more prepared for her.

“If you give me a minute, I can give you something to really ride on.”

“Just play with me like you were doing. All I need is a little bit.”

Sandy nibbled on Dell’s lower lip and rubbed her breasts back and forth over Dell’s chest. “Come on, baby.”

“Okay, babe.” Dell cupped one of Sandy’s small firm breasts and rubbed the tight peak through the thin cotton tank with her thumb.

She watched Sandy’s eyes until they clouded and her lips parted in a soft, surprised oh, and then she edged two fingers between Sandy’s legs from behind and circled her clit. Sandy shuddered and gripped Dell’s shoulders. Dell tried to make it last, because she loved to watch Sandy’s face get all dreamy and the little frown line form between her

• 74 •

Justice for All

eyes when she was getting ready to come, but Sandy was already there.

She gave one sharp cry and collapsed in Dell’s arms, her flesh pulsing sweetly beneath Dell’s palm.

“You’re so hot,” Dell whispered as she kissed Sandy’s neck.

“Mmm.” Sandy stretched and pulled one leg over Dell’s lap so she could curl up in her arms. She rested her head on Dell’s shoulder and rubbed Dell’s chest lazily. “You do me so nice.”

“Shopping, huh? We’re going to need bigger closets.”

Sandy circled Dell’s nipple with her fingernails, scratching lightly at the tight black T-shirt covering it. Dell took a sharp breath and Sandy smiled with satisfaction. “So I went to Michael’s office today. She said I could try the job for a little while. If I didn’t like it…” Sandy shrugged.

“No big deal.”

“Yeah?” The lump in Dell’s throat made her sound hoarse. Sandy’s teasing had her nerves jangling, but she wanted to talk. They needed to talk. “When are you going to start?”

“Monday, probably.” Sandy nibbled on the side of Dell’s neck.

“She said I don’t have to come in until ten in the morning.”

Dell’s brain was a little slow because most of her blood was hammering between her legs, but she finally put it together. She grasped Sandy’s hand and moved it away from her breast. “You’re going to try to do this job and still work for Frye? Why?” She couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice, and felt Sandy stiffen. “There’s no reason for you to be out on the streets anymore.”

“What did you expect?” Sandy sat up straight, her chin thrust out.

“Do you think I’m going to all of a sudden become someone else? Just because I’ve got some new clothes and a day job?”

“No, Jesus.” Dell clenched her hands by her sides as Sandy hopped off her lap and stalked across the room. “That’s not what I meant.”

Sandy picked up the bag of clothes, tossed it inside the tiny closet next to the door, and slammed it closed. Then she spun around, her arms folded beneath her breasts. “If you wanted a girlfriend you could take home to meet your family, you should have picked someone else.”

Dell jumped up. “I never said that, San.”

“Then why do you want me to take this job so much?”

“Because I want you to be safe,” Dell yelled. “Is that so hard to figure out?”

• 75 •

RADclY fFe

“Hey!” Sandy yelled back. “Get over yourself, rookie. I never asked you to worry about me. And I sure as hell never asked you to look out for me.”

Before Dell could say anything else, Sandy yanked open the door and stormed out. The walls rattled as the door crashed shut.

Dell yanked her hand through her hair. “What the fuck was that?”

v

Sloan ignored the muted whir of the hydraulics as the elevator ascended. A few seconds later, a faint whoosh indicated the doors had opened, but she kept on scanning the data scrolling on three screens.

The click of heels on hardwood floors pierced her concentration and she spun on her chair. Michael was smiling as she wound her way through the labyrinth of desks and equipment.

“Hey,” Sloan rose, “what are you doing here?”

“Looking for a dinner partner.”

“Really? A little early, isn’t it?”

Laughing, Michael propped her briefcase in front of the bank of computer monitors and laced her arms around Sloan’s neck. Then she kissed her. “It’s after seven, love.”

Sloan frowned. “It is?” She checked the room, realized she was alone, and vaguely remembered Jason saying he was leaving. Dell was gone too. Hours ago, now that she thought of it. “Am I late for something?”

“No, but we could be if you’re not all that hungry.” Michael traced the muscles in Sloan’s shoulders through the cotton shirt she wore. “I was going to suggest that we walk over to Old City and grab something for dinner, but if you have something else in mind…”

“I do now,” Sloan muttered, nipping at Michael’s lower lip before she kissed her more thoroughly. She was always ready for Michael.

“The team is going to get pretty busy pretty soon. Maybe we should have dinner. You can tell me what’s happening at the office.”

Michael leaned back in Sloan’s arms, smiling softly. “Now you want to talk about work?”

“I want to talk about you. What do you say?”

“I say I love you.” Michael grasped Sloan’s hand. “Let me take

• 76 •

Justice for All

you to dinner, and then we’ll come home and you can do unspeakably wonderful things to me.”

“I think I can handle that. I’ll just grab my jacket.” Sloan slid from Michael’s grip and started toward the conference room.

“Don’t forget the benefit this weekend,” Michael said casually. “If you’re not too busy, I’m counting on you to be my date.”

Sloan spun around. “What?”

Michael started, her expression confused. “I’m sure we talked about it. The Women’s Business Association is one of the sponsors for the mayor’s outreach program. There’s a fund-raiser this weekend?”

She frowned. “I know my memory’s still a little patchy, but—”

“You can’t go,” Sloan said flatly.

“I don’t understand.” Michael searched her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Sloan turned her back and started for the conference room again.

“Sloan,” Michael called after her. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you can’t go.” Sloan shoved open the conference room door and stormed inside. The room was dark and she didn’t bother to turn on the light. She grabbed the nearest chair, lifting it a few inches as she thought about throwing it somewhere. Anywhere. A red haze of anger blurred her vision and her ears rang as if someone had fired a round right next to her head.

“Darling,” Michael said from behind her.

“Don’t turn on the light,” Sloan said, afraid for Michael to see what was in her face. Fury and fear and foreboding. And a terrifying sense of impotence, as if things were spinning out of control and she was helpless to stop them.

“You’re starting to scare me.” Michael rested both hands gently on Sloan’s back. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Michael wrapped her arms around Sloan from behind, rubbing her palms over Sloan’s chest. Sloan’s body was so tight it felt as if she might snap like a high-tension wire breaking in the wind, lashing anything in its path. Michael might have been frightened if she hadn’t known with every fiber of her being that Sloan would never hurt her. She leaned her cheek against Sloan’s back. “I love you.”

“Then just trust me on this, Michael.”

• 77 •

RADclY fFe

“I do trust you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need to understand you.” Michael kissed the side of Sloan’s neck. “I have to go to this, darling. I’m giving one of the introductory speeches.”

“Get someone else to do it.”

“I can’t. I have a job, too, Sloan.”

“God damn it, Michael,” Sloan barked, spinning around, breaking Michael’s grip. “It’s just a job.”

Michael backed up, the light from the main room falling across her face, etching her shock in stark chiaroscuro. “Where is this coming from?”

Sloan knifed around her, not letting their bodies touch, and stalked out of the room. She picked up speed as she hit the elevator button.

What could she tell her? That she had an irrational fear that Michael would be drawn into the evil that was a daily part of her life, that the deadly depravity would find her, would take her. The roaring in her head made it impossible for her to think. Or to explain.

“Sloan,” Michael called, but the elevator doors had already closed behind her. Michael sagged against the table, trying desperately to understand what had just happened. Trying to dispel the cold, distant expression in Sloan’s eyes. Sloan had looked at her as if they were strangers.

Michael waited in the dark, praying for Sloan’s return. As the night and the aching silence stretched on, she finally went upstairs alone.

• 78 •

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ChAPTER SEvEN

Mitch sat alone at a table in the back of the darkened room, nursing a beer and watching the performance onstage at the Troc with only half a mind. Sandy hadn’t come home before he’d had to leave. He kept thinking of the new clothes abandoned on the floor of the closet, and wishing he’d had a chance to see Sandy model them.

Wishing he hadn’t pushed so hard, because he knew Sandy hated to be pushed. Sandy didn’t talk much about her life before the streets, but it didn’t take much imagination to figure out she’d been pushed around a lot when she was a kid. Why else would any teenager leave home to sleep in a flophouse and sell the only thing that belonged to them just to survive another day. Sandy was tough, she was smart, and she could take care of herself. Mitch knew it. He loved that about her.

“Fucking coward,” he muttered. Him, not Sandy. He was afraid he’d lose Sandy, just like he’d lost Robin. But he lost Robin because Robin had walked out. Robin had been ashamed of them. Mitch dropped his head back and closed his eyes. Yep, he’d blown it. One thing Sandy was not, was ashamed. Sandy had more pride than just about anybody Mitch knew. “Asshole.”

A firm hand clamped Mitch’s shoulder and a deep raspy voice said, “Talking to yourself, guy?”

“Not anymore.” Mitch rolled his head to the side and squinted up at the wiry figure looming over him. Even in the semi-gloom he recognized the sharply cut profile of Phil E. Pride, one of the members of the Front Street Kings drag troupe. Mitch checked the stage and realized the show was over. Man, he’d been drifting, which was not a

• 79 •

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good idea while he was working. He straightened in his seat and kicked out a chair. “Sit down. I’ll grab us a couple of fresh beers.”

“Thanks,” Phil said.

Mitch hustled to the bar tucked into one corner and snagged two drafts from the bartender just ahead of the crowd. Holding them high so they didn’t spill as he jostled his way back to the table, he reviewed his cover story in his head. Then he set the beers down and reclaimed his chair. While he’d been gone, Ken Dewar, the leader of the Kings, had joined Phil.

“Sorry, Kenny,” Mitch said to the flat-topped blond with the construction worker’s build. “I didn’t get you a brew.”

“No problem.” Ken swiped Phil’s glass and took a long pull.

“Solo tonight, Mitch?” Phil asked conversationally as he reached across the table and retrieved his beer from Ken.

“Yeah. I’m kind of in between girls, if you know what I mean. So I needed a little peace and quiet.” Mitch sipped his beer and cupped himself for a second to settle his dick more comfortably in his tight black jeans. Somehow the fullness in his palm and the pressure against his crotch felt reassuring. He knew these guys and he liked them, and they seemed to like him too. They never probed into what he did for a living, and he suspected they knew he was more than the bar back and occasional bouncer he let on. The deception bothered him, but he reminded himself that his secrecy was as much for their safety as for the success of his assignment. He knew nothing of their other lives either.

“In between?” Ken laughed. “You mean you’ve got two girls pissed at you instead of one?”

“Something like that,” Mitch said.

“So, uh, Sandy break up with you?” Phil asked.

Mitch tamped down the swift surge of jealousy, but it wasn’t easy.

Phil had made his appreciation of Sandy pretty clear when Mitch had introduced them. Since Mitch had been trying to get close to Irina, he’d been forced to let on he wasn’t super serious about Sandy. Considering new developments, he could hardly get territorial now. But Phil was a good-looking guy. Strong shoulders, trim waist, and a nice healthy bulge in his jeans. He was also way confident around women. A lot more confident than Mitch. “Sandy didn’t dump me yet. I’m hoping she’ll cool off and cut me some slack.”

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Justice for All

“Well, good luck on that.” Phil slapped Mitch’s back. “But if you need a little help keeping her entertained, you know who to call.”

“Sure, right,” Mitch said, forcing a grin. “Listen, I’m meeting Irina at Ziggie’s later, so in case anyone’s asking, you haven’t seen me.”

Ken let out a long whistle. “Man, you really do like to live dangerously.”

“What’s the point, otherwise?” Mitch drained his beer. “I thought I’d bring her around to the show on Saturday. Introduce her properly to you guys.”

“Sure. Always happy to meet a lady.” Phil eyed Mitch speculatively.

“If you need us for anything, just give us a call.”

“Sure, but everything’s cool.” Mitch rose. “I’ve got it all under control.”

As he headed for the door and his meeting with Irina, Mitch hoped to hell he was right.

v

Through the swirling haze of anger, Sloan recognized the dark expanse of water to her left and the twisting road in front of her. West River Drive. The road peeled away beneath her and she took the tight turns fast, leaning hard into the curves, her body knifing through the wind. She was on her motorcycle because Rebecca had borrowed her car earlier and hadn’t returned it yet. Sloan hadn’t given any thought to where she was going when she walked out on Michael. All she’d wanted was to outrun her rage before it spilled over on Michael and contaminated the only good thing in her life.

As the white lines flashed beneath her, the cold wind off the water bit at her face below the visor of her helmet and her mind started to clear. Her focus shifted once more to Avery Clark. It all came down to the feds, the same group that had turned on her. They’d put her in jail and years later, they were still manipulating her life. Only this time, Avery wanted her to risk something far more important than her life.

Michael.

She pulled into a turnoff that was empty save for one pickup truck at the far opposite end. Cutting the engine, she settled her feet on either side of her Harley and unzipped her jacket. Her body was hot and the cold air blowing off the water chilled the sweat against her skin. She

• 81 •

RADclY fFe

wasn’t afraid for herself. She wanted to get close to the men at the top.

She wanted the man who had ordered the execution of two cops, and who had sent someone to run her down in the street outside her own home. Except she hadn’t been the victim, Michael had.

The man responsible for that attack had to be out there, and there was no reason to think he wouldn’t try again. Nothing had changed. In fact, the closer the team got to exposing the criminal conspiracies, the more likely the men pulling the strings were to take drastic action. She wasn’t afraid on her own account. She’d spent enough time doing covert work in Southeast Asia to know how to protect herself. Professional assassins in that part of the world put American wiseguys to shame.

But Michael didn’t have that kind of skill, and Sloan didn’t know how to protect her.

Her options were few. She could quit the team—she wasn’t a cop or a federal agent anymore. But if she did, there was no guarantee the threat would disappear. She could find whoever had tried to kill her and force them to tell her who gave the order. She’d never been an assassin, but she would kill to protect Michael, and she knew it wouldn’t bother her.

v

When the buzzer rang, Michael jumped up from the sofa, excitement overriding her worry. Then disappointment struck her hard. It wouldn’t be Sloan. Taking a steadying breath, she checked the small monitor set into the wall beside the elevator. Then she flicked the intercom. Sandy’s voice greeted her.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you. I know it’s late. Is Dell there?”

“No. No one’s here. Want to come up?”

Sandy looked up and down the street, her uncertainty and unhappiness clear even in the small black-and-white image.

“I’m not having a very good night either,” Michael said. “You don’t have to talk about anything.”

“Okay. Sure. Why not.”

Michael disengaged the lock on the front door and watched the monitor until Sandy was inside. Then she went into the kitchen to make tea. A moment later, the tall double doors enclosing the elevator slid

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back almost soundlessly. She called over her shoulder, “Come on out to the kitchen. Are you hungry?”

“No,” Sandy said, climbing up onto one of the stools. “Mind if I have a beer instead of tea?”

“One of those nights, huh?”

Sandy snorted. “For sure.”

“So,” Michael said, joining her at the breakfast bar. She handed her a bottle of one of Sloan’s microbrews and set her own tea aside to cool. “Dell wasn’t happy about the job offer?”

“Oh, she was. She can’t wait to stick me behind a desk.”

Michael couldn’t help but smile, considering that was how she spent almost all her time. But she understood what Sandy meant. “A little overprotective?”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “Like working in an office is going to erase the last two years of my life.”

“Is that what you think she wants?” Michael asked quietly.

“Don’t you? After all, would you want a whore for a girlfriend?”

Michael cradled the steaming teacup while she give that some thought. “I would absolutely hate anyone to use someone I loved, physically or in any other way. I think I’d be jealous too. Of someone touching her, even though I know that’s not what it’s about. And of course, I’d be afraid of her being hurt.”

Sandy leaned her elbow on the smooth granite surface, cupped her chin in her hand, and stared at Michael. “What about being ashamed or grossed out. You left that part out.”

“If I loved someone the way I know Dell loves you, I wouldn’t feel that way about what she needed to do.”

“You know she went to West Point, right? That she’s really smart?

I mean, they’re all smart—even Watts.” Sandy sighed. “You didn’t meet her sister, Erica. She’s an uptight version of Dell, and she definitely didn’t think I was good enough for her.”

“I can’t see Dell caring.”

“She says she doesn’t. Now.”

“You know,” Michael said carefully, “you could get your GED if you wanted.”

“Maybe. Someday.” Sandy picked at the corner of the label on her beer bottle with her thumb. “I want to take the job you offered. I don’t

• 83 •

RADclY fFe

want Dell to support me, so I need to be able to make money without doing guys for it. Besides, I’m sick of faking it.”

“Good.”

“But I’m doing something important already. With Frye.” Sandy met Michael’s gaze. “What I do for Frye makes a difference, just like what Sloan and Dell and the rest of them are doing. I don’t want to stop, and Dell wants me to.”

“Aha.”

“Yeah.” Sandy looked around the loft. “Where is everybody?”

“I don’t know. Something’s happening, but I’m not sure what it is.” Michael sighed. “Sloan didn’t tell me, but from the way she’s wound up already, it’s something big.”

“Oh boy,” Sandy said.

“Yes.” Michael squeezed Sandy’s hand. “So, Monday at ten?”

Sandy finished her beer, slid down from the stool, and placed the empty bottle on the counter next to the sink. “Okay. You’ll be there, right?”

“I will. You’re welcome to stay here. I have a feeling Sloan won’t be back for a while.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll hit a few places before I head home. Look up some friends.”

Michael slid her arm around Sandy’s shoulder and walked her to the elevator. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

“Sure. I know what I’m doing.” Sandy kissed her on the cheek.

“No worries.”

For the second time that night, Michael listened to the elevator descend before turning back to her empty apartment.

v

“Yeah,” one of Gregor Zamora’s men said as he answered his cell, turning his wrist to check his watch at the same time.11:15. He’d been sitting in the same position behind the wheel in the cramped front seat of the Dodge sedan for so long his ass was numb.

“See the skinny little blonde headed away down the street?”

“The one that just came out of the building? Yeah, I see her.”

“Follow her.”

“You sure? I can’t see her being any kind of trouble.”

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Justice for All

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

The line went dead.

“Prick,” the man muttered as he pocketed his keys and slid out of the car. Fucking footwork. At least she had a nice ass, which he kept in his sights as he started after her.

v

“Funny how a slicked-back haircut and getting rid of the tits makes such a big difference,” Watts held forth between slurps of coffee.

“Hell, he even walks different than Mitchell. Must be the package he’s carrying between his legs.”

“Sure. That must be it.” Rebecca checked her rearview mirror, then scanned the street in front of them.

Ziggie’s was a strip joint in the middle of a block of abandoned factories, a darkened Mobil station on the corner, and very little in the way of foot traffic. They’d been in position for two hours, and during that time a dozen cars had parked, disgorging passengers, all men, who straggled alone or in groups into the club. The girls who danced in the dank, cavernous space or performed sexual favors in the airless rooms in the back would use the rear entrance. They hadn’t seen Irina.

“The boy better keep his head on straight,” Watts said.

“Mitch can handle it.” Rebecca knew Watts was partly concerned that Mitch would run into trouble and they’d be too far away to help, and partly jealous that Mitch was point man even though he was still green. But they couldn’t do anything to change either thing, so she focused on something they could affect. “If Clark’s people are here somewhere, I can’t see them.”

“Bet your ass they’re around somewhere,” Watts grunted, crushing the paper cup and dropping it on the floor between his legs. “Clark can pretend he doesn’t have enough manpower to run his own operation, but you can bet he’s got enough to fuck things up for us.”

Rebecca tended to agree. Clark’s modus operandi was to let her people do the dangerous or the boring work while he watched from a distance until something shook loose. Then all of a sudden he and his agents were right in the middle of it. She often wondered whether, if she had the power of his position, she would do the same. She didn’t like to think so.

• 85 •

RADclY fFe

“Let’s hope Irina shows, and that Clark is right about her,” Rebecca said.

“She could be playing him, you know,” Watts said. “Hell, if my choice was being shipped back to some gulag or pretending to work for the feds, I’d volunteer to rat out my fellow sleazeballs too. Doesn’t mean that once she’s out from under Clark’s thumb, she’s really going to do it.”

“I know.” Running a double agent was always a risk, because if they were informing on their one-time friends, they could just as easily turn the tables and betray you. If Irina was double-crossing them, she’d need information to convince the Zamoras and the Russians that she was still on their side. And she’d need to get that information from Mitch.

Rebecca didn’t see that they had any choice except to go forward and hope that Mitch would be able to tell if Irina was stringing him along.

As if reading Rebecca’s mind, Watts said, “I don’t mean to put the boy down, but you heard the two of them over the wire. She can seriously twist Mitch around.” He shifted his bulk and sighed. “She could definitely give me a little wood, and once that happens—”

“Not everyone’s brains are smaller than their dicks, Watts.”

Watts laughed. “Probably a good thing Mitch’s rod isn’t hardwired.”

Rebecca didn’t bother to explain how wrong he was about the way things really worked.

v

“Beer?” the bartender asked as Mitch slid onto a stool and dropped his motorcycle jacket onto the one next to him.

“Sounds good.” Mitch swiveled around to face the stage, putting his back to the bar and the husky blond bartender with muscles bulging beneath his tight white T-shirt. Like every other time he’d been here, a mostly naked girl gyrated in the center of the raised platform, one arm draped around a gleaming pole, her legs spread and her hips cocked, her pelvis an open invitation to the hulking figures lurking in the shadows.

He didn’t recognize her, but then the faces changed frequently in places like this. Women were used up quickly when they were bought and sold like commodities. This one, though, seemed too old to be one of

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Justice for All

the Russian girls smuggled in through the port. Mitch felt a flash of disappointment. Maybe the Russians had moved on.

“Here you go,” the bartender said, sliding a bottle in Mitch’s direction.

Mitch caught it and took a swallow. The cold rich flavor felt good in his parched throat. Nerves, he thought. As he took another deep slug, arms came around his waist from behind. He felt the pressure of full breasts against his back and warm breath wafted across his ear.

Fingernails played down his chest and over his abdomen.

“Hello, new boy,” Irina whispered, dropping her hand onto the inside of his thigh.

Swinging back around, Mitch parted his legs and pulled her in tight to his body. He kissed her, taking his time. She pressed slowly into his cock.

Mitch cupped her ass and leaned back with an easy smile. “Hello, baby.”

• 87 •

• 88 •

Justice for All

ChAPTER EIghT

Sandy walked east on Market Street, then cut over to Front Street and the footbridge that arched over the four lanes of Delaware Avenue. Once she reached the other side, there was nothing between her and the river except empty parking lots, darkened buildings, and the occasional attempt at a park meant to tempt tourists. At night, those isolated patches of grass served as sleeping grounds for the homeless.

She walked fast, her shoulders back, her eyes vigilant. The silent, shapeless forms of men and women huddled on the benches and in doorways did not frighten her. The men in cars who slowed to track alongside her as she walked did not frighten her either, but they were far more dangerous to her than the drunk and the disenfranchised. Their whispered calls formed a familiar litany.

“Hey baby, need a ride?”

“I’ve got something special for you, sweet thing. Come take a look.”

“Fifty bucks to suck my cock.”

Fifty dollars for ten minutes’ work, maybe less. Food money for a week. She could blank her mind for ten minutes, hell, she could be somewhere else in her head for a whole night if the price was right.

“Suck my cock. You know you want it.”

Sandy almost laughed as the car kept pace with her, the passenger window rolled down. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him leaning across the space between the front seats, steering with one hand while the other most likely worked his cock. You know you want it. She so didn’t want it. She didn’t have anything against cocks. She loved

• 89 •

RADclY fFe

Mitch’s. She loved to watch his eyes get all fierce and hot when she rode it, and she loved the way she felt connected to him all the way through when he was inside her. Yep. She liked cock just fine, as long as it was Mitch’s.

“You got to see my man about that,” Sandy called back, never breaking stride. The car zoomed off. Married guys from the suburbs always panicked at the mention of a pimp. An anonymous blow job in an alley was okay, but they didn’t want to be reminded of exactly what it was they were doing. Paying another man for a piece of a woman’s body.

Sandy angled across a parking lot lit sporadically by the few remaining lights that hadn’t been knocked out. The Blue Diamond was another strip club in a long line of sex clubs, and just as popular with women as men. In a lot of ways it was safer than some of the other clubs because men didn’t hit on the women in the audience as much. A girl like her could still turn a trick, but nobody would expect her to. And that was good. Because fifty bucks wasn’t worth getting on her knees for. Five hundred wasn’t even enough. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she might never have to do it again, but tonight she had a choice.

“Hey, hot stuff,” the Mini Cooper–sized bouncer at the door said, treating her to a thrust of his bulging crotch. “Look me up later and I’ll give you a present.”

“It’s not my birthday, but thanks,” Sandy said, breezing by him.

He always had a come-on line, but unlike some of the bouncers and bartenders, he didn’t bother the girls if they didn’t put out. She was pretty sure he was gay.

Inside, the place was indistinguishable from a dozen others like it—dark, crowded with tables, smelling of beer and smoke and sex. The namesake recessed blue lights shrouded everyone except the dancers in a ghostlike pallor. Three gleaming poles jutted from a stage set against the far wall, and a woman in white cowboy boots, a suede vest, and red tassels on her nipples slithered up and down the center one.

On her way to the bar, Sandy scanned the crowd. One of her friends, Lily Chou, was giving some guy a hand job under the table.

Sandy caught her eye and tilted her chin toward the far end of the bar.

Lily nodded, never slowing the steady up and down of her arm. Sandy hopped onto a stool, stretched a leg out across the stool next to her to save Lily a place, and waited for the bartender to make his way down.

• 90 •

Justice for All

The African-American’s head was huge, completely bald, and gleamed like polished wood beneath the blue lights. The massive muscles in his shoulders and arms strained his black T-shirt.

“What can I get you, honey,” he asked in a bored voice.

“Beer.” Sandy didn’t want it, but she needed the prop. After all, she was supposed to be working. When it came, she sipped at the tepid foam. God, the beer in these places sucked. She shifted her leg aside as Lily stepped in beside her. “How’s it going?”

“The same. You know.” Lily made a subtle jerk-off motion and dropped onto the adjacent stool.

Sandy smiled wryly. “Yeah, I know.”

“I heard you’ve got some new kind of action going on.”

Sandy’s pulse jumped. Frye was always careful not to be seen with her unless she made it look like she was rousting Sandy. Fuck, maybe someone had seen them in the diner the other night. She’d had her arm around Frye’s waist while they were walking down the street.

Hell, Frye had had her arm around her shoulders. Being cozy with a cop was not a good way to make friends around here. “What would that be?”

“Some pretty boy who rides a big bike?” Lily cocked her head.

“Maybe a boy with something a little different in his pants.”

Sandy shrugged. Not Frye, then. Mitch. “He’s fun to play with.

And he knows what to do with it, you know what I mean?”

“Hey, if it works, why not.” Lily laughed. “Does he have a friend?”

Sandy bumped Lily’s shoulder. “Three of them.”

“Maybe someday.”

“Let me know.”

“So what do you hear?” Lily asked.

That was just the question Sandy was hoping for. The fewer times she had to ask for news, the better. She looked around to be sure they wouldn’t be overheard, then leaned closer. “I heard some guys are looking for new talent. The party circuit, maybe films. You get anybody asking, I want in.”

“Funny,” Lily said. “That kind of action dried up earlier this year, but Julie told me last night a couple of guys were asking around for models. Stills, and maybe some videos. Said there might be other work soon too. Parties and like that.”

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RADclY fFe

“Damn, I could have used a little something extra.” Sandy signaled the bartender to get Lily a drink. “Did she say who the guys were?”

Lily shook her head. “Uh-uh. None of the regulars. They were talking up the girls at the Zodiac.”

“Oh well,” Sandy sighed, pretending to check out the room. “I ought to be able to score something here.”

“Don’t go in the back,” Lily said. “There’s a cop hanging around there somewhere. Getting a blow job, I think.”

Taking the easy excuse, Sandy stood up. “I don’t need any of that.

I’ll catch you later.” She started away, then turned back. “Listen. Tell the others to call me if those guys come around again.”

“Gotcha. Thanks for the beer,” Lily called after her.

Once outside, Sandy headed back the way she had come to catch the subway home. She heard footsteps keeping pace behind her, but she neither sped up nor slowed. At one in the morning the streets were nearly deserted. An occasional cab zoomed by, and now and then someone staggered out of a bar, but she was on her own.

She was used to that, but for the first time she realized she had someone who would care if she didn’t come home. She liked the feeling. A lot.

v

Talia sipped her pinot noir and watched numerals scroll on her computer screen. A fire burned in the marble fireplace across from her antique carved walnut desk. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined her study walls, the uppermost shelves accessible by a brass ladder rail that ran around three walls. Behind the double glass doors, first editions mingled with contemporary works. Opposite her desk, a matching 1930s art deco sofa and chair bordered the edge of a Persian wool rug.

The understated elegance of the room and the rich, warm atmosphere afforded by the rare books and furniture filled her with pleasure.

Taking another mouthful of wine, she let the velvety liquid play over her tongue, then tapped a few keys. She always worked better when her senses were sated, and the wine was very smooth, its fruitiness underpinned with just a hint of earth and wood. She studied the screen intently. Reconnaissance was one of her favorite parts of

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hacking into a remote system. Sending out probes and enumerating the OS parameters, generating port maps, looking for the forgotten opening—the chink in the armor, the way in. Cracking was very much like seducing a woman—teasing out her desires and her weaknesses and playing to them, until she invited you beyond her defenses. Those early encounters were so exciting that Talia rarely stayed beyond the moment of capitulation. Bedding a woman was certainly pleasurable, but far less rewarding than that explosive moment when the object of her campaign surrendered.

She smiled, thinking about Kratos Zamora and his persistent probing, his subtle forays into seducing her. He was an attractive man, a powerful one, and she enjoyed dominating powerful men almost as much as powerful women. But she didn’t trust him not to take a sexual encounter as a sign of weakness, and in her line of work, it was important never to appear weak. The weak were ultimately culled, and she had no intention of making herself vulnerable.

She sent another probe, not expecting instant results. She knew within moments of scanning the system that she wasn’t going to find something as simple as an open port or a weak password, so she didn’t even bother to try cracking JT Sloan’s authentication process by brute force. If she tried, the system log would undoubtedly trigger the activity, and for now, she preferred to remain anonymous. No system was unassailable, and eventually she’d find an insecure program to exploit or a way to write one to gain superuser status. Until then, she had other avenues to explore.

Leaning back in her Victorian leather desk chair, she regarded the image on the computer screen adjacent to the one still scrolling data.

She’d found the photograph in the archives of a tabloid newspaper and the picture was slightly out of focus, but the poor quality did nothing to detract from JT Sloan’s incredible charisma. Talia appreciated the jet black hair, slightly hooded deep-set eyes, and etched-in-marble features, but what ignited the excitement in the pit of her stomach was the wild ferocity in Sloan’s gaze. She’d been caught by a photographer as she climbed out of an ambulance, her hand clasping that of a woman on a stretcher. Captioned “Center City businesswoman victim of hit-and-run,” the brief article gave few details, but Talia didn’t need to see any more. It might take her some time to find the weakness in Sloan

• 93 •

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Security’s computer network, but she’d already found the woman’s personal Achilles’ heel. She wondered how much the information would be worth to Kratos.

v

Mitch couldn’t tell if anyone in Ziggie’s was watching them, but he had to assume they’d attracted the attention of the men who controlled Irina and her girls. Possibly the Russian handlers, possibly Zamora’s men. The Zamoras would never have let outsiders set up competition in their territory unless they had a piece of the action, and Mitch had to trace that connection. But for now, he just needed to convince anyone checking them out that he and Irina were an item.

Irina wasn’t as small as Sandy, but her hips fit easily between his thighs. He rolled her tight round ass beneath his palms, molding her pelvis to his. She wore satiny slacks that fit her like skin and he could almost feel her sex gliding over his cock as if there were nothing between them. She pressed her breasts into his chest and her mouth against his ear.

“You promised to fuck me, new boy. But you lied.”

For a second, Mitch wasn’t certain Irina understood that he was a cop and had been acting last time. Then she reached between them, gripped his cock, and worked it around hard between his legs. Caught off guard, he groaned at the firestorm she started in his belly.

“I won’t forget,” she whispered.

“Sorry,” Mitch gasped.

She leaned back, relaxing her grip, and kissed him again. When she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, she bit down hard enough to make him wince. The pain quickly morphed into another jolt of pleasure and he struggled not to jerk back. Her kiss was brutal and arousing. Through half-closed lids, he saw the bartender watching them. He skimmed his fingers over the outer curve of Irina’s breast.

Her blouse vee’d deeply between her unfettered breasts and his thumb brushed her nipple. It was hard.

“Mmm,” Irina murmured, finally drawing away. Still firmly wedged between Mitch’s legs, she looked over Mitch’s shoulder with a seductive smile.

“Hello, Max.”

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Justice for All

“Not working tonight?” the bartender asked, leaning on his outstretched arms as he stared.

Irina caressed Mitch’s cheek. “A little of both.”

“Huh,” the bartender grunted. “Where’s Olik?”

“I don’t know,” Irina answered, “I thought he would be here.”

“Haven’t seen him for a couple of days.”

His tone was as flat and unreadable as his smooth, solid features.

The conversation quickly put out the tension blazing in Mitch’s hard-on, and he was grateful for that. He didn’t need the distraction. He needed to get a handle on Irina’s game. He didn’t know the players, and he had to find out fast. The bartender seemed to be probing for information. Obviously, no one trusted anyone else, and neither Irina nor the bartender was giving anything away.

“Tell him to call me.” Irina stepped back from Mitch and gripped his hand. “Come on, new boy. You promised me a good time.”

“What’s your number,” the bartender called after her. “If he comes in.”

Irina looked back. “Olik knows.”

“So what if he forgot?”

“Then I’ll be here tomorrow night.”

Mitch dug a five out of his pocket and tossed it on the bar. His knuckles brushed along the length of his cock, and the feeling was both foreign and grounding. Irina was either a natural-born actress, or completely fearless. His stomach roiled, but he’d be damned if he’d let on how nervous he was. He slung his arm around Irina’s shoulders.

“My bike’s out back.”

As she led him down the narrow hall toward the rear exit, he heard the sounds of frantic sex in the shadowed alcoves along the way. He and Irina had come close to having sex back here one night. She’d done things to him that he didn’t mean to let happen and that had twisted his head around until Sandy straightened him out as only Sandy could. His thoughts cleared as he thought about her. Sandy kept him steady.

Irina pushed through the fire door and he followed her quickly out into the alley. He’d left his Ducati against the wall at the far end.

Otherwise, the area was deserted save for a few rats scurrying from the shaft of light that had cut through the shadows from the open door.

He glanced at Irina. “Are you—”

She slapped him across the face so hard his head rocked back

• 95 •

RADclY fFe

and his lip tore open against the edge of a tooth. He tasted blood and braced himself for the next blow. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been beaten in an alley. The last time he’d been trying to prevent a john from roughing up Sandy. He’d won the fight then, but he wasn’t about to hit Irina.

“That’s for making me want you,” Irina snapped.

“Like I said,” Mitch replied evenly. “Sorry.”

“Let’s go,” Irina said. “This place stinks almost as bad as the jail.”

“Where are we going?”

“My place. I want clothes.”

Mitch rubbed his jaw and felt a bruise rising. He couldn’t think of a reason not to go back to Irina’s house. If the Russians were watching, they’d see them together, which was just what he wanted. He didn’t have a way to signal Frye and Watts about the plan, but in this kind of job, he was going to be on his own a lot. He was okay with that.

“Did anyone come with you?” he asked.

“No,” Irina said sharply. “Some men dropped me off and said you would be here.” She stopped by the side of his bike. The light from the street highlighted her face. Her expression was hard and cold. “They explained to me what would happen if I didn’t do as they say.”

“What did they tell you to do?”

“Anything I had to do to find out what they wanted to know.” She looked him up and down. “Including fucking you.”

“You’re not going to have to do that.”

Mitch straddled the bike and handed her a helmet. She put it on and climbed on behind him. Then she wrapped her arms around his waist and slid her fingers underneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Maybe I will anyhow.”

v

“Aw, for fuck’s sake.” Watts jerked upright in his seat as the Ducati roared around the corner and headed in the opposite direction toward North Philadelphia. “There he goes.”

Rebecca didn’t bother answering. She cranked the starter and made a quick U-turn to follow Mitch. Since this part of town was fairly

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Justice for All

deserted midweek in the middle of the night, she had to hang back without other traffic to use as cover.

“Keep an eye out for anyone else following him,” she said.

Watts divided his attention between the side mirror and squinting into the distance at the single red taillight. “You think Clark has a tail on them too?”

Rebecca grunted. “Don’t you?”

“Christ almighty, it’s a fucking daisy chain. With this many people trailing along after him, the boy’s cover’s gonna get blown.”

“Maybe Clark really is stretched thin,” Rebecca said. “Maybe the feds really don’t have the manpower for street-level surveillance.”

“Maybe. And maybe my dick’s got two heads too.”

“That is not an image I want stuck in my brain, Watts.” Rebecca cut over one block and turned left. Then she sped up, running parallel to the street Mitch and Irina had taken.

“Jesus, Loo! We’re going to lose him if he jumps onto 95.”

“Your concern for Mitch is starting to worry me, Watts. Something you want to tell me?”

“Yeah, I’ve suddenly developed the urge to suck salami. He’s still green, that’s all.”

Rebecca cut back toward Mitch’s street and as they crossed the intersection, she caught a glimpse of Mitch’s taillights two blocks north of them. She kept going another block, turned right, and paralleled him again. “I know he’s green, but he’s good. And I know where he’s going.”

• 97 •

• 98 •

Justice for All

ChAPTER NINE

Sloan pulled into the garage, cut the engine, and sat astride her bike, wondering how she had come to be sitting alone in the dark while the woman she loved waited four floors above, feeling four thousand miles away. She’d moved from the clandestine streets of Southeast Asia to the pristine corridors of DC, and when forced from government service had convinced herself that work in the private sector was satisfying. At times, it was. And in addition to being very lucrative, private contracts had brought her Michael. But she never felt the thrill of hunting a white-collar criminal the way she did when she knew her work would rid the world of someone truly evil. She had felt that way since working with Frye and her team, but Michael had paid the price for her ego gratification.

Sloan figured she’d been selfish long enough. She swung her leg over her bike and strode to the elevator. After punching in the code, she let her mind go blank. She had nothing left to think about. A few moments later, the elevator opened and she stepped into the loft. A fire had burned down to embers, and in the dying glow she saw Michael curled in a corner of the large sofa. She wore dark, loose cotton pants and a long-sleeved scoopneck top. Her legs were drawn beneath her and her arms wrapped around her slim torso. She looked cold, and Sloan felt a surge of self-loathing. She stripped off her leather jacket and tossed it onto a heavy wood frame chair on her way into the sitting area.

“Did you have dinner?” Michael asked.

“No.” Sloan detoured to add more logs to the fire before settling

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onto the sofa next to Michael. The six inches of space between their bodies felt like miles. “I’m okay.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

Michael’s tone was not accusatory, but Sloan ached at the undeniable sadness. She took Michael’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, exactly?”

Sloan tried to find an answer that would be the truth. “I lost my temper and I took it out on you. That’s unforgivable, but I hope you’ll forgive me anyhow.”

Michael laughed softly, but the sadness was still there. “You have always been so charming. I’ve never been able to resist you.”

“Bad thing? Good thing?”

“Our thing.” Michael traced the tight tendons in the back of Sloan’s hand with her fingertips. “I know I’m not capable of doing a lot of the things that you do. I wouldn’t really want to. I’m not interested in learning to shoot a gun. I’m probably a coward at heart—” When Sloan started to object, Michael shushed her. “I don’t enjoy physical confrontation. I live inside my head, and you—God, one of the things I love about you is how physical you are. I love how I know what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, when you touch me.” Michael’s voice trembled. “So when you leave me like you did tonight, I feel lost.”

Sloan pulled Michael into her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Why don’t you want me to go to this fund-raiser? Catherine and Rebecca are going.”

“Rebecca and I will be working,” Sloan said.

Michael settled her head on Sloan’s shoulder and looped an arm around her waist, trying to decipher the message. Sloan didn’t want to tell her something, and whatever that was, she seemed tormented by it.

“You think there’s danger, and you don’t want me there.”

“I don’t know. Possibly. Probably.” Sloan stroked Michael’s shoulder. She didn’t know her enemy’s face, she didn’t know how to stand between Michael and harm, and that was driving her crazy.

“It’s a public function,” Michael pointed out gently. “I’ll be arriving with you and leaving with you. And the entire time I’m there, I’ll be surrounded by police officers and businessmen and women.

What could happen?”

• 100 •

Justice for All

“I don’t know,” Sloan whispered.

“I’m all right now, Sloan. I feel better every day. I’m not going to get hurt again. I’m fine.” Michael straightened and took both of Sloan’s hands in hers. “What I need is you by my side, loving me. If you do that, that will be enough.”

“Okay,” Sloan said softly, rising to walk with Michael to the bedroom, all the while knowing she had lied.

v

Sandy didn’t see Dell’s bike in front of their apartment building.

She pulled the front door key from one of the many zippered pockets on her fake red leather jacket as she climbed the stoop, her stomach sinking. She’d stormed out in a huff and now Dell wasn’t home. Crap.

Dell was probably mad. Well, so was she. Sort of. A little bit. And she hated the disappointment that choked her when she let herself into the dark apartment. She already knew Dell wasn’t there, so why did that make her feel bad, anyhow? It’s not like she needed her around all the time. They both had their own stuff to do. Just because they slept together most every night, it wasn’t like they were really living together.

Dell still had her expensive fancy condo in Center City, although come to think of it, Sandy couldn’t remember the last time Dell had been there.

After switching on the light, she stripped on her way to the bathroom. She showered and washed the smoke out of her hair, then fished a ratty T-shirt of Dell’s she slept in out of the laundry basket. She couldn’t find a clean pair of sweatpants so she checked in Dell’s half of the dresser. The first drawer she pulled open was empty. She stared at it for a long moment, the sick feeling in her stomach growing. She’d finally pissed Dell off so much she’d left. Got sick of her running the streets, mouthing off, going her own way. What did you think? That she was going to stay forever? Grow up.

Sandy’s hands shook when she pulled open the next drawer. Her knees almost gave out when she saw Dell’s T-shirts and underwear neatly folded and stacked. Turning quickly, she raced to the single narrow closet and pulled it open. A few hangers were empty, but most of the stuff Dell had brought over from her condo was still there.

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Relief left her shakier than the terror had. Tears filled her eyes and she headed for the kitchen to find a beer. A folded piece of paper sat beneath the salt shaker on the counter next to the refrigerator. Sandy stared at it as if it were a dead mouse. No way. She wasn’t touching it. Instead, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Black and Tan. She popped the top and took a long swallow while eyeing the paper. Get a grip. Geez, what a coward.

After another deep swallow, she plonked the can on the counter, knocked the plastic shaker aside, and snatched up the note. The message was short, but after reading it three times, she still couldn’t figure out what it meant.

Babe. I’m working and I might not be back tonight. I might not be back for a couple of nights. Don’t worry. If you see me anywhere, especially in the building, pretend you don’t know me. I love you, babe. D.

“Pretend you don’t know me?” Sandy shook her head angrily.

“What the fuck, Dell.”

Pissed again, but finally feeling like she might not throw up, she settled onto the sofa bed to wait.

v

Mitch pulled his motorcycle along a wooden fence behind a block of row houses in North Philadelphia. It wasn’t the kind of area where anyone, even the inhabitants, walked around unarmed after dark. Many of the houses were boarded up or had been claimed by crack addicts, drug pushers, and squatters. The Russians had kept Irina and her charges in a house in the middle of the block. No lights shone from the building now, and as Mitch and Irina crossed the cracked cement patio toward the back door, he could see that most of the windows on the first floor were broken out. Those along with the door had been hastily boarded up. “Let me go first.” Mitch leaned down and pulled a Beretta .25 from his ankle holster. “A place like this is a blinking red sign for vandals and looters. We might find company inside.”

• 102 •

Justice for All

“Wait,” Irina whispered.

Mitch watched wordlessly as she ran deftly across the debris-strewn yard. Then he couldn’t see her, but he heard stones scraping. A minute later she was back at his side, a Glock in her hand.

“Christ,” he muttered. Whoever had searched the place after the raid hadn’t done a very good job. “Any more surprises inside?”

“If I told you,” Irina said, “they wouldn’t be surprises.”

Mitch grabbed her arm. “You can’t shoot anyone. If you do, you’ll end up back behind bars again.”

“I’m not going back,” Irina said with finality. “Come on.”

By unspoken agreement they avoided the door. If anyone was inside, they’d probably be smart enough to rig the door with some kind of alarm, even if it was just a row of cans strategically placed on the floor. Keeping to the shadows, Mitch skirted around to the left side of the house, keeping Irina in sight, just ahead of him. Her bedroom window was still intact.

“Let’s forget this,” Mitch said. “We can get you some more clothes tomorrow.”

“Give me a boost up. The latch is loose on purpose.”

Mitch cupped his hands and sure enough, after a minute, he heard the window slide up and Irina shimmied inside. He jumped to grasp the lower windowsill, dug his toes into the soft wood wall, and clawed his way after her. Inside, the air smelled like cordite and blood. He remembered how his own blood had smelled pooling beneath his body not that long ago. With his body too weak to move and the knife jutting from his thigh, he’d wondered if he was about to die. And then Frye had leaned over him. She’d been the one to take the knife out, to stop the bleeding, to tell him he would be all right. He’d believed her.

“Bastards,” Irina cursed. The closet door was standing open—

hangers in a jumble on the floor, and the single dresser was upended.

The drawers had been tossed into a corner and their contents strewn around the room. The mattress lay half off the bed, its stuffing erupting from a long rent down the center. Police, probably.

“Let’s make it fast.” Mitch moved to stand by the left side of the door.

If anyone tried to come in, he would be able to swing into the open doorway and take them out by cracking them on the head with his

• 103 •

RADclY fFe

gun. He didn’t want to have to shoot anyone. If anyone was inside, it wouldn’t be cops. Not enough manpower to continue a stakeout. Still, he didn’t want to shoot a drugged-out teenager or a drunken prostitute.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Irina pawing through the mess on the floor. She quickly jammed items into a small bag she’d dug out from underneath the corner of the mattress. Then she hurried to the closet and stepped inside. A thud sounded on the ceiling upstairs, and Mitch tensed. They weren’t alone. When he heard footsteps shuffle over his head, he abandoned the door and jumped across the small room to the closet.

“We have to go,” he whispered urgently, wondering what she was so eager to find. He reached inside, grabbed her arm, and yanked her out. “Now.”

She jerked her arm free. “One minute.” She fumbled around the floor and came up with what looked like a knee-high leather boot.

“You’ve got be kidding me,” Mitch cursed. “What is it with girls and their shoes. Jesus.”

“Here.” Irina thrust the bottom of the boot toward him. “Hold the heel.”

Deciding that agreeing with her was likely to get them out of the room faster than anything else, Mitch grabbed the four-inch stiletto and held on tight as Irina clutched the shoe and yanked hard. The heel broke off in his hand. Irina tugged at the sole and it stripped away from the bottom of the shoe. She pulled several items from inside, shoved them into her bag, and ran to the window. She looked back, her face framed in moonlight. “Are you coming, new boy?”

Then she disappeared.

Mitch dropped through the window and onto the ground, half expecting her to be gone. But she was crouched by the gate, waiting, and in another minute they were racing down the alley to his motorcycle.

Mitch straddled the big bike and Irina jumped on behind him. They jammed helmets on and he wheeled the bike out into the street before starting the motor. If anyone in the house heard them, it would be too late to catch up with them now.

He drove fast through the empty streets until the lights of Center City appeared, and then he pulled over. He yanked off his helmet and angled around in his seat so he could see Irina. “What was that all about? And don’t tell me just clothes.”

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Justice for All

Irina smiled, her eyes gleaming in the lights from a nearby gas station. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because…” Mitch hesitated. He was about to say because he was a cop. One of the good guys. But he realized that would be a tough sell to Irina. He didn’t think she was innocent in the prostitution and porn operation. Maybe Clark was right and she hadn’t had a lot of choices, but she’d still kept those girls practically prisoners, and had sold them to the men who used their bodies like so much merchandise. “Because if you don’t work with me, you’re not going to find your sister.”

“What do you know about my sister?”

“Not enough, unless you tell me. But I’ve got a lot better chance of finding her than you do on your own.”

“They promised us a new life,” Irina said bitterly. “We would be models and hotel managers and hostesses in fancy restaurants. We would have clothes and a house with heat in the winter and running water all year round.” She shook her head. “Instead they made us slaves. Worse than slaves.”

“Who, Irina? Who?”

“I don’t know. Men from our village drove us all night to the seaport. They kept us in rooms, brought us food, told us we must stay inside or we would not be able to leave when the boat came. Then there were other men who took us from the docks here and brought us to these houses. These prisons. I don’t know who they are.”

“Okay,” Mitch said softly. “We’ll find out. And we’ll find your sister.”

“You think your American police care about women like me?”

Irina scoffed.

Mitch thought of her lieutenant and the others on her team, and the blood they’d already shed. “Yes. I do.”

“You are a fool, new boy.”

“Come on, it’s time to get some sleep. Then we’ll talk about your sister.”

When Mitch pulled back into the street, Irina put her arms around his waist and nestled her face between his shoulder blades. Sandy did that when she rode behind him. He missed her. He missed her a lot.

• 105 •

• 106 •

Justice for All

ChAPTER TEN

Seeing as how you’re still on the sick list,” Watts said, his words sounding as if he were pushing them through a meat grinder,

“I’ll be the one to kick his ass.”

Two blocks ahead, Mitch turned onto Bainbridge.

Rebecca pulled the car over abruptly. “He’s taking her to his apartment. At least that’s according to plan.”