Justice In The Shadows

Justice in the Shadows

In a shadow world of secrets, lies, and hidden agendas, Detective Sergeant Rebecca Frye and her lover, Dr. Catherine Rawlings, join forces once again in the elusive search for justice.

Rebecca is aided in her struggle to uncover a pornography ring and expose its connections to a traitor within the police department by a rag-tag team of dedicated cops and civilians: JT Sloan, a cybersleuth who is committed to avenging her lover’s devastating injury and walks the fine line between justice and revenge; Dellon Mitchell, a young police officer who discovers an unforeseen talent for undercover work; and Sandy, a prostitute who develops an unexpected passion for cops. Ultimately, this secret investigation may risk not just their careers, but may cost one of them their life.

CHAPTER ONE

Dr. Catherine Rawlings awoke, naked, her cheek against her lover’s shoulder. They’d slept with the window open in the bedroom of her first floor apartment, and a faint breeze ruffled the curtains at the window. It was dark. Five am?

Soon the alarm would go off and another day would begin, but it was all that remained unfinished that haunted her. Her last conversation with her police detective lover just before they’d fallen into bed, physically exhausted and emotionally numb, came back to her.

“What’s going to happen now?”

“I’ll be back on regular duty in a day or so, and I’ll have new cases to worry about.” Rebecca rested her cheek against Catherine’s hair and closed her eyes. “It happens like this in police work. You work your ass off and then you can’t make the case because of a technicality, or you do make the case, but the perp plea-bargains it down to nothing.”

“So you’re letting this go?” Catherine asked, surprised.

Faintly, Rebecca shook her head. “Clark will pull the plug on this task force—he’s probably already made the call. But I’ll keep doing what I’m trained to do until we make this right—for Jeff, for Michael, for those young kids.”

Jeff Cruz had been Rebecca’s partner in the Special Crimes Unit of the Philadelphia Police Department until he and another cop had been murdered three months ago. Their killer was still at large, their murders unsolved. Michael Lassiter had been struck down only hours before by a hit and run driver in a thwarted attempt to kill J.T. Sloan, her lover and the civilian computer consultant on the task force. She lay in the intensive care unit at University Hospital in critical condition. Jeff, Michael, those nameless teenagers—victims all.

“I’ll keep doing what I’m trained to do until we make this right…”

Make it right. That’s what her lover did. Catherine shivered and pressed closer.

“Catherine?” Detective Sergeant Rebecca Frye kissed the top of Catherine’s head, one hand drifting up and down her arm in a slow caress. “What’s bothering you?”

“I am so angry about Michael being hurt, and Sloan suffering, and Jason putting his life on the line. And you—working around the clock when you’re barely out of the hospital. It’s just so…unjust.”

Encircling Catherine with an arm, Rebecca rested her chin atop Catherine’s head and mused out loud. “I know Avery Clark and his whole Justice task force ties in somehow with Jeff Cruz and Jimmy Hogan being assassinated. That can’t be a coincidence. Clark might think he can just pull the plug on this operation and we’ll take it lying down, but he’s wrong.”

Catherine’s heart thudded painfully. “What are you going to do?”

“Just dig around a bit.” Rebecca was evasive, both out of habit and out of a desire not to alarm Catherine. “I know Sloan won’t walk away from what happened to Michael, and I’d rather keep her busy doing computer checks for me than worry that she’s running around grabbing people by the throat.”

“She’s in agony, Rebecca. She feels guilty for what happened and she’s terrified of losing her lover. Until Michael recovers, she’s going to be very volatile.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Rebecca promised.

Catherine merely smiled. As if anyone could control Sloan.

“What are you doing today?” Rebecca asked lazily, turning to stretch against Catherine’s body, running both hands up and down her lover’s back. “Hmm?”

“Back to routine.” Catherine’s voice was husky and slow. She rested a hand against Rebecca’s chest, rubbed her thumb across a nipple. She smiled when Rebecca gasped. “Rounds in the morning, clinic…ahh…in the afternoon. I thought…that’s nice…I’d stop to see…” Catherine tilted her head back, her eyes hazy. “Unless you intend to make good on what you’ve started, Detective—”

Rebecca grinned and slid one hand between them, cradling Catherine’s breast as she rocked her leg a little higher. “I do.”

“Oh, thank god.” Catherine felt Rebecca’s mouth on her neck, felt teeth against her skin, and felt herself grow heavy and wet. “When you touch me…” She lost her thought as fingers closed around her nipple, sending streams of pleasure streaking along her nerve fibers. Her stomach clenched with excitement.

“What?” Rebecca squeezed the hard nub, twisting very gently, her head suddenly light at the sound of a quiet whimper. “When I touch you…what?”

Catherine found Rebecca’s eyes, tried to focus on them through the haze of desire, needing something to keep her from surrendering to passion too soon. “You make me…forget…everything. Oh God…stop for a…second.”

“Too much?” Rebecca murmured, easing her grip on the tense nipple.

“Too good. You’ll make me come.”

“Didn’t you just say…” Rebecca’s eyes widened as fingers stole between her thighs, sliding unerringly around the hard ache of her own desire. She felt a tug along her length and her whole body twitched. “Ohh…Jesus, don’t do that unless you want me to go off right away.”

“Not right away.” Catherine stroked her lightly. “But soon.”

Rebecca’s brain was already swimming. She drew her fingers down Catherine’s abdomen, laced them through the silken hair between her legs, glanced gently over her clitoris. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Kiss me while you make me come,” Catherine breathed against Rebecca’s mouth.

Only blocks away, a dark-haired woman with violet eyes sat beside a still figure in a room illuminated by the otherworldly glow of machines that monitored the fragile essence of her lover’s life in impersonal readouts and muted sounds. Hunched forward, elbows on her knees, unaware of the cramps in her shoulders and thighs, Sloan held Michael Lassiter’s hand tenderly in both of hers. Slowly, carefully, she turned the heavy platinum wedding band on Michael’s finger, the mate to her own, and watched with desperate intensity the pale eyelids below delicate brows for signs of awakening. The nurses had washed the blood from her rich blond hair, but Sloan could see it still. See it on her face, in her hair, pooling in the street below her head as she lay so still in the road.

There’s some swelling in the brain. She could wake up in an hour, or a day, or a week. They didn’t say, she may never wake up at all, but that was all that Sloan could hear.

“Michael,” Sloan whispered, tears streaking her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry.”

Six am. Quitting time.

Sandy leaned back in a booth in an all-night diner on the corner of Twelfth and Locust and sighed. All the other girls had gone home, but she’d stayed just a little longer.

Stupid. She’s not coming.

It had been a long night and not a particularly profitable one. If she wanted to make the rent, she’d need to do more than the hand action and the occasional blow jobs in dark alleys. She’d have to fuck for it. And she hadn’t been.

Not since the night she saw Anna Marie lying naked on a dirty mattress in a filthy hotel, looking so frail and helpless. Looking so pathetic, and so very dead. She had looked at Anna Marie, and she’d seen herself. She wasn’t particularly afraid of dying. There were worse things than that. But she hadn’t run away from one kind of hell just to end up another kind of victim.

“Hey.”

Sandy looked up into Dell’s blue eyes, remembering the night the young cop had put her life on the line for her. “Hi, rookie. You look like shit.”

Dellon Mitchell managed a smile, but her eyes were dull with fatigue. “You eat already?”

“Just about to,” Sandy lied, because she wanted an excuse to stay. “You buying?”

“Sure.” Mitchell grinned for real this time. “You order for us, okay?”

Reassured, Sandy cocked an eyebrow. “What’s with you, anyhow? Something happen?”

“Just a bad night.”

“Did you guys go after those Internet pervs?”

Mitchell nodded.

“You get ‘em?”

“We got the guy we wanted.” Mitchell’s voice was harsh with anger. “But the fucking Feds took him right out from under us. We came away empty.”

“That sucks,” Sandy said vehemently. “So you still don’t know where they’re filming the skin flicks or where they’re getting those kids?”

“Nope.” Mitchell tapped her fork on the tabletop despondently. “And now I’m probably gonna get pulled back to a desk somewhere.”

“So what now?” Sandy searched Dell’s blue eyes, looking for truth and afraid she’d find what she was hoping for. More afraid that she wouldn’t.

Mitchell’s gaze softened, and she almost reached out to touch her. “We have breakfast, then I walk you home. Sound okay?”

Sandy’s throat felt oddly tight. “Sure, why not.”

Forty-five minutes later they stood in front of a row house south of Bainbridge where Sandy had a small studio apartment.

“So I’ll see you later,” Mitchell said, making no move to leave. She leaned against the rickety wood railing on the small stoop while Sandy pulled a key from the impossibly tiny purse that hung on a long chain around her neck. Her scooped-neck cotton top was too thin and too tight, designed to show off her breasts, and Mitchell noticed.

Sandy looked up and caught Dell’s gaze moving over her. Men stared at her body all the time, sometimes with fever in their eyes, and their looks left her cold. The warmth in Dell’s eyes made her blush. “If they’re gonna stick you on a desk somewhere, I guess maybe I won’t be seeing you.”

Mitchell shook her head, her stomach suddenly tight. “That doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere no matter where they bury me.”

For the first time, Sandy realized just how bad things were for the rookie, because of her. Quickly, unthinkingly, she stepped across the small space and rested her fingers on Mitchell’s cheek. “I’m really sorry.”

Surprised, Mitchell straightened, her chest brushing Sandy’s. “Not your fault. I meant it when I said I’d do it again.”

Sandy’s nipples contracted swiftly at the touch of Dell’s shirt against her chest. Startled, she dropped her hand and backed up, wondering if Dell had felt it. “Nobody asked you to.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mitchell grinned. “I gotta go. I’ll see you.”

“Whatever,” Sandy replied. But she remained in the doorway watching until Dell was out of sight, her body still humming.

CHAPTER TWO

At precisely seven-thirty, Catherine opened her inner office door to the waiting room and motioned for her first patient to enter. Officer Dellon Mitchell was still in the clothes she had worn the night before during the task force raid.

“Haven’t you been to bed?”

“Watts and I had a lot of paperwork to do. By the time we cleaned that up it was late…early…uh, today already.”

“We can reschedule if you—”

“No.” Mitchell made an effort to sit up straighter and tried to clear the cloud of exhaustion from her brain. “I need to get this done. With the task force dead, I’m going to be reassigned.” She grimaced. “And I want to get back to the street. If I have this thing hanging over my head, they’ll bury me somewhere.”

“Have you talked to Rebecca?”

“About what?” Mitchell looked confused.

“Maybe she can help you with this situation.”

Mitchell stared at her, then laughed shortly. “It doesn’t work that way, Dr. Rawlings. You don’t take your troubles to anyone, especially not a detective like Frye.”

“Who do you talk to then? Friends? A lover?”

Mitchell hesitated. “Does this have something to do with my evaluation?”

“No. This just has to do with you.”

A muscle in Mitchell’s jaw twitched and she clamped her teeth down to stop it. She thought about the late night conversations beneath dim streetlights and the early morning breakfasts. She thought about the dark alley and the hulking stranger. “I have a friend.”

Catherine waited.

“The woman I told you about…the woman who was in the alley that night. We talk sometimes.”

“What’s her name?”

“Sandy.” Mitchell smiled faintly. Her eyes met Catherine’s. “I met her on the job a while back and then I’d see her in my sector. She’s a prostitute.”

Catherine remembered what Dellon had told her about coming upon the woman being assaulted in the alley. He had one hand around her throat and the other under her skirt. Her thighs were bare, pale, ghostly in the moonlight. I saw her face for the first time then. There was blood on her face…She had been screaming before—shouting, I think—for him to stop. Now she was…whimpering. I was afraid he was going to kill her. “And does that worry you?”

Mitchell met her gaze. “Yeah.” She paused. “All the time.”

“Have you told her that?”

“Hell no.” Mitchell smiled. “She’d tell me to take a walk and not come back.”

“She sounds pretty independent,” Catherine observed, noting the tension ease from the tight body and taut features the longer Dellon spoke of her friend. More than friendship?

“Hard-headed and short-tempered.” Mitchell’s voice had softened.

“We’re about out of time, Officer. Do you—”

“Could you call me Dell?”

Surprised, Catherine nodded. “Of course. Dell, what are your plans for further sessions?”

“Do I have to say right now?” She hadn’t wanted to come, had only done it because she’d been forced to. Now…

Catherine’s eyes were gentle. “Come back any time, Dell.”

Across town, Rebecca walked into the squad room on the third floor of the eighteenth precinct and threaded her way through the maze of crowded metal desks and haphazardly placed chair toward her desk in the far left corner. She slowed as she approached, an eyebrow cocked in surprise. “What’s with the new suit?”

He looked down, then met her gaze. “I got two.”

“Uh-huh.” She picked up a stack of folders, glanced at them, and tossed them aside. She wasn’t interested in cold cases, or new ones for that matter. She was interested in two unsolved ones—Jeff Cruz’s murder and the attempted murder of J.T. Sloan. They had to be related, because both of them had the smell of an inside job. “Let’s take a ride.”

Without a word he followed her into the hall, down the stairwell, and out into the rear parking lot. A few minutes later they were rocketing south on I-95.

“Who’d you tell about the plans for the raid?” she asked without preamble.

“What? Fuck, nobody.” His voice was indignant.

“That leaves Catherine, Mitchell, Sloan, McBride, or Clark.” She looked at him, her expression remote. “Which one do you figure for the snitch?”

“It wasn’t anybody on the team,” he replied adamantly.

“I agree.” Rebecca’s voice was low, flat, the way it got when she was simmering with rage. “There’s something you don’t know,” she said at length. “Trish Marks over in Homicide told me that Captain Henry got with her Captain behind close doors, and then she and her partner were pulled off the investigation into Jeff and Jimmy’s murders.”

“That smells bad.”

“Yeah.” Rebecca eased up on the gas. “I don’t want to think it’s him, but…”

“You’d be a puss…ah, a chump to trust him right now.” He fingered his cigarettes fitfully, wondering if she’d ever let him smoke in her ride. “But it could be someone higher up in the Department.”

“Maybe. Or someone with access to department records.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but someone pulled all of Dee Flanagan’s evidence reports on Jeff and Jimmy.”

“Stole ‘em?”

Rebecca slowed, made a U-turn across the median, and headed back north. “They hacked them out of her computer, it seems.”

“And we have our very own computer whiz kids, and one of ‘ems got an ax to grind.” Watts turned on the seat and studied Rebecca’s sharply hewn profile. “You’re thinking about running a shadow investigation of your own, aren’t you? Going after the leak in the department?”

“It all ties together, Watts. The porn ring, the Justice inquiry, the sex videos, Jimmy Hogan’s Intel—all of it.” She gripped the wheel hard, although her face revealed nothing. “Who knows, this case might even shake loose Zamora and the rest of the organized crime family.”

“We could get hung out to dry, too.”

“Who said anything about we?”

He huffed. “We’re partners, Sarge. Right?”

Rebecca eyed the shabby cop in the clean blue suit and sighed. Almost too quietly for him to hear, she grunted, “Right.”

“The haldol should be fine for the agitation,” Catherine remarked as she signed off on the resident’s progress notes and checked her watch. She had an hour before clinic.

Just outside the intensive care unit, Catherine saw a red-headed woman walking in her direction. Slowing at the woman’s nod, Catherine said, “Hello. I’m Catherine Rawlings. We were never properly introduced last night when Michael was brought it.”

“Sarah Martin.” The red-head extended her hand.

Catherine noticed that there were faint circles beneath her eyes. The smile was soft and genuine, but her cornflower blue eyes were troubled. “How’s Michael? I was about to go check on her.”

“Not awake yet.” Sarah glanced briefly at the double steel doors leading in to the intensive care unit. “If you could talk to Sloan…I can’t get her to leave, and she’s about to collapse.”

“Of course.”

The two women parted and a moment later, Catherine entered the small cubicle where Michael Lassiter lay. “Sloan?”

“Catherine.” Sloan’s voice was hoarse, her eyes dark hollows, the normally vibrant violet brushed black with pain.

Crouching down, Catherine placed both hands on Sloan’s face, cupping her strong jaw. “You have to get some sleep. When she wakes up, she can’t see you like this. Worrying about you will not help her get well.”

“I’m afraid to leave. What if…” She looked away, trembling.

“There’s an on call room my residents use on the next floor. Rebecca’s slept there more than once. You can shower and get some sleep, and you’ll be five minutes away.” Catherine pulled Sloan to her feet and slid her arm around the muscular woman’s waist when she swayed. “I’ll speak to Michael’s nurse and give her the number there. I’ll be sure that you’re called the second there’s any change.”

Sloan wanted to protest, but she kept hearing Catherine’s words. Worrying about you will not help her get well. Carefully she lowered the steel rail that ran along the side of the bed and leaned down to kiss Michael. “I’ll be right back, baby. I love you so much.”

Catherine spoke to the staff, found scrubs for Sloan in the locker room next to the ICU, and walked Sloan up to the resident’s room. “No one will bother you here.”

“Okay, sure. Thanks.” The minute she was alone, Sloan pulled off the clothes she’d been in for over a day, stepped into a cold shower for two minutes, and then collapsed naked onto the bed. She was instantly asleep.

It seemed like only a minute when the phone rang.

CHAPTER THREE

“Yeah,” Sloan croaked groggily.

“This is Dr. Torveau, Ms. Slo—”

“Is she all right?” Sloan pushed herself upright, fumbling on the end of the narrow bed for the clothes Catherine had left her. “Is she—”

“She’s stable. She’s not awake, but she’s starting to show some purposeful movement. It could be any time.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Three minutes later she was waiting by Michael’s bedside once again. “Baby, it’s me,” Sloan whispered, brushing her fingers over Michael’s pale cheek. “I love you.” She’d said it a thousand times in the last forty hours. It was all she could think to say. It was the only thing that mattered in her life. “I…”

Michael’s lids fluttered. Sloan held her breath.

“Michael? Baby?”

Sloan blinked, because she thought she might be dreaming. Blue eyes, the crystal blue of clear ocean water, met hers. Sloan sucked in a sharp breath, then reached trembling fingers for the hand that moved weakly across the crisp white sheets toward hers.

“Sloan?”

“Right here.” Sloan looked around, wondering if she should call someone. But nothing in the world would get her to move from Michael’s side. “You’re going to be okay. You’re in the hospital, but you’re gong to be okay.”

“You?”

“What, love?” Sloan leaned closer. She was shaking so much she thought her legs might go. “I can’t…”

“Are you…all…” Michael swallowed painfully. “…all right?”

“Oh God.” Sloan laughed, an edge of wild tears in her voice. “You’re here…that’s all I need.”

Michael sighed and closed her eyes. Sloan’s heart tripped with sudden apprehension. “Michael?”

“She’s just asleep,” Ali Torveau, the trauma surgeon, said quietly from the doorway. “She’ll be in and out like that for a while. She was lucky.”

“Lucky.” Sloan glanced back at her lover, so fragile, so precious. Rage burned like acid in her gut. “Yeah.”

When Rebecca’s pager sounded for the third time in less than half and hour, she looked at the readout grimaced. “I think our time is up. That’s the captain’s number again. I’ll come back out later tonight—see if I can shake down some of my sources.”

“How ’bout that hooker you mentioned the other day?”

Rebecca stiffened and said nothing. Although the description was true, she rarely thought of Sandy as one of the marginal, beaten-down women who sold their bodies with seemingly careless disregard for their own ultimate fate. Sandy wasn’t like that, not yet. She was still clear-eyed and spirited, still fighting the forces that colluded to drag her down.

“I’ll let her look at some pictures.” Rebecca’s tone was clipped and short. “Maybe she can ID them for us.”

Watts cleared his throat. “We’ve got some better pictures she could look at, maybe. Recent pictures.”

“What?” Rebecca pulled in to the lot behind the one-eight and turned in her seat to regard him with just the faintest hint of suspicion.

“Didn’t Sloan say she was recording that little fuck fest last night? There’s two girls right there that we know are involved for sure.”

“And a guy,” Rebecca said softly. “Jesus, Watts.”

She unclipped the cell phone from her belt. She doubted that anyone would be around, but she tried the main number at Sloan Security first. A male voice answered on the fourth ring.

“Jason, it’s Frye.”

“Hey.” His voice was flat, tired.

“Any news on Michael?”

“Not yet.”

Rebecca pushed her sympathy for Michael’s friend and her anger at the assault aside. The best thing she could do was find whoever was behind it. “Do you have Sloan’s computer there? The one she used last night to monitor the live feed of the sex video?”

“Sure. I was just about to call you. I’ve got a good print of the guy.” Jason’s tone was animated for the first time. “I had to extract the images from several partial views and do a computer simulation to get the composite, but it’s good enough to through the databases—NCIP, Armed Forces, DMV—for starters.”

“Okay.” Rebecca blew out a breath. “Do it.”

Rebecca jumped from the car, keyed the alarm, and headed toward the back entrance to the station house at a fast clip.

“Where’s the fire,” Watts puffed as he hurried to her side.

“Look—we probably took whoever’s running the kiddie porn show by surprise last night. They’re going to be tightening up their internet security now, especially if they know that Justice has one of their mid-level guys.” She shouldered through the rear fire door on the first floor and headed toward the elevators. “They could be reorganizing the whole operation, too—changing personnel, switching out the kids, relocating the studio right now. We’ve got to get as much as we can as fast as we can.”

“You want to tell me how you managed to come away empty from an operation that you were supposed to be coordinating, Sergeant?” Captain John Henry’s voice was level, but his mahogany face was a shade darker than usual with barely suppressed irritation.

“I was hoping you could tell me, sir.” Rebecca’s eyes were winter grey and her voice colder still.

“Sit down, Sergeant.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“That wasn’t a request.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but his formidable shoulders bunched with tension. “Your paperwork is still incomplete. No psych eval. I could pull you put of the field and sit you behind a desk until you grew roots.”

“Whitaker must have forgotten to send the report,” Rebecca replied.

“Nice try, Frye. Whitaker says you have a final meeting before he signs off.”

She gritted her teeth. “I guess there was a miscommunication.”

“I’m sure.” Henry tipped his chin toward the chair. “Now sit your ass down.”

Rebecca sat. Despite her concern that Henry might be behind the leak that had led to the attack on Sloan’s life, he was her commanding officer, and he held all the cards.

Henry sighed. “Did you come away with anything from the operation at all?”

“Other than a civilian in the hospital?” Rebecca rarely disclosed all the details of her investigations to anyone, even her captain.. “Not much. We know there’s an Internet porn ring broadcasting live sex videos in the area. The guy the feds snatched from us last night is a part of it.”

“Connected to organized crime?” Henry asked almost eagerly. “It would be big if we could tie Zamora and his crew to this.”

“Nothing solid.” Rebecca watched him for some sign that his interest was more than just that of a cop wanting to clean up the city and advance his own career at the same time. If he were the mob’s inside man, his questions might give him away.

“Have you got anything working on the streets that might pay off?”

“Soft stuff. Nothing hot.” She leaned forward almost imperceptibly. “Look, Captain. If you give me a little room to work this, I know I can break something open. I still have the whole team. We know almost as much as the Feds, and they don’t have the contacts I do.”

He leaned back in his leather chair, the only concession to comfort in the room, and steepled his surprisingly elegant hands in front of his chest. His heavy lids appeared nearly closed. “I have no authority to approve that kind of operation.”

Rebecca said nothing.

“I think it might take Whitaker another week or so to finish his report,” Henry mused. “Until he does that, you can’t go into the regular rotation.”

Rebecca knew that he was giving her the unofficial green light to keep hunting for the leaders of the porn ring, and anything else that she might turn up. Unofficial meant unprotected, too. He was out of the loop and unaccountable. She’d be alone, without department sanction. If he were dirty, it was a perfect way to set her up. Much the way Jimmy Hogan had been set up. A cop working outside was easier to dispose of.

“I’m sure he’ll want to see me another time or two, yes sir.” She needed the freedom to pursue the case, and this was the only way she’d get it.

“Sergeant,” the captain added before Rebecca turned away, “you can have a man or two to assist.”

“Watts,” Rebecca said immediately, ignoring the faint look of surprise on Henry’s face. Firmly, she said, “And the uniform—Mitchell.”

“I’ll see to it.”

Rebecca had almost reached the door when she heard the quiet words, “Good luck, Sergeant.”

She didn’t answer as she stepped through and closed the door.

Watts waited just outside. “What’s he say?”

“Not here.” She glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. Six months ago she would have immediately headed back to the Tenderloin in the hopes of finding some of her confidential informants who were just crawling out of bed and hitting the streets for the start of their night. She’d stay out—dropping into the bars, talking with her CIs, watching, listening, taking the pulse of the city—until the night dwindled into dawn. Night after night. That had been her life.

But it wasn’t now. Couldn’t be now.

“I’m going to be at Sloan’s at nine tonight. Call Jason and Mitchell and tell them to meet us there, if you want in on this. That’s all I can give you now.”

He jiggled the change in his pocket and thought about the stack of files on his desk. Cold cases—old cases that had run out of steam. No leads. No suspects. No hope of closure. He could sit on his ass and make phone calls for the next three years and retire with thirty years in. Good pension, good health benefits. Or he could throw in with Frye, who seemed to attract danger like moths to flame.

He studied the tall, blond, intense woman by his side—a tough street cop whose only agenda was justice. A cop’s cop.

“I don’t have anything cooking right now.” He shrugged. “I’ll ride along.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Catherine stepped from the elevator and glanced around the lobby. Rebecca stood with a shoulder against a column, talking on her cell phone. She wore a gray gabardine suit and a plain white shirt. A thin black belt encircled her waist. The shoulder holster was not visible under the carefully tailored jacket, but Catherine knew precisely where it lay along Rebecca’s left side, just below her breast. Quickly, she threaded her way between the people milling about in front of the information desk.

“What a surprise.” Catherine reached for Rebecca’s hand as she kissed Rebecca’s cheek. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Rebecca laced her fingers between Catherine’s and pulled her gently out of the path of the steady stream of hospital visitors. “Any chance you can get away for a while?”

“I have a little over two hours before I need to see patients in my office.” Catherine tilted her head, searching Rebecca’s eyes, appreciating the warmth she found there. “Just what do you have in mind, Detective?”

“I suppose there’s no chance we could roll around in the on-call room for a while?” Rebecca took a step closer until her body lightly touched Catherine’s.

Catherine drew a surprised breath and then saw the amusement flickering in her lover’s face. “You shouldn’t tease me while I’m working, darling.”

“I was only partly teasing.” Rebecca’s voice dropped a register as she traced her fingers over Catherine’s forearm. “But I suppose you’d like dinner instead.”

“I’d like both,” Catherine murmured. “But I think the rolling around part should wait until later.”

“Where are we going?” Catherine asked.

“DiCarlo’s.”

“You’re kidding. On the spur of the moment like this?” Catherine turned in her seat to study Rebecca’s face. “Is this a special occasion?”

Rebecca shook her head. “Nope. I just thought you’d like it.”

“Oh, I like it.” Catherine rested her hand on Rebecca’s thigh, softly running her fingers up and down the tight muscles beneath. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Rebecca asked curiously as she pulled into the small gravel parking lot adjoining the century-old mansion that housed DiCarlo’s restaurant.

“You don’t usually stop work this early.”

Rebecca blushed. She wasn’t used to anyone being able to tell what was going on with her as easily as Catherine. It wasn’t that she minded; it was just that it continued to surprise her. “I’m not done, exactly. I’ll explain over dinner.”

Once they had ordered and were alone, Rebecca said, “I’ll be going back out for a few hours this evening.”

“Will you come by the apartment when you’re done?” Catherine still found it necessary to ask, uncertain of how much to expect at this point in their relationship.

“Yes, if you don’t mind that it might be late.” Each time they had this conversation, Rebecca was anxious. Every relationship she’d ever had had suffered and ultimately failed because of who she was. Because of the cop she was.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Rebecca, I know you have to work. I know what you do. You don’t need to apologize for that by taking me out to dinner.”

“I’m not…” Rebecca fell silent as the waiter brought their first course. “It’s not that. Not totally. I wanted to see you. I… I miss you. Jesus, I just saw you this morning, but I miss you.”

Catherine reached across the table and took Rebecca’s hand. “I don’t want you to feel guilty about being who you are. I love you. And loving you means loving the cop in you. I know that.”

Rebecca brought Catherine’s hand to her lips and kissed her palm softly. “I just want to do everything right.”

“Well, you’re doing very well so far.” Catherine carefully drew her hand away, because the heat from Rebecca’s fingers was making it difficult for her to think. “Are you working on a new case?”

“Uh…” Swiftly, Rebecca calculated, trying to gauge how much she should say. “Officially, I’m not working on anything. Henry wants me to see Whitaker another time or two before he’ll clear me to resume full duty.”

“Officially.” Catherine’s stomach clenched. “And unofficially?”

“Unofficially I’ve been green lighted to continue looking into the pornography ring.” Rebecca had heard the undertone of anxiety that Catherine had tried to hide. “A lot of it we can do right from Sloan’s, with computer traces, just the way we have been doing. You don’t need to worry.”

“Rebecca, darling,” Catherine said softly. “I will try my very best to understand and support you. I truly mean that. But you can’t expect me not to worry.”

“I promise it will be all right.” Rebecca reached for Catherine’s hand again. “Try to believe that.”

“Will you let me help?”

Rebecca’s first impulse was to say no, but she forced out the words. “Yes. Chances are we’ll need your profiling input.”

“Good. I hate what’s happened, too, and I want to help.”

Rebecca rubbed her face briskly with her free hand. “God, this relationship business is tough.”

Catherine laughed, her eyes suddenly sparkling. “I love you, Rebecca Frye.”

“What did I do?”

“And that’s one of the big reasons why. You give me what I need, just because you’re you.”

After Rebecca dropped Catherine off at the hospital, she made one quick stop and then headed north for Old City and the renovated warehouse that was both Sloan Security’s central office and Michael and Sloan’s home. Once inside, she found Jason McBride, Sloan’s business associate, studying a computer monitor. When he glanced in her direction, she could tell immediately that he’d been working without sleep for at least two days.

“Hi, Rebecca.”

“Jason.” She glanced around. “Mitchell and Watts here yet?”

“No,” a voice from behind Rebecca answered.

Rebecca turned and saw Sloan walking toward her. The security consultant, who wore her signature blue jeans, white T-shirt, and scuffed brown boots, looked roughly twice as bad as Jason. Still, Rebecca was happy to see that Sloan’s eyes were clearer than they had been in days.

“Sloan. Good to see you.” Rebecca held out her hand in greeting. “How’s Michael?”

“She was awake for a few minutes this afternoon.” Sloan smiled as she shook Rebecca’s hand. “I’m going back to the hospital soon, but when Jason said you were coming over, I wanted to be here.”

Before Rebecca could reply, a small series of pings signaled activity from the perimeter cameras. She turned to her left and glanced at another series of monitors. Watts and Mitchell were displayed climbing the steps to the front door. Another minute passed, and then Watts and Mitchell joined the group.

“Just like old times,” Watts rumbled.

Mitchell, also in jeans, a black T-shirt, and motorcycle boots, sidled over to Jason and peered over his shoulder at the computer. “Sweet,” she murmured, a note of excitement in her voice.

Rebecca walked over to Jason. “Can you leave that program running or do you have to baby-sit it?”

He shook his head. “No. If we get a hit, it will freeze the frame.”

“Okay, then, listen up,” Rebecca said, getting everyone’s attention. “Let’s go get some coffee and assess the situation.”

They moved into the conference room in the rear, filled coffee cups, and settled around the granite-topped table.

“We’ve got a week or so to finish what we started with the investigation into the Internet porn ring,” Rebecca stated. She looked at the people gathered around. “I have two primary goals—the first is finding out how and where they’re getting the kids, where they’re stashing them, and who’s behind the video business.”

Sloan’s right hand tightened into a fist. “What about—”

“The second,” Rebecca continued, unperturbed, “is finding out who leaked the Intel about the raid last night and ordered the hit on Sloan. When we know that, we’ll know who put Michael in the hospital.”

“How we gonna work it?” Watts asked.

“From two directions,” Rebecca replied. “Sloan and Jason will work the computers ID’ing the players in the porn video. Mitchell—you work the chat rooms and see if there’s anything going around there that could lead us to a name.”

Mitchell nodded, her expression intent.

“Sloan,” Rebecca met Sloan’s hot eyes, reading the need for action, for retribution, in her purple gaze, “I need you to do some hacking.”

“Into where?”

Rebecca hesitated, glancing once at Mitchell. The young officer returned her scrutiny steadily. “Into the police department.”

Watts muttered softly, “Fuck me.”

“Someone raided the Crime Scene Unit’s master files and derailed the investigation into the deaths of two police officers.” Rebecca blew out a breath. “I’m betting that person was the same one who fingered you for the hit, Sloan.”

“We need street Intel,” Watts said into the ensuing silence. “All this computer jerking o—uh, investigating, is fine, but we need names, leads, something to chase.”

“That’s the second wing of our operation. You and I will work that, Watts.” She glanced at her watch just as the repetitive ping of the security system sounded again.

“System—show sector one,” Sloan ordered and a monitor mounted on a wall bracket flashed to the landing in front of the main entrance.

Mitchell gasped.

A thin blond in low-riding jeans and a skin-tight top stood staring into the camera. The audio picked up her voice. “I’m here, so you gonna open up or what? Hey, Frye? Jesus.”

“That would be my CI,” Rebecca remarked flatly. “Better let her in before she starts taking the door apart.”

CHAPTER FIVE

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Watts swiveled in his chair to follow the progress of the newest arrival on the monitor. As the image on the screen switched from one security camera to the next, he whistled softly as he watched the woman saunter across the garage to the elevator.

“Tasty. Looks like jailbait, though.”

“Detective,” Rebecca said in a voice so soft it would have been inaudible were it not so deadly. “Be careful what you say about one of mine.”

“Sure, Sarge. No offense—”

One of mine. Mitchell, whose eyes were riveted on the monitor as well, stiffened. “Officially?”

“Yes. She’s registered.” Rebecca regarded her solemnly, noting the tension in the young officer’s body and the harsh edge in her voice. So there is something going on with these two.

Since when? Being a registered confidential informant meant that Sandy was listed with the department by name and paid out of department funds on a regular basis. And if that were the case, Sandy’s identity was now on file for anyone to find. Jesus, as if being on the streets isn’t dangerous enough for her already. Why not just hang a target around her neck.

Mitchell managed a nod as Jason walked in with Sandy beside him, but her stomach was in knots.

“Can I get you some coffee or a coke?” Jason asked.

Sandy did a quick scan of the room, hesitating for millisecond on Mitchell’s face, before fixing on Rebecca with a defiant stare. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

Addressing the group at large, Rebecca explained, “I asked Sandy to come down because I want her to look at last night’s live feed. It’s possible she might recognize the location, or the girls, or even the guy.”

Watts grunted in appreciation. Mitchell said nothing, but her eyes never left Sandy’s face.

“I can bring it up on the big screen in the viewing room,” Sloan offered.

“Great. So’s we can all get a close-up of the guy’s pecker.” Watts inclined his head toward Sandy. “Any chance you’ll be able to recognize that?”

“Depends,” Sandy said flatly. “Most of them look pretty much the same, except…” her eyes dropped briefly to Watts’s crotch, “some of them are a lot smaller than others.”

Watts grinned, not looking the least bit offended.

Sandy stayed close to Rebecca’s side as the group wended its way through the core of the work area, aware of Dell walking just behind her. Frye didn’t tell me Dell would be here tonight. Jesus, she looks pissed, too.

Once there, Sloan pushed a button and almost immediately images sprang to life on the large screen on one wall.

“I want you to look at the girls first,” Rebecca said. “Then we’ll go back, and you can look at him.”

Sandy was oddly silent as she watched the action on the screen. A man in a nondescript uniform entered a room in which the only furnishings were a bedroom set of the type sold in discount warehouses, a few lamps, and a chair. The bed was made up with a faded quilt. She leaned forward as two girls entered the room. One was Asian and the other Caucasian. The man stripped as they feigned surprise and awkward shyness.

“Can you…you know…make this bigger?” Sandy stared fixedly at the screen. “I want to see their faces…their eyes.”

“Just a second.” Sloan made some adjustments and zoomed in on the Asian girl’s face.

Sandy nodded in satisfaction. “She’s young, but not quite as young as they want you to think.”

“Anything else?” Rebecca whispered softly.

“I don’t know them,” Sandy replied hollowly. Watching the young girls do what she herself did on a nightly basis was harder than she had expected it to be. It was even worse knowing that Dell was watching. Why do I care what anyone thinks? Even her.

“Okay,” Rebecca whispered, hearing the discomfort in Sandy’s voice. Over her shoulder, she said to Sloan, “Get us a shot of the guy now.”

The images blurred, and then a profile of the man’s face came into view. Sandy straightened suddenly. “Wait…can you go back?…There…” she pointed at the screen. “On his neck…is that a scar?”

“Sloan?”

“Can’t be sure, but Jason can work it up for us later with the imaging software.”

“Good girl, Sandy.” Rebecca’s voice was tight with excitement. “Do you know him?”

“Seen him, maybe,” Sandy replied. “I remember something about a guy with a scar on his neck shaped like a, whatdayacallit, a scimitar.”

“Turn it off,” Rebecca ordered.

The lights came up and they all stood, blinking, carefully not looking at one another.

“If you can give me pictures of those girls, I can show them around,” Sandy offered.

“Jason will get them made up for you tonight,” Sloan replied.

Sandy nodded, really looking at Sloan for the first time, slowly taking in the wild dark hair, the amazing eyes, the muscular physique. She looked a bit like an older Dell, except Dell’s body was sexier, all wiry and tight and… Oh man, what is that about!

“Maybe flashing those pictures around’s not so cool,” Mitchell said, moving closer to Sandy. She almost reached for her hand, and then stuffed her fists into the pockets of her jeans instead. “You start asking about those girls and somebody might take notice. Somebody who you don’t want to take notice.”

“Mitchell,” Rebecca warned. I’m going to rein her in before she crosses a line.

Sensing that Rebecca was about to ream out Dell for interfering, Sandy lifted her chin and snapped, “I can take of myself. Why don’t you just worry about the cop stuff.”

While the others worked out the schedule for the next day, Mitchell and Sandy slowly drifted toward the elevator.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” Mitchell murmured to Sandy. She rested her fingers lightly against Sandy’s bare elbow.

“Sandy,” Rebecca called, catching up to them at the elevators. “Let’s take a ride.”

“Sure,” the young woman replied with a sigh, moving her arm away from Mitchell’s hand. “It’s your dime, Frye.”

Outside, Sandy and Rebecca walked in the other direction to the Corvette. Mitchell stood on the sidewalk, shoulders hunched in the chill night air, watching them go.

“You did well up there,” Rebecca said as she drove south on Front street, the lights of the Ben Franklin Bridge glowing blue as it towered into the dark night sky just above them. Rebecca studied Sandy’s face in the light of the passing headlights. Not for the first time she realized how pretty she was. “You know that guy, don’t you?”

Sandy sighed. “I’m not sure, but I think he used to be a bouncer at Ziggies.”

Rebecca drew a sharp breath, and her pulse rate jumped. Ziggies was a sex club at 11th and Arch that featured nude dancers, and it was mob connected. A guy reputed to be one of Zamora’s front men owned it. Finally, a connection. “Did you ever dance there?”

“Who me?” Sandy snorted. “Not hardly. You need tits out to Arizona to shag in there. And you have to blow every bartender in the place.” She hesitated, unused to sharing information with the police, even Frye. But that afternoon, the detective had shown up at her apartment unexpectedly and made her an offer with a formal price tag attached. More information, more help, for more money. “But I know someone who did work there.”

“Can you put me with her?”

“I’ll see if I can find her.” Sandy pointed to a bar up the block. “You can let me out there.”

“Uh-uh. I’m taking you home.”

“It’s not even midnight!”

“When I stopped by earlier and you agreed to go official with me, you turned in your streetwalking creds.”

“I’m not gonna trick.” Sandy sounded affronted. “But I need to be out and seen, otherwise people will get suspicious. And suspicious people don’t talk. You know that.”

Rebecca had the inexplicable desire to tell her no, but she knew Sandy had to maintain her street contacts or she’d be useless as an informant. Rebecca pulled to the curb and extracted five twenties, almost all that she had, from her wallet. “Here. Your first paycheck.”

Sandy looked at the bills and smiled wryly. “Five hand jobs. Won’t pay the rent.”

“I’ll see that there’s more. And your hands are clean.”

“Yeah. Ain’t that a thrill.”

“One more thing.”

“Frye, you’re hurting me sitting out here.”

Rebecca had already checked and knew that no one was watching them. “A police officer can be suspended, even fired, for fraternizing with a prostitute.”

Dell. Sandy grew still. “Fraternizing—you mean, even if they’re just…like friends?”

“Sometimes ‘friends’ looks like something else.” Rebecca’s voice was soft, almost gentle. “Hard to prove otherwise.”

“I don’t have any cop friends.” Sandy pushed open the door, turned her back, and headed for the bar.

Rebecca watched the thin young blond walk away, knowing that she was putting the girl in danger by employing her as an informant. But the streets would be no kinder to Sandy if she was forced to stay alive by selling her body. At least this way, she might have a chance. A devil’s bargain, perhaps, but one Rebecca would have to live with.

CHAPTER SIX

Sloan walked quickly through the silent hospital halls, the events and conversations of the last few hours almost forgotten. When she reached the door of Michael’s room in the ICU and looked in, she saw only the empty bed with the pristine white sheets neatly made. Her stomach turned over, and her head grew light. Michael!

“I’m so sorry,” a nurse said as she quickly approached.

Sloan closed her eyes, the roaring in her head making it difficult to make out the words. oh god, oh god…what am I going to do?

“I tried to call you—”

Numbly, Sloan stared at the small, dark-haired woman with the kind eyes.

“…upstairs a half-hour of ago.”

“What?” Sloan couldn’t seem to catch hold of the words that were floating past her. “What did you say?”

“We needed the bed, and she’s doing so much better she was transferred to a regular room. Room 519.”

“Thank you.” Sloan’s voice, hoarse with fatigue, cracked.

Sloan couldn’t tolerate the wait for the elevator, but shouldered through the fire door and into the stairwell, taking the stairs from the second floor to the fifth at a run. In Michael’s room, the lights had been turned down low. From the darkness came a soft sound, the answer to her prayers.

“Sloan?”

“Hey,” Sloan whispered as she approached the bed, her vision blurred with tears. She grasped the hand that Michael lifted, clinging to the warmth. Then she leaned over and brushed her lips across Michael’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Weak. I’m a little confused. I can’t remember what happened.” Michael’s eyes traveled over Sloan’s face. “There was an accident, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, baby,” Sloan said, her voice choked. “I’m not hurt. You don’t have to worry about anything. You just need to work on getting well.”

“You looked tired.” Michael’s eyelids drooped and she forced them open. Smiling tremulously, she said, “In fact, you look terrible. Go home.”

Sloan laughed gently and pulled a chair close with one hand. “Just close your eyes and get some sleep.”

“Yes,” Michael murmured. Then she twitched suddenly and her eyes flew open. “It was a car, wasn’t it? A car hit me.”

There edge of fear in Michael’s voice brought a rush of fury like none Sloan had ever known. “You rest now, baby. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

She stroked Michael’s cheek as she slipped into sleep. Tonight she would stay, but in the morning, she would seek retribution.

It was just after midnight when Rebecca let herself into the garden apartment in West Philadelphia. She found Catherine in the bedroom, propped up in bed, nude, with a book. “You’re still awake.”

“Hi.” Catherine placed the book face down on the covers by her side. “You’re early.”

“Am I?” Rebecca raised an eyebrow as she stripped off her jacket followed by her shoulder holster. She walked to the far side of the bed and placed her weapon in the top drawer of the bedside table, then leaned across the bed and kissed Catherine. “I’m going to take a quick shower. I’ll just be a sec.”

“Hurry back.”

The slight hint of invitation in Catherine’s voice was enough to make Rebecca’s blood surge. Within minutes she walked back into the bedroom, naked, toweling off as she approached the bed. She stopped abruptly when she observed the intense expression on Catherine’s face and lowered the towel. “I get excited just watching you look at me.”

Catherine pushed the sheet aside, and rose to her knees, moving closer to the edge of the bed and threading her arms around Rebecca’s waist. She drew one small tight nipple into her mouth, reveling at the swift gasp from her lover.

Closing her eyes, Rebecca rested her palms on Catherine’s shoulder for balance. “Please…do it harder.”

Moaning with satisfaction, Catherine sucked harder, drawing the tight rosette back and forth between her teeth. When Rebecca uttered a small cry, an answering rush of arousal flooded her thighs. Gasping, Catherine pulled Rebecca down beside her on the bed. Drawing her hand up the inside of Rebecca’s quivering thigh, Catherine found her wet and open and moved inside her. “I need things from you.”

“What…do you need?” Rebecca arched off the bed. With her right hand she grasped Catherine’s wrist, forcing her hand deeper still.

“I need…” Catherine leaned over Rebecca’s body as she pressed even further. “…this passion, this life…”

Rebecca’s words were strangled. “Take it.”

“Yes.” Catherine stroked to the rhythm of Rebecca’s heartbeat pulsating around her fingers. “Oh, yes.”

With tremendous effort, Rebecca turned her head and focused on Catherine’s face. “Take me.”

With a cry of her own, Catherine brushed her thumb rhythmically across Rebecca’s clitoris and catapulted her into orgasm.

“God God, yes yes…” Rebecca moaned, writhing beneath the onslaught of release. Breathless, panting, she finally tugged weakly at Catherine’s wrist, stilling her motion. “I’m done…I can’t…no more.”

Catherine rested her forehead against Rebecca’s shoulder, smiling. When she felt Rebecca’s hands glide down her back to cup her hips, she said, “Relax for a minute. Enjoy it.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m enjoying it.” Rebecca strength was slowly returning, and with it, her own urgency to claim her lover. Lifting her hips, she pushed upward and turned Catherine beneath her. In another instant, she was kneeling on the floor, her hands under Catherine’s thighs, drawing Catherine to her mouth. Slowly, carefully, Rebecca explored with her lips and her tongue, soothing and teasing and tormenting until Catherine twisted against the sheets, her legs pressed to Rebecca’s shoulders.

“I’m ready…so ready. Please.” Catherine’s voice was a whisper, her breath broken with need. “There. Oh, Rebecca, there.”

Rebecca slid her palms beneath Catherine’s hips and drew the last drops of Catherine’s desire between her lips. Catherine came in Rebecca’s mouth as Rebecca inexorably called the passion forth from her soul.

“Ah, God.” Rebecca lay on her back with Catherine’s head on her shoulder, the sheets pulled up to their waists as they luxuriated in the aftermath of lovemaking. “I could get used to coming home to that.”

“That could be arranged.” Catherine’s voice was light, almost drowsy, as she brushed her fingertips lightly over Rebecca’s breast.

“Are you proposing marriage?”

Catherine grew still. Before Rebecca, her life had been orderly and predictable and satisfying. Then Rebecca had come into her life on a whirlwind of passion in the midst of terror, and she had changed everything. Now, Rebecca felt as necessary as air and water and food. “Yes,” Catherine said softly but quite clearly. “I am.”

Rebecca tightened her grip on the woman in her embrace, but said nothing.

When the silence grew too heavy, Catherine asked, “Does that frighten you?”

“Yes.” Rebecca closed her eyes, waiting for Catherine to draw away.

“Why?” Catherine moved closer, drawing her thigh across Rebecca’s, curling her arm across Rebecca’s chest.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into.” There was sorrow in Rebecca’s tone. “The job…it…takes something from us. I’m afraid there isn’t enough left for you.”

“Oh no, you’re wrong.” Catherine’s voice was tender and sure. Gently, she slid onto Rebecca’s body and braced herself on her elbows, her hands in Rebecca’s hair. “I love you for what’s in your heart.”

Rebecca shuddered, needing so badly to believe. “There are things I’ve done…things I do…” She sighed again. “You remember Sandy?”

“Yes,” Catherine replied, pleased that her voice was steady. Sandy. The young woman you were with when your lung collapsed. The woman who looked like she was half in love with you. Is she the woman you see at night when you leave here?

“I did something with her you might find less than honorable.”

“What?” Catherine asked carefully.

“The details aren’t really important.”

“In this particular instance, the details matter.”

“You don’t think…me and Sandy?” Rebecca laughed. “Christ, no.”

Catherine blushed. “She’s very attractive, and she obviously cares about you.”

“Catherine, I love you.” Rebecca kissed her, lightly at first, then with a sudden surge of passion. “There is no one else. Not Sandy. No one.”

“I’m not used to feeling jealous,” Catherine confided with a touch of embarrassment.

“I kind of like it. But you don’t have to worry.” Rebecca shrugged. “Anyhow, I signed Sandy up as a confidential informant today.”

“And you thought I’d object?”

“Getting information to me is always risky, and now she’s going to be doing it a lot more regularly.”

“Yes,” Catherine murmured drowsily, “but the fact that you worry about it is what’s important.”

Rebecca drew the sheet up over them and yawned. “It’s late. We should get to sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I’m fading a bit.”

“Mmm.” Rebecca kissed her and closed her eyes. “Me, too.”

As Catherine began to drift off, she realized that Rebecca had managed to avoid the subject of their living together very neatly.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Michael turned carefully at the sound of her door opening. The pain in her head was constant, alternating between a low-level ache hovering at the top of her spine to an all-out cannon barrage that beat against the back of her eyeballs until it hurt to keep her eyelids open.

“Good morning,” Ali Torveau said as she approached the bed. “You don’t remember me, but I’m Dr. Torveau, the trauma surgeon who’s been taking care of you since you came into the hospital.”

“I have a few blanks in my memory of the last couple of days. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” As the surgeon spoke, she withdrew her stethoscope from the right-hand pocket of her white lab coat and leaned over the bed to listen to Michael’s injured lungs. “How does your chest feel?”

“It hurts a little when I take a deep breath. Not too bad though.”

“What about your head?”

Michael grimaced. “That’s not doing quite as well. Major headache.”

“It’s almost always temporary, but I can’t tell you how long it will last. It could be a few days; it could be a few weeks.”

“When can I go home?”

“You haven’t even been out of bed yet,” Ali responded with a small laugh. “Let’s take things one day at a time.”

Michael glanced toward the closed bathroom door behind which running water was faintly audible. “I can rest at home as well as here. And Sloan isn’t getting any sleep at all.”

“This has been hard on both of you, I know,” Ali said sympathetically. “How about if I talk to her—”

“Talk to who about what?” Freshly showered, Sloan walked directly to the bed, leaned down, and kissed Michael’s forehead. “Good morning.”

Michael smiled, the headache diminishing for an instant. “We were talking about me going home.”

“So soon?” Sloan spun around to stare at the trauma surgeon, her eyes glowing with excitement.

“Whoa.” Ali held up her hands, but she was smiling, too. “Let’s see what this morning’s CAT scan shows. If that looks good…we’ll see.”

“Good enough.” Sloan couldn’t keep the pleasure from her voice. As the surgeon started for the door, she called softly, “And thanks.”

When they were alone, Michael reached for Sloan’s hand. “I love you.”

The words hit Sloan like a hammer blow. Her knees felt suddenly weak, and the next thing she was aware of was gasping for breath as tears poured down her cheeks. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you were hurt. I love you so much.”

“Come here, love,” Michael murmured, tugging on Sloan’s hand.

Somehow, Sloan managed to get the bed rail down and very carefully stretched out next to Michael, curling on her side and pressing her face close to Michael’s on the pillow. “I’m such a mess without you.”

“Well, I’m here,” Michael soothed. “And you know I’ll never leave you, don’t you?”

Nodding, Sloan caressed Michael’s face as she slipped into sleep. I promise to take you home soon. And I promise, no matter what, that you’ll be safe from now on.

When Sloan was certain that Michael was asleep, she eased from the bed and slipped from the room. On her way through the hospital, she stopped at a payphone.

A female voice answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Sarah? It’s Sloan. Is Jason around?”

“He’s in the study. I’ll get him.”

A minute later, Jason said, “How’s Michael.”

“Good. There’s even a chance she’ll come home soon.” Saying the words made Sloan feel uncharacteristically superstitious, so she quickly moved on. “What are you doing?”

There was a beat of silence, then, “Phishing for addresses on our Internet ‘friends.’”

Sloan understood that to mean he was trying to pin down the on-line pedophiles the team had been tracking. Phishing referred to the practice of hijacking confidential information from on-line consumers by pretending to be a legitimate business updating a common account, such as AOL or Paypal. An individual would receive an e-mail claiming that there had been a problem with the billing of the consumer’s account and directing the consumer to click on a hyperlink in the body of the e-mail for the “Billing Center.” When the consumer clicked on the link they landed on a site that looked completely legitimate, but when they entered their confidential financial or personal data, it would be relayed back to the Internet thief.

“Finding anything?”

“Might be.”

Sloan caught her breath. “How about we discuss this at the office?”

“Sure. When?”

“Now.” Sloan hung up, her fatigue magically dissipating. She was ready to hunt.

At seven-thirty Rebecca settled into a plain office chair in the drab institutional room and nodded perfunctorily to the middle-aged man seated across from her.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” he said.

“Dr. Whitaker.”

“I was a bit surprised to find that you had scheduled more sessions with me.”

Rebecca shrugged. “My paperwork isn’t quite in order, and Captain Henry won’t assign me to any regular duty because of it.”

“Ahh…I see. So I’m the sticking point.”

“Yes.”

He asked the usual routine follow-up questions, to which she answered with the obligatory neutral responses. Near the end of the session, he asked, “And how is Dr. Rawlings?”

“She’s fine.” Rebecca held his gaze, refusing to reveal her surprise at the unanticipated turn in the conversation.

“How does she feel about your job?”

“Why does it matter?”

“One major source of stress in a police officer’s life is conflict at home. There is very often domestic discord stemming from the erratic work hours or complaints of…emotional absence.”

His words hit close to the mark, and Rebecca colored. “I’m not stressed.”

“Then you may be the only officer who isn’t.” Whitaker smiled slightly.

“What do you know about Catherine?” she asked abruptly. Never let the witness lead the discussion. Always take the offensive position.

Whitaker blinked. “Uh…I know you met during the serial rape case. I know that you saved her life.” A beat passed while he visibly regrouped. “And I suspect that you’re lovers.”

“Why?” Rebecca’s tone was laser-sharp.

“You haven’t denied a personal relationship, and every time her name comes up, you become defensive. No…not defensive. Protective.” He smiled. “Which is what you do, after all, isn’t it, Sergeant?”

“That’s the job description.”

“Does she mind what you do?”

“Her name does not belong in your report. If you want me to come back for another session, you had best see that it isn’t.” And you want me to come back, don’t you? You want something from me.

“You have my word.” He leaned forward. “Is she bothered by your job?”

“We’re not going to discuss Catherine Rawlings.” Rebecca glanced at her watch. “And it’s time for me to go.”

“We have another minute or two. Would you quit if she asked you to? Theoretically, of course.”

“What difference does that make, theoretically?”

“It says a lot about you.”

Rebecca stood and pointed to the gold shield exposed on the flap of the leather badge case which protruded from her breast pocket. “That says all you need to know about me.”

“I don’t agree, Sergeant,” he rejoined softly.

“Your prerogative.”

As Rebecca reached for the door, she heard the quiet words from behind her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She turned the knob, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the hall. She didn’t want him to see her face, because she was afraid he’d realize that she didn’t know the answer.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rebecca walked directly from Whitaker’s office to the vice squad division. As she had come to expect, even though it daily continued to shock her, Watts was already at his desk. “Anything new?”

“The computer cops want us to come over.”

Twenty minutes later, they were buzzed into Sloan’s building. Jason, Sloan, and, to Rebecca’s surprise, Mitchell as well, were all seated at computer stations, cups of coffee on the counters beside them.

Glancing at Sloan, Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “How are things at the hospital?”

Despite the creases of fatigue in her forehead and the shadows marring her cheeks, Sloan’s eyes were sparkling. “Much better. Thanks.”

“Glad to hear it. So, what’s up?”

“Jason,” Sloan said, “why don’t you bring them up to speed.”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Jason explained, “I made a list of all the e-mail addresses of people who used to chat with LongJohnXXX on a regular basis, figuring that some of them must be subscribers to the porn videos. Unfortunately, the list is long, and there’s no way of knowing at this point how many of the individuals are locals. There’s also no way to know if they really have anything at all to do with the porn ring.”

“But?” Rebecca could hear the excitement in his voice.

“But once I get names and addresses, it shouldn’t be that difficult to find out other things about these guys. I can put together profiles, and we can do the same thing we did with Long John. Maybe we’ll get another hit.”

Rebecca looked skeptical. “It’s a long shot.”

“It’s not like we have a lot else going on right now,” Jason responded, looking not the least bit deterred. “Once we have some probables, I thought Catherine might look at them. She can…sense things. She’s a great profiler.”

Rebecca opened her mouth to say no, and clamped her jaws tight instead. She rubbed the bridge of her nose where a headache was forming. There seemed to be no way at all that she could keep Catherine away from the investigation. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

“Anything new at the cop shop?” Sloan inquired.

“Let’s go back to the conference room for a briefing,” Rebecca suggested. “I’ve got some ideas.”

Once they were all settled around the table, Rebecca studied her team, knowing that she had to make a decision now as to how much she would share. Two people present were civilians, one was just a rookie cop, and what she had to say was beyond sensitive. But all of them were willing to walk on a high wire without a net in the name of justice. She owed them her trust.

“Sandy gave me a lead last night. It’s not much, but she thinks she might have seen the guy in the porn video at this sex club called Ziggies.”

“Whoa, that’s choice,” Watts exclaimed. “That place is supposed to be mobbed up.”

“Can Sandy work the place?” Sloan asked immediately. “It would be good to have someone on the inside there.”

Mitchell’s face turned white. “You want her to turn tricks in there for information? Why don’t you just shoot her instead? At least that would be quick and painless.”

Sloan jerked around in her seat to stare at Mitchell, shocked by the ourburst.

“Officer, you’re out of line,” Rebecca shot out, watching Mitchell carefully. The young officer stared straight ahead, her back ramrod stiff, her neck flushed. She was controlling her anger, but just barely. “Unfortunately, I think Sandy’s too well-known there. If she starts hanging out for no good reason, especially if she’s talking around, someone will notice.”

“What you need is someone undercover,” Jason observed mildly. “I agree that Sandy is a good source, but she’s at risk if she becomes too visible. You need someone who’s part of the club life.”

Watts spoke up. “Maybe we can put a female cop in Ziggies.”

“To do what?” Jason asked pointedly. “Dance topless? I think most of your detectives would consider that a little beyond the call.”

Sloan eyed Jason. “Do you have something in mind Jason?”

“I know someone who can get inside.” Jason smiled at Sloan.

Of course you do, Sloan thought. Jesus, Sarah is going to kill us.

Rebecca shook her head. “I can’t bring in another civilian. And I don’t want someone on the team I don’t know.”

“It’s not what you think,” Jason said.

“You want to explain?”

“Let me set something up for later,” he said, “and if you’re not happy with it, we’ll forget the idea.”

“Fine. At this point, I’ll consider any option.” Rebecca looked directly at Sloan. “We need to dig out the leak within the department. That’s going to be on you.”

Sloan’s violet eyes flashed. This was the green light she’d been waiting for. “I need a list of everyone you can think of who might have known about the operation last weekend. Jason and I will need to trace financial records, employment histories, educational background, previous postings—anything that might tie into Zamora or point to some other criminal activity.”

“I know.” Rebecca made her decision. “For starters, there’s Capt. John Henry, commander of the Vice unit. Teri Cummings is the civilian clerk, and she probably handled the paperwork for the warrant. At this stage, I’m unaware of anyone else in the police department who might have known about it directly.”

“Are you suspicious of either one?” Jason’s question was placed mildly, but he knew by its very nature it was inflammatory.

“I wouldn’t have been suspicious of Henry if I hadn’t learned that he had previously been involved in shutting down the investigation into the murder of two cops. If he wasn’t part of the cover-up, he was at least aware of it and let it happen.” Her tone was bitter. “So that puts him high on the list. Cummings I don’t know at all, but it’s hard to believe it would be her.”

“Is there anyone who has access to your field reports or your files or anything that might have had information about what we were doing?” Sloan inquired.

Rebecca started to shake her head no, and then stopped abruptly. “Goddamn it. I was…injured…earlier this year and out of commission for a while. In order to be reinstated, I had to see the department shrink. He could have picked up something from me.”

“Are you still seeing him?” Jason asked directly, no apology in his voice. This wasn’t personal, this was business. Deadly business.

“Yes.” Rebecca gave no explanation, because the reasons didn’t matter. “Why?”

“He could have unrestricted access to any file he asked for,” Jason mused.

“It’s possible, I guess.” Rebecca’s expression was unmistakably skeptical.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” another voice interjected.

Rebecca looked at Mitchell and raised an eyebrow. “Officer?”

If possible, Mitchell sat even straighter. “I may have inadvertently revealed some information about the operation as well. In…uh…counseling.”

“Jesus, kid, you too?” Watts’s tone was disgusted. “Is everybody in the goddamned department getting shrunk?”

“You’re seeing Whitaker, also?” For the first time, Rebecca’s voice held an edge of excitement. Connections were what made a case—small things that seemed inconsequential at first often turned out to be the key that fit the lock that broke it wide open.

“No, ma’am, not Whitaker. Dr. Rawlings.”

Watts sucked in a breath and Rebecca went completely still. The conversation of last night came back to her. She’d been talking to Catherine about Mitchell and Sandy. How much does Catherine know?

“Well, I can guarantee that Catherine is not the source of the leak.” Rebecca’s voice was cool, even, her hands steady as they rested on the tabletop.

“What about her reports, her files?” Sloan stood and walked to the coffeemaker. “She must keep some kind of records. Maybe there’s something in there.”

“That will be difficult to ascertain.” Rebecca drew a long breath and settled herself. “Dr. Rawlings will not discuss her patients in any way.”

Mitchell interjected, “If it would help, I’ll give my permission for her to turn over my records.”

“If that becomes necessary, we may go that route. But let’s hold on that for now.” Rebecca had been down that road with Catherine before. It was not a trip she wanted to take again.

“What about getting me direct access to the police department’s computer system?” Sloan asked.

Rebecca nodded. “I think I can get you in. Dee Flanagan, the CSU chief, is mightily pissed off that someone raided her computer and stole the files of an ongoing investigation. I think she’ll let you tear her system apart.”

“I can work on it there?”

“Sure. If anyone asks, you’re just one of the IT people who came around to upgrade her system. No one will think twice about it.”

“Good enough.”

“We have to assume that whoever went after you, Sloan, knows about all of us.” Rebecca’s expression was serious, but her voice completely calm. “That means heads up for everybody. Make sure you’re not being followed anywhere and if something doesn’t look right, assume that it’s wrong.”

Sloan thought about the fact that Michael would be upstairs, possibly in a few hours. She nodded, her eyes as flat and dark as onyx. “Understood.”

“Mitchell,” Rebecca said as she stood. “I want you here with Jason and Sloan, working up background and tracing down those email addresses. Sloan, I’ll call you as soon as I clear things with the CSU chief, and if you’ve got time, I’ll take you over there to meet her.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s say we meet back here around five this afternoon. Jason, does that give you enough time to contact your source?”

He nodded. “Plenty of time.”

“Good.” Rebecca squared her shoulders. “Then I think I’d better pay a visit to Dr. Rawlings.”

Ordinarily, any reason to see Catherine was welcome. However, Rebecca had a feeling that this particular visit was going to be much more business than pleasure.

CHAPTER NINE

Mitchell stood in front of a dingy, gray-shingled rowhouse that looked no different than any of the other rundown buildings on the street. It was ten-thirty in the morning, and she had a feeling that no one was going to answer the doorbell in the upstairs rear apartment. Once on the third floor, she walked directly to the one with a painted-over metal numeral three just above eye height and knocked.

“Go away,” a grumpy sounding voice called from within.

Another minute passed and then the door was opened as far as a security chain would allow, and a flashing blue-eyed peered out.

“Hiya, Sandy.”

The door closed in Mitchell’s face, the chain rattled, and the door sprang open again.

Sandy, eyes a bit bleary, looked up and snarled, “Its ten o’clock in the morning, and I’ve only been asleep for two hours. Go away.” She wore only a tiny white tank top that barely reached below the swell of her breasts and a pair of pale pink bikini underwear.

Mitchell tried not to look at the barely covered body, but just the quick glimpse she got before she forced her eyes back to Sandy’s face was enough to make her stomach tighten. “Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah,” Sandy said with a shrug, turning and crossing the room to the sofa which had been opened into a small daybed. The pale blue cotton sheets which covered it were pulled back, and a single pillow rested in the center.

Mitchell stared at the bed. Then she quickly averted her eyes and looked around the room. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.” Sandy perched on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, her chin resting in the palm of one hand. “I’m really glad you like my decorating. Now, do you want to tell me why you woke me up?”

“Do you think you could…uh…put some clothes on?”

“I’ve got clothes on, Dell.” Sandy saw Dell’s eyes flicker down her body, then rapidly fix on some point on the floor between them. She liked the way Dell looked at her. A lot. She grabbed for her jeans and pulled them on.

Mitchell put her hands in her pockets and leaned against the corner of a dresser that stood against one wall. Now that she was there, inside Sandy’s surprisingly warm and cozy apartment, she didn’t know what to say.

“What?” Sandy’s voice was gentle.

Softly, Mitchell said, “I didn’t know you were working for Detective Sgt. Frye.”

“I wasn’t…not before yesterday. Why do you care?” Sandy’s question held no trace of belligerence, only curiosity. She wondered if Dell had any idea how much she wanted to know what put that look of fierce concentration in Dell’s eyes whenever they roamed over her face.

“It’s kind of a dangerous job.”

Sandy leaned back, her legs slightly spread, a challenging expression on her face. “So’s being a cop. You could get hurt, too.”

“There’s a difference and you know it.” Mitchell tried and failed to keep the aggravation form her voice. At least I have a gun. And back-up. Sometimes, anyhow. Without thinking, Mitchell put her fingers around Sandy’s forearm. “You’re totally unprotected.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve done a great job with that so far.”

Sandy jerked her hand away and barely stopped herself from flinging it across Dell’s face. “Get out.”

“Sandy…” Mitchell’s face was white and her eyes huge, the deep blue shadowed with pain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way you think.”

“I know what you mean…that I’m just a who—”

“No.” Mitchell raised her hand slowly. “No.” She brushed a fingertip over the scar on Sandy’s forehead. “This is what I mean. How many more times can you take a beating like this?”

Sandy wanted to pull away, to spew angry words, but she couldn’t. Dell’s touch was so gentle, her expression so tender, her body so near. Dell was trembling. They both were.

“Dell…” Sandy murmured. Heat surged between her thighs, and she gasped as she felt herself grow wet. She stumbled back a step, breaking their tenuous contact.

Mitchell, her hand outstretched, wanted so badly to follow. There was something in Sandy’s voice, a hushed yearning, that made Mitchell’s stomach tighten and her head roar. “Hey…”

Sandy took another step back. “You should go, Dell.”

“Can I come back?” Mitchell didn’t even know why she was asking, but she had to.

Sandy was watching Dell’s mouth, and it was hard to concentrate. Dell had a beautiful mouth. Then Frye’s voice cut through the haze. “A police officer can be suspended, even fired, for fraternizing with a prostitute.”

“Look,” Sandy said as forcefully as she could, searching frantically for the right words to make her go. “Look, I’m Frye’s now, okay? I don’t want anything to mess that up.”

Mitchell straightened as if struck, then reached behind her for the doorknob. “Just watch your back, okay?”

Then she was gone, leaving only the echo of her footsteps in the hall. Sandy listened until she couldn’t hear her at all.

“You be careful, too, rookie,” she whispered. Her fingers rested lightly on the scarred wooden door in a final caress.

At eleven twenty-four, the side door to Catherine’s private office closed behind her last client of the morning. Trying to gather herself for the afternoon ahead, she might actually have fallen asleep if the intercom line on her phone had not rung.

“Detective Frye is here, Doctor. Your next appointment is scheduled at one, so you have a bit of time.”

Suddenly invigorated, Catherine smiled. “Tell her to come in, please.”

When Rebecca came through the door a moment later with a brown paper bag in one hand, Catherine was waiting just inside. She placed a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder and leaned close to give her a kiss on the mouth. “What a nice surprise.”

“I took a chance that I might catch you between sessions. I brought lunch.”

“I knew there was a reason that I loved you.” Catherine reached for Rebecca’s hand and led her to the sofa in front of a low coffee table. “Indian?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wonderful. I’m famished.” Catherine extracted the various containers along with the plastic forks and paper napkins from the bag and spread them out on the table. “Is there another reason besides rescuing me from starvation that you’re here?”

Rebecca hesitated. There were very few things in her life that made her uncomfortable. Being at odds with Catherine was one of them. When they fought, even when they merely couldn’t see eye to eye over some issue, it left her feeling disjointed and strangely hollow inside. “I had a briefing with Sloan and the others this morning. We’ve been formulating a plan of action.”

“Problems?” Catherine continued to eat slowly, suspecting that Rebecca would not have come by in the middle of the day had there not been.

“We’re working on a couple of angles, but one of the critical things that we have to do is find the source of the information leak that led to the attack on Sloan.”

“And you suspect someone within your department.” Catherine could only imagine how difficult it was for Rebecca to investigate her own people.

Rebecca nodded. “How well do know Rand Whitaker?”

“Only casually. We see each other at local psychiatric meetings and now and then at seminars at the University.” Catherine sat back, her hand resting gently on Rebecca’s thigh. “You suspect him? How would he have gotten the information? Surely you didn’t tell him anything?”

“No, but he works in the department. And I was seeing him in an official capacity. It’s possible he could’ve gotten access to almost anything I was involved with.” Rebecca ran a hand through her hair, frustrated once more by her inability to find a solid lead.

“I suppose anything is possible,” Catherine mused, “but I don’t know him well enough to speculate.”

“I didn’t really think that you would, but I had to check.” Rebecca turned until she was facing Catherine fully, their knees slightly touching. She wanted to take Catherine’s hand, but that didn’t feel right considering what she was about to say. “Something else came up this morning as well.”

Oh?” Catherine waited, watching Rebecca’s eyes. Now we’ll get to the reason why you’re here.

“Dellon Mitchell said that she’s been seeing you.”

Catherine remained silent.

Rebecca forged ahead. “Is there anything about the investigation that she might have told you that is accessible to anyone outside this office?”

“It would be better if we discussed this after Officer Mitchell gave me a call,” Catherine said gently. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing this with you until then.”

“Catherine,” Rebecca said, trying to keep exasperation from her voice. “Mitchell already told us she was seeing you for counseling. She knew that I would talk to you when she said it.”

“There are moments when you are quite incapable of appreciating anyone else’s work other than your own.” Catherine stood abruptly and paced back and forth between her desk and the seating area, frown lines furrowed between her brows. Just as precipitously, she stopped and faced Rebecca. “Do you realize how frustrating that is?”

“Yes.” Completely unexpectedly, Rebecca felt a wave of nausea. She forced herself not to change expression but she failed.

“Rebecca,” Catherine said softly, seeing the discomfort in her lover’s eyes. “I love you. That doesn’t stop just because you aggravate me.”

“I’m glad.” In a low voice Rebecca muttered, “I think it was right about at this point that I fell in love with you the first time around.”

Taken completely off guard, Catherine’s heart lifted. “Why Detective Frye, could it be that you’re mellowing?”

Ice blue eyes suddenly bored into Catherine’s, only to soften instantly. “Sensitivity training.”

Catherine laughed out loud and moved closer to the sofa. Rebecca automatically threaded her arm around Catherine’s waist, and the psychiatrist rested her head on the detective’s shoulder. “If it’s all right with Officer Mitchell, I’ll check my notes and let you know if there’s anything in my records remotely connected to what you’ve been doing.”

“Thanks.” Rebecca looked at the remarkable woman who had changed her life. “I love you, you know.”

“Yes. I know.” Catherine smiled. “Just be careful, Detective.”

CHAPTER TEN

“How’s it going?” Dee Flanagan asked.

Sloan pushed back the small stool on which she had been perched since midmorning and eyed the CSI chief. “Your computer is a dinosaur. I’m surprised it still runs.”

“Police issue. You should see what the patrol cars look like.” Dee moved through the small space that was covered on every surface with stacks of journals, boxes off crime-scene mockups, files, and reference books. “Did you find anything?”

“Not yet.”

Dee sat behind her desk and sipped from the mug of coffee she had carried in with her. “Whoever took the files did it months ago. Do you really think you can find anything now?”

“If you had a body that had been buried for twenty years, would there be anything still there that would help you find the killer?”

“There’s always something there. The flesh decays, but even as it does, it changes the nature of whatever surrounds it—chemically, physically, biologically. The bones tell their own tale. Age of the victim, gender, sometimes even the manner of death. The answer is always there; you just need to know how to read the story.”

Sloan nodded. “That’s what it’s like with a computer, too. Even the best hacker leaves a trail. Just by trying to erase the evidence of their presence, they change other things, always leaving some sign of having been there.”

Dee leaned forward over the desk, her intelligent eyes alight with excitement. “So—what does he leave behind?”

“Could be any number of things, depending on how your system is set up and how he accessed your hard drive. One of the first places to look is the log files, which is sort of a diary of events. Information is constantly stored automatically by the operating system without you ever being aware of it. There are also telephone logs which will tell us when attempts were made to dial into the computer from remote access, and usually, with a little creative backtracking, I can get those phone numbers. Once I secure your system, the next thing I’ll do is to analyze the log files around the time your data disappeared and look for evidence of illegal entry.”

“Secure my system? No offense, but isn’t beefing up the security a little late now?”

Sloan regarded the other woman contemplatively. “If someone tampered with your data once, there’s no reason to think they didn’t do before or since. It would certainly be desirable if someone could access your files and find out just what evidence you had accumulated on a certain case, even if they couldn’t take a chance on altering it.”

“Altering it! Jesus Christ. Just a suggestion that evidence has been tampered with could overturn dozens of verdicts.” Dee stood suddenly, quickly threaded her way through the obstacle path on the floor, and shut her office door. “That kind of speculation could be disastrous.”

“I’m aware of that,” Sloan said quietly. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to identify the hacker and then look elsewhere for corroborating evidence to link him to the crimes. That way, we can leave your department out of it completely. But we’d better be sure your system is secure now.”

“If you find something that suggests my files have been compromised in any way, I want to know.”

Sloan shook her head, appreciating the other woman’s integrity, but also recognizing her naïveté. “Look, I’ve been involved in this kind of thing before, and if that turns out to be the case, it’s going to fall on your doorstep. That’s not something you want to have happen.” Your career will be over, and you’ll be lucky if you don’t face criminal charges.

Before Sloan could elaborate, Dee repeated forcefully, “There are people in prison right now because of evidence I presented at trial. There are also a fair number of scumbags walking the streets who were freed because my analysis exonerated them. I have to know I made the right calls.”

“Despite its importance, the crime scene evidence is only one piece of the case presented at trial. The verdict doesn’t rest on your testimony alone.”

“I don’t give a good goddamn about the other pieces of the case. I only care about mine.”

“I understand.” Sloan glanced at her watch. “I don’t have much time today, but I’ll be back either tonight or tomorrow morning. How do I get in here?”

“I’ll give you the combination to the touchpad lock on the morgue admissions bay door.”

“Thanks.” Sloan leaned over, closed her black satchel, which held tools and disks loaded with software programs, and stood. “What if someone sees me in here and asks why I’m working after hours?”

Dee grinned, a mischievous grin that was twice as charming for its rarity. “Just tell them I wouldn’t let you work in here during the day. You could throw in something about me being a pain in the ass—that will help with the authenticity of your story.”

Sloan laughed. “I’ll just mention that I touched something, and you threw me out.”

“I see that Frye instructed you well.”

Sloan just grinned as she walked with Dee toward the exit. It was time to put revenge aside. Now, it was time for Michael.

When Sloan entered Michael’s room shortly before two, she found what appeared to be a party in progress. Michael, looking pale but visibly stronger than just a few hours before, was seated in a leather-padded wooden hospital chair by the side of the bed, a thin blanket over her knees.

Sarah crouched beside the chair, her hand on Michael’s knee. Ali Torveau leaned against the side of the bed, a plastic folder containing Michael’s hospital chart tucked under one arm.

“Dr. Torveau says I can go home,” Michael’s announced, gripping Sloan’s hand with surprising strength.

Almost afraid to believe it, Sloan glanced at the trauma surgeon. “Today?”

“Right now,” Torveau replied even as she held up a hand. “Under certain conditions.”

“Anything,” Sloan responded quickly.

“Someone, preferably a trained medical professional, needs to stay with her twenty-four hours a day.”

“I’m an OMD,” Sarah interjected. “I’ll stay as long as you think it’s necessary—that is if Sloan and Michael don’t mind me moving in for a bit.”

“That would be great, Sarah,” Sloan said instantly. “Thanks.”

“That sounds good,” the surgeon agreed. “It’s also very important that I be advised immediately should there be any change at all in your symptoms, Michael—that means a worsening headache, visual disturbances, weakness—even temporary, cognitive or expressive difficulties, or seizures.”

Sloan felt slightly ill as she listened to the list of potential problems and struggled to keep her expression blank. “How long do we have to worry about something like this happening?”

“Some things could develop months from now, particularly a seizure disorder, but in all likelihood, after a week or two, we can all relax.”

“Can I work?” Michael asked. “I wouldn’t have to leave the house.”

“Michael…” At a swift look of warning from Sarah, Sloan clamped her mouth shut and swallowed the protest. All she could see, still, was Michael lying on the ground in a puddle of blood. But Michael didn’t know what had happened, and there was no reason to make her afraid now.

Ali raised an eyebrow. “I don’t expect you’ll feel like working for a week or so. But,” she added at the look of dismay on Michael’s face, “if it doesn’t involve digging ditches or moving heavy furniture, I don’t see why you can’t try it when you feel up to it.”

“Good.” Michael smiled wanly.

“I understand. Just remember, even though you’re being discharged, you’re still recovering. Don’t expect too much of yourself.”

“What about sex?” Michael kept her eyes on the surgeon’s face, but a soft sigh of resignation from Sloan’s direction was impossible to ignore. Michael merely smiled.

“You are feeling better. It’s amazing what a normal MRI will do for some people.” Ali laughed. “Usually, my position is if you feel like it, then it’s safe to do it. I wouldn’t get too vigorous the first time or so, and if you experience a headache as you approach orgasm, slow down. Maybe stop and the rest for a while.”

“Is it dangerous after this kind of…accident?” Sloan took Michael’s hand, her attention directed at the surgeon.

“Not ordinarily, no. Remember, though, there are fluctuations in blood pressure during sex and right now, Michael’s brain is a little sensitive to sudden changes.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Michael teased softly, “I wasn’t thinking about it for tonight.”

“Darn.” Sloan grinned and hid her relief. The thought of anything harming Michael, even making love, terrified her.

Ali handed Sloan a card. “My office number. Call and make a follow-up appointment for a week.” She sketched a wave and followed Sarah to the door. “I’ll take care of the discharge orders now.”

Alone, Sloan crouched by Michael’s chair. “You sure you’re ready? Because you—”

Michael slipped her fingers into the back of Sloan’s hair and stroked her neck. “I want to go home. I want to sleep next to you tonight. I need that.”

Sloan closed her eyes. “So do I.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?”

“I’m perfect.” Michael had been home twenty minutes, and Sloan hadn’t stopped fussing for a second. She patted the sofa beside her. “Come sit here, love.”

Sloan settled carefully onto the far end of the couch, afraid that the motion would somehow hurt Michael. “Doctor Torveau said bedrest, and we’re already cheating by letting you camp out in the living room instead of in the bedroom. I want you to be able to sleep.”

“I will.” Michael shifted. “Especially if you lie down here next to me.”

Sloan hesitated.

“I’m not going to break.” Michael’s voice was soothing, her eyes tender. “Please, love. I miss you.”

That was all it took. Sloan could no more not answer that call than she could stop her heart from beating. Slowly, she eased herself down until she was on her side facing her lover, her head resting against Michael’s shoulder. “Okay?”

“Mmm.” Sighing, Michael rested her cheek against the top of Sloan’s head and stroked her face. “Now will you tell me what happened?”

Michael’s request was delivered so quietly that at first the words did not penetrate Sloan’s consciousness. “Michael, Doctor Torveau said—”

“I hate this. The way I feel—like something is missing.” Michael’s fingers trembled as she continued to caress Sloan’s face.

The anguish in her voice was more than Sloan could bear. “You were hit by a car, out in front of the house.”

“I can’t remember.”

“Michael. Baby.” Sloan’s voice was nearly pleading. “You just got home. You’re supposed to be resting. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“I will. I promise.” Sloan nuzzled her face against Michael’s neck, needing to feel the heat of her skin and the rush of blood through the vessels, so vital, so alive. Her voice was hoarse as she whispered, “I love you so much.”

“I’m here. Right here.” Michael pressed against Sloan’s body, drawing solace from her nearness even as she offered Sloan the comfort of her embrace.

When Sarah walked into the living area of the loft from the guest bedroom at the far end, she discovered the two lovers asleep in one another’s arms. The ringing of the phone shattered the silence, and she grabbed it, hoping they would not awaken. “Sloan and Lassiter residence.”

Silence. “Hello?”

“Sarah?”

“Jasmine?” Puzzled, Sarah mentally flipped through the calendar in her mind. “Where are you?”

“Downstairs.”

“Why? You don’t have a show tonight, do you?” Sarah glanced over at the couch where Sloan had shifted to a sitting position, leaning with elbows on knees, her head in her hands. “Sloan’s awake now…What? When?…What kind of meeting? With the police?…You’d better come up.”

Sloan crossed to the huge double metal doors, entered the cod eon the keypad, and the doors slid soundlessly open. Just beyond, a woman stood waiting.

Although older than Sandy, she bore her a resemblance in some ways. Her layered hair was dark where Sandy’s was blond and slightly longer, but she was lithe and sensuous like Sandy. Her skin tight black pants, body-hugging lycra top, and scarlet silk blouse left open and tied casually at her narrow waist exuded an aura of confident sensuality. Her make-up was understated but artfully applied, subtly accentuating the sweep of arched cheekbones and the curve of her full lips. She might have been a high-priced call girl or a runway model.

“Hello, sexy.” Jasmine kissed Sloan on the mouth. “You look like road kill.”

“Thanks.” Hastily, Sloan cautioned, “Michael’s asleep.”

Jasmine stepped around her and kissed Sarah’s cheek almost shyly. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” Sarah replied, her tone subdued. Briefly, she touched Jasmine’s hand. “New slacks?”

“Mmm. This afternoon.”

“Nice.” Sarah gestured with her head. “Let’s go into the bedroom, and you can tell where you intend to wear them.” She gave Sloan a hard look. “And just what you two are getting yourselves into.”

Rebecca and Watts stepped into the elevator when a voice from behind called, “Hey, hold that, will you?”

Rebecca braced the door with a hand and turned. Sandy hurried toward the elevator.

“Hi, Sandy.”

Sandy grunted a greeting and pointedly ignored Watts. When the elevator stopped, Rebecca led the way down the hall to the conference room.

“Hey,” Sloan said as the group filed in.

“Sloan,” Rebecca acknowledged, studying the dark-haired woman by Sloan’s side. She was certain they hadn’t met, but the stranger seemed familiar nonetheless.

“Yo,” Watts said, eyeing the woman, too. Sandy sat beside him, pointedly not looking at Mitchell, who took the seat across from her.

“Jasmine, this is Sergeant Frye, Detective Watts, and Sandy.” As they all nodded, Sloan continued, “Jasmine works at the Troc, and she knows some of the regulars at Ziggies.”

“Uh…doin’ what, exactly?” Watts asked, his gaze dropping from Jasmine’s face to her breasts and lingering a moment.

“I’m a singer,” Jasmine replied, her voice whiskey warm.

Watts glanced at Rebecca, who continued to study Jasmine intently. Watts shifted in his chair, almost as uneasy at Rebecca’s silence as he was with the way Jasmine’s voice made his blood race. He didn’t usually go for hookers, but Jesus, she was something.

Abruptly, Rebecca stood. “Excuse me a moment, Miss…”

“Just Jasmine.” She nearly purred the words.

Rebecca smiled, then glanced at the blond beside her. “Sandy?”

Sandy rose, pretending not to notice the hard stare that Dell threw her way, and followed Rebecca to the far end of the room.

In a quiet voice, Rebecca asked, “Know her?”

“Uh-uh and I’d remember. She’s major competition.”

“What do you think?”

“She’s good. Really, really good.” Sandy shrugged. “I know a few trannies, but…she’s different. Classy…I don’t think she’s selling it.”

“Who do you know who could check her out for us?”

Sandy shook her head. “I’m not sure.

Rebecca sighed. She needed a street contact badly, but she was loathe to trust someone she didn’t know, even if Sloan and Jas… “Son of a bitch. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

Sandy stared as Rebecca turned and walked back to her place at the table.

“Jasmine?” Rebecca asked. Blue eyes rose to hers. A full mouth smiled slowly.

“Yes, Sergeant?” The tone was openly seductive now.

“They know you by name in Ziggies?”

“Probably. I drop in there now and then with some of the other entertainers from the club.”

“Other drag queens?”

“We prefer the term female impersonators.” Jasmine tossed her head. “Although some of the other performers are drag queens, of course.”

“Huh? What’s she saying?” Watt’s voice had gotten louder.

“She’s a he, you twit,” Sandy said disparagingly

“No.” Watts looked at Rebecca, who nodded. He slumped in his chair, shaking his head. “Fuck me.”

Mitchell suddenly gasped. “Oh man…Jason. You’re…beautiful.”

“What’s going on?” Watts exploded.

Sloan took pity on him. “Jasmine is Jason’s stage name, Detective. “

“Jason’s stage name?” Watts looked as if he had been pole-axed. His head tilted from side-to-side as his face turned from red to purple. “Jason?”

Jasmine smiled kindly. “Jason isn’t here at the moment, Detective. He asked that I stop by to lend you a hand.”

Watts sat, placed his hands in his lap, and stared fixedly at the tabletop.

“How friendly are you with the girls in Ziggies?” Rebecca asked. “Because if there’s someone in there who knows about the porn videos, it would be them.”

“Nodding acquaintances. Most of the working girls consider us competition and there’s little love lost because of it.”

“What makes you think that you can get what we need in Ziggies if the girls won’t talk to you?” Rebecca asked.

“I might not be able to, but the show at the Troc has female and male impersonators,” Jasmine explained. “The drag kings are regulars at Ziggies. I can put one of us with them.”

“A drag king?” Watts finally found his voice. “A girl pretending to be a guy? Who?”

Jasmine turned and her gaze fell on Officer Dellon Mitchell.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“No,” Rebecca said immediately. “Mitchell’s not trained for undercover.”

“I can do it.” Mitchell’s voice was quiet and sure.

“Undercover work takes practice, kid,” Watts interjected. “You gotta be the person twenty-four seven, because if you lose it for just a minute, you’ll get made. And then…”

He shrugged his shoulders, and a heavy silence fell around the table.

“Dell would be a sitting duck,” Sandy said into the ensuing void. “Nobody’s gonna take her for anything but a cop. Jesus, look at her.”

“Sandy,” Mitchell interrupted, her voice low. “Take it easy.”

“You’re just dumb enough to try it. Fuck, Dell.” Sandy slammed back in her chair, muttering something about moronic cops under her breath.

Rebecca glanced sideways at the young blond, contemplating the ferocity in her voice. That’s just perfect. These two are already way too involved. God damn it. Another complication I don’t have time to deal with.

“There’s no point in discussing it,” Rebecca said flatly. “We don’t even have time to create a good background cover for you, Mitchell. You can’t just one day appear. You need a history, a back story, contacts, people who know you as the person you’re pretending to be.”

“That’s where I come in,” Jasmine said, her tone mildly conciliatory. “If I introduce her, she has instant credibility. Once she’s part of the group at the Troc, that buys her entrance to Ziggies with no questions asked. It shouldn’t take more than a matter of days to establish her as a regular.”

“Yeah?” Watts asked belligerently. “And what about the little matter of Mitchell looking like a guy? She don’t, even if she does have short hair and not much in the way of tits.”

“Actually, detective,” Jasmine said, “she doesn’t have to look like a man. She only has to give the impression of one. It’s in the walk, the attitude, the tone of voice.”

“Oh, for fu—”

“Let’s assume,” Rebecca interjected, sensing that Watts was about to blow a fuse, “that Mitchell can pass…”

“I can.” Mitchell met Rebecca’s gaze. “Isn’t it what we do all the time, Sergeant? Play the game?”

Rebecca studied the unflinching, deep blue eyes. So you know already? Playing the game—yes, that’s what we do. Pretending that the things we see don’t affect us, that the fear isn’t real, that the violence doesn’t touch us. That we aren’t bleeding inside.

“Assuming that Mitchell is accepted by your friends at the Troc, how soon can we get her into Ziggies?”

“There’s a big show at the club this weekend,” Jasmine replied. “A group of us usually go out after to celebrate, while we’re still…dressed.”

Watts snorted. “To a topless bar?”

Jasmine stiffened, and, for the first time, she looked angry. “Our choices are limited, detective.”

“Where do you live, Mitchell?” Rebecca asked.

“Independence Place.” Mitchell named one of the expensive high-rises just south of Walnut at 6th Street, bordering Washington Square Park.

Rebecca shook her head. “No good. We’ll need to find you an apartment a little more downscale than that.”

“There’s a place open in my building,” Sandy said quietly.

Before Rebecca could object, Jasmine said, “That might be good. It wouldn’t hurt for Mitchell to have a girlfriend, either. Another piece of the picture.”

Mitchell blushed and Watts snorted.

“Okay,” Rebecca said, lightly slapping her palms on the tabletop. “Let’s go with this plan for now. Jasmine, you’re in charge of getting Mitchell…geared up.”

“What’s your address, stud?” Jasmine asked. When Mitchell gave it to her, she added, “I’ll be over in an hour. Why don’t you bring Sandy, too. She can be our first audience.”

Rebecca turned to Sandy. “What’s the situation at your building? Is there a building superintendent who handles renting the apartments?”

“That’s a fancy word for the guy since he doesn’t do shit around the place, but yeah.”

“Bring Mitchell around. Tell him sh…he’s a friend of yours who needs a place right away. Cash. I’ll take care of getting the money to you tonight.”

Mitchell looked even unhappier.

“Sure.” Sandy shrugged indifferently.

“And I still need you to find one of those girls that told you about making the sex videos a few months ago. There’s a good chance that they’ve been to the film site.”

“I told you before, I won’t name names.”

“I don’t want their names. I just want to talk to them.”

“Okay,” Sandy said reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. You still got the phone?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Use it. Mitchell, you’re dismissed. Sandy…” She hesitated, but had to admit that Jasmine’s plan for Mitchell’s new persona to have a girlfriend made sense. “Go with her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mitchell said as she stood. Sandy merely sniffed.

Rebecca turned her attention to Sloan. “You’ve got the interdepartmental computer traces.”

“Right. I’m going back tonight. Less traffic on the network. Fewer people to notice me.”

As Rebecca watched her team disperse, she tried hard not to second-guess her decisions. Putting them in danger was much harder than facing it herself.

Sloan peaked around the corner into the bedroom. Michael, her blond hair freshly washed, lay in bed in one of Sloan’s old cotton shirts that had once been blue but was now faded nearly to white. “Everybody gone?”

“Hello, love. Yes, I’m quite alone.” Michael smiled and stretched out of hand. “I missed you.”

“Me, too.” Sloan crossed the room and settled onto the corner of the bed.

“How you doing?”

“Sarah told me a little bit about what happened.”

Sloan’s heart lurched in her chest, and her stomach was instantly queasy. “What do you mean?”

“About the accident.”

“Damn it,” Sloan burst out, one hand fisting the covers. “It’s too soon—”

“It’s not her fault. I asked her.”

“What happened Saturday night?

Sarah continued gently toweling Michael’s hair. “What can you remember?”

“Not much.” Michael, a thick terrycloth towel wrapped around her naked body, leaned back against Sarah for support. “I know there was an accident, and Sloan told me I was hit by a car. She said the driver didn’t stop.”

“Then you know almost as much as we know.” Sarah carefully worked a wide-toothed comb through the long tresses, stopping intermittently to remove the small islands of clotted blood that clung assiduously to the silken strands.

“I know there’s more.” Michael closed her eyes, the headache exhausting, just by virtue of its constant presence.

“Sloan will tell you.”

Michael started to shake her head, then stopped when the pain escalated. “No. She can’t. It kills her to talk about it. I can’t stand to see the pain in her eyes.”

“God, I know.” Sarah’s sighed. “Sloan is incapable of hiding her feelings, despite how hard she tries. If it hurts me to see her hurting, it must be awful for you.”

“Yes. Agony.” Michael reached for Sarah’s hand and held it tightly. “So for both of us, could you help me understand what’s happened?”

“You will remember, given enough time.”

“It’s not the memories I need as much as knowing what’s coming. There’s a meeting downstairs right now, isn’t there?”

“Sloan is an idiot if she thinks she can keep anything from you,” Sarah said, her voice husky with tenderness.

“She thinks she’s protecting me,” Michael replied, instantly coming to Sloan’s defense. “I love her for that. For that and so many other reasons.”

“You know she lives for you, don’t you?” Sarah leaned down and kissed the top of Michael’s head. “She would never intentionally keep something from you, except to prevent you from being hurt.”

“Sarah,” Michael said softly, “you needn’t tell me how she loves me. She’s the heart of my heart.”

“Of course, she is. I’ve always known that.”

“Then, please, tell me what’s happening.”

“Do you remember that Jason and Sloan were involved in an investigation with the local police and the Justice Department?”

Michael was silent a long moment. “Something…about the Internet…a pornography ring, right?”

“Yes. Something…ah, God…something went wrong. Someone found out what Sloan and the rest of them were investigating.”

The silence stretched longer this time. When Michael spoke, her voice trembled. “So the accident…wasn’t an accident.”

“Here, put this on,” Sarah directed, holding up the shirt she had pulled from Sloan’s closet. She helped Michael stand and finished drying her off. Her expression was carefully blank as she gently patted the soft cotton over the large bruises on Michael’s ribs and back. “I should put something on that abrasion on your hip. Wait a minute.” Quickly, blinking back tears, she turned to the medicine cabinet and fumbled about until she found a large tube of antibiotic ointment. Despite her care, Michael winced as Sarah spread the soothing ointment on the raw surface were the skin had been stripped away by her body’s impact with the harsh surface of the street. “Sorry.”

“No. That’s all right.” Michael rested one hand on Sarah’s shoulder for balance. “But they couldn’t have meant to hurt me, could they? I didn’t know anything.”

When Sarah met Michael’s eyes, her distress was clearly evident.

Tears overflowed onto Michael’s cheeks. “Sloan. Of course they wanted Sloan. Oh, God.”

“Hey,” Sloan said anxiously, moving nearer on the bed. She brushed her fingers over Michael’s cheeks, catching the tears on her fingertips. “Hey, hey baby. It’s all right. It’s all right.”

“Is someone still trying to hurt you?”

“No! No.” Sloan settled on the bed next to Michael and wrapped her arm around her lover’s shoulder. “Everything is fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“You’re sure?” Michael’s pressed close, swallowing a moan when her tender ribs protested. It felt too good to be in Sloan’s arms to move away, even to ease the pain.

“Absolutely.” Sloan consciously eased her grip, because all she wanted to do was hold Michael more tightly.

Michael rested her cheek against Sloan’s chest, listing to the rapid rush of breath and the wild pounding of her heart. She had always loved the heat of Sloan’s body and the quick rise of her passion, but never more than now. Just knowing that someone had wanted to harm her made Michael desperate to keep her safe. “I can’t imagine life without you.”

“You’ll never have to.” Sloan trembled as she tenderly kissed Michael’s lips. She kissed her again—gently, carefully—her passion restrained but her devotion unbridled.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You hungry?” Mitchell asked, breaking the silence. Sandy had been quiet since they’d left Sloan’s. “Should we get a pizza or something?”

“How about we go somewhere after Jasmine does her thing with you? You’ll need the practice.”

Does her thing. Mitchell blushed. “Yeah, right. That.” What if I can’t do it? Jeez, what if Sandy laughs?

“You’re crazy for doing this.”

“It’s my job.” Mitchell stared straight ahead, her pace quickening.

“It is not.” Sandy grasped Mitchell’s wrist and tugged until Mitchell looked at her. “You’re supposed to be walking a beat, not club crawling and…picking up sluts.”

“Picking up…oh, come on! You know that what I do while I’m undercover doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the job.”

“Does that include fucking one of them, too?” Sandy jutted her jaw and wondered where the hell that had come from. Like I care who she fucks.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Mitchell raked a hand through her hair in frustration. “I’m not going to be fucking anybody. Jesus.”

Neither of them said anything else until they were inside the high-ceilinged lobby. The elevator arrived and, when they stepped in, they were alone.

“You mad?” Sandy asked.

“No.”

“Sure?” Sandy leaned with one shoulder against the wall, her hip cocked, a strip of bare skin showing above the waistband of her tight slacks.

“Yeah,” Mitchell said hoarsely, her attention riveted to that pale smooth inch of flesh. She wanted to see if it was really as soft as it appeared. She felt hot and a little dizzy.

Mercifully, the elevator glided to a stop. “This is it.”

Suddenly shy, Sandy hesitated. “You sure about this? You know, if people see you with me—”

Impatiently, almost angrily, Mitchell took Sandy’s hand and pulled her from the elevator. “What do you think, that you have a big sign that says hooker around your neck? Let them think whatever they want to think.”

“What about your job? That could be a problem, right?”

Mitchell’s head snapped around. She stared hard at Sandy. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody.”

Frye said…I’m Frye’s now… Mitchell jammed her key into the lock and twisted viciously. She pushed the door open and waited for Sandy to enter before walking into her apartment and flicking on the light switch to her right. “What did Frye say to you?”

Sandy couldn’t miss the current of desperate pain in Mitchell’s voice. “Listen…Frye was just looking out for you, okay?”

“I don’t need her to look out for me, especially not where you’re concerned. What did she say?” Mitchell took a step forward, and when Sandy flinched, Mitchell jerked back, instantly feeling sick to her stomach. “God, Sandy, do you think I’d hurt you?”

“No.” Sandy shook her head. Tentatively, she placed her palm flat against Mitchell’s chest, just above her heart. “No, I…I don’t think that.”

Mitchell stood very still, afraid if she moved Sandy would take her hand away. The heat from Sandy’s small hand burned her skin through the fabric of her shirt. She couldn’t feel anything else except those few square inches of flesh, and in that one single spot, she felt terribly alive.

“I won’t,” Mitchell whispered. “Never. I swear.”

Tremulously, Sandy smiled. Mitchell’s heart thudded against her palm. She couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like that insistent pounding—wild and strong and strangely gentle. Like Dell. “Don’t ask me things, and I won’t have to lie.”

Mitchell took a cautious step forward. Sandy didn’t move her hand, but slid it higher up Mitchell’s chest, until her fingers touched the skin of her throat.

“That’s not how it works.” Mitchell’s voice was husky, her body taut with tension.

“How what works?” Sandy asked, unable to look away from Mitchell’s face. Your eyes get so dark when you’re excit…oh god.

Sandy stumbled back and dropped her hand. Mitchell leaned toward her, breathing fast, but she did not follow.

They smiled at one another.

“You okay?” Sandy finally asked.

Mitchell nodded. “Yeah, you?”

“Sure.”

The doorbell rang.

Mitchell drew a deep breath. “Show time.”

Catherine pushed up on one elbow and brushed the hair from her face with her free hand. “What is it?”

“Christ, I’m sorry.” Rebecca sat up quickly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her voice was muffled as she said, “Look, it’s not you, okay?”

“I could point out that I’m the only one in bed with you, so it most likely is me—but I’m too old to waste my time on false pride.” Gently, Catherine rested her hand against Rebecca’s bare back. The skin was slick with the heat of their passion, the muscles tight with tension. “And fortunately, we’ve been together long enough that I believe you. So, if it’s not me, what is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” the detective ran a hand through her hair. This is how it starts. First she’ll be confused, then she’ll be hurt, and eventually she’ll be angry. This is when it all starts to come apart. “It’s nothing. I guess I’m just tired. Sorry.”

“Rebecca,” Catherine said as she sat up and slid a leg around each side of Rebecca’s body, wrapping her arms around Rebecca’s waist from behind at the same time. She rested her chin on top of her lover’s shoulder. “We’ve made love when you were so exhausted you could barely move a muscle. We’ve made love when you were still recovering from a gunshot wound. Lord, we’ve made love in places and at times when sane people couldn’t conceive of being turned on. This is not about being tired.”

Without looking around, Rebecca found Catherine’s hand where it lay on her stomach and held it. Catherine’s breasts were against her back, a soft warm comfort. Maybe, maybe this time it really would be all right. “It’s the case.”

“Mmm, I thought as much.” Catherine snuggled her cheek against Rebecca’s neck. “What’s worrying you about it?”

Rebecca heaved a sigh. “Just about every damn thing you can think of. I’ve got a rag tag team, short on cops and long on civilians—one of whom is a goddamned streetwalker.” And another who’s my lover. “I’ve got Sloan trying to smoke out an informant within the department—someone who might be mob connected, someone who probably tried to kill her once already. Watts’s career, maybe even his pension, is shot to hell if this operation runs afoul of someone with a lot more clout, or connections, than we can handle. I’m putting a rookie undercover, with no prep time and barely any back-up. Civilian back-up at that. Jesus, what a mess. I should be taken out and shot.”

“Don’t even joke.” Catherine stiffened, and for the first time, her voice held an edge. The nightmares had only begun to abate, and there were still nights when she woke in a sweat, images of Rebecca’s life bleeding away through her fingers.

“Sorry.” Rebecca turned her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re the team leader—the commander. Your burden is every bit as great as theirs, and you care.” Catherine kissed her gently. “You’re exactly the right person to lead them.”

Rebecca turned her face to Catherine’s neck and pressed her lips to the soft skin. She followed with her body, rolling over and pulling Catherine beneath her. Resting on her elbows, one thigh between Catherine’s, she gazed into the tender, knowing eyes that never failed to welcome her. It took her by surprise, every time, how quickly the comfort of Catherine’s gentle strength could transform into wanting. Feeling the sensuous rise of Catherine’s hips and the light brush of nipples against her own, Rebecca forgot everything except the heat rising within. When Catherine stroked her breasts, her abdomen, the swell of her hips, she let herself be carried beyond thought on the tides of their singular desire. Surrendering to the pull of Catherine’s mouth and the rush of fingers over her skin, Rebecca closed her eyes as Catherine claimed her, abandoning control as the knowing touch found the places that made her weak, made her gasp, made her cry out with the swift surge of pleasure rising too quickly to crest and break.

“Now there’s only you,” Rebecca murmured, riding the surge of excitement that gathered deep in her stomach and poured down her thighs, drowning her in pleasure. “Ah Catherine, you’re making me come.”

Catherine watched, awestruck, as Rebecca arched above her, braced on trembling arms, shuddering on the brink of orgasm. So terribly defenseless, so terribly precious. “I love you.”

Rebecca’s eyes flickered open, her usually piercing gaze glazed and unfocused. “I need…you. So much.”

“I’m here,” Catherine whispered, sliding her fingers from the pulsating clitoris, moving lower, inside, taking possession of what was hers. “And here.” She thrust deeper, and Rebecca tensed, poised to shatter. “And…here.”

As Catherine caught the skin below Rebecca’s jaw in her teeth, the sharp edge of pain cut through the deep well of pleasure, and Rebecca lost her tenuous grip on control. “Oh God, don’t…go.”

Catherine pulled Rebecca into her arms as she came, cradling her while the breath tore from her on a hoarse cry of fulfillment. “I’m here, I’m here,” she soothed, over and over until Rebecca relaxed in her embrace.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sandy sat hunched on the edge of Mitchell’s bed, and, while Jasmine sorted through the clothes in Mitchell’s closet, studied Mitchell.

What would Mitchell look like as a guy? She wasn’t tall, but a bit above average height and well-built. Her shoulders were nicely developed and her hips and thighs toned and tight. That would help. But more than her body, there was her face. Chin and cheekbones boldly sketched by a few strong lines, large, deep set eyes, a generous mouth. Her dark hair, as close to black as hair could be, was just beyond short, and thick. Combed the right way—yeah, that could work. And of course, she doesn’t have to look like a guy; she has to look like a really good drag king. Yeah, Dell can do that.

“What do you think?” Jasmine asked, addressing Sandy as she turned from the closet with a pale blue silk shirt in one hand and a pair of dark trousers and matching jacket in the other. “Maybe add a tie?”

Sandy studied the very nice suit, then shook her head no. “Too uptown. She’ll fit in better if she just looks like a boy version of herself.”

“What do you mean?” Mitchell asked, uneasy.

“She’s right,” Jasmine said, casting Sandy an appreciative glance. “We can’t just dress you up and expect it to work. You still have to be as naturally you as possible.” She put the clothes back.

“Can I look?” Sandy asked.

“Sure,” Mitchell said, resigned to having little say in the process.

A minute later, Sandy handed Jasmine first a pair of soft, well-worn black leather pants, then a snowy white T-shirt, and finally a pair of scuffed black motorcycle boots with heavy heels and a wide strap across the arch. “Have you got a jacket to go with these pants, Dell?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t suppose you have a bike, too?”

“Yeah.”

Sandy looked at Jasmine. “Well?”

“The guys at the Troc will die of envy.” Jasmine laid the clothes on the nearby dresser and turned to Mitchell, her expression suddenly serious. “The first time or two you’ll need help wrapping your chest. It’s not as simple as it sounds because you don’t want the ace to show under your shirt. Are you okay with me helping you?”

“I…sure.” Mitchell pulled her shirt from her jeans and began to unbutton it. “Let’s just do it.”

“I’m gonna get a beer. You got beer, Dell?” Sandy suddenly realized that she didn’t want to see Mitchell naked. Or rather, she did. A lot. And that was a good reason not to.

“In the fridge. You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Nah. I’ll hang out for a while.” She walked toward the door and said over her shoulder, “Have fun.”

Jasmine opened a small duffle bag she’d carried into the bedroom earlier and extracted a lightweight white cotton ace wrap. Keeping her gaze on Mitchell’s face, she approached with the ace in her hand. “Raise your arms.”

Mitchell complied, and Jasmine quickly and expertly wrapped it around Mitchell’s chest. “Too tight?”

“No.” Mitchell lowered her arms, flexed her shoulders. “Seems okay.”

Jasmine reached for the white T-shirt from the nearby dresser. “Let’s see how it lays. And remember, you’ve got to expand your movements, not make them smaller. Guys take up a lot of space.”

“Like cops.” Mitchell smiled and pulled on the T-shirt. “I’ve had plenty of practice acting like I’m physically bigger than I am.”

“I know. That’s a big reason why I think this will work—you’ve already got the walk. Plus, your face was made for this.” Jasmine took Mitchell’s hand and drew her to the bed. “I made a call to one of the boys as soon as the meeting broke up, and he took me on a quick shopping trip for your drag gear.”

Mitchell rubbed the back of her neck as she stared at the items laid out on her bed. Oh jeez.

“I got a few different ones, because you need to wear one big enough to give you a bit of a bulge—that’s pretty much required for a drag king. But personally, I don’t go for the perpetually hard look. The packing dicks are just for show—they won’t function, but they don’t look like bananas in your pants, either.”

Mitchell picked up the pale pink packing dildo in its clear plastic envelope and squeezed It felt real. “Well, I’m not gonna need it to work.” She kept her face expressionless as she unzipped her jeans and pushed them down.

Abruptly, Jasmine turned and walked to the floor to ceiling windows on the opposite side of the spacious room. Keeping her back to Mitchell, she remarked, “You’ve got an incredible view of the square from here. Of all of downtown, really.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell replied as she pulled the leather pants up and settled herself. “Okay.”

Jasmine turned. Mitchell stood with hips thrust slightly forward, a thumb hooked over the top of her pants, her fingers splayed across the leather, close to but not quite touching the subtle but definite swelling to the right of her fly.

“Well, Mitch,” Jasmine said quietly, “I’m having a gender confusion moment.”

Mitchell laughed a bit shakily. “Good. So am I.”

“Ookaay.” Jasmine took a deep breath, wondering briefly how Sarah would feel about a full out cross-dressing date. Mitchell, just beyond androgynous now, was Eros personified. “Time for the final touches. Bring that chair into the bathroom. I need good light for this.”

A minute later, Mitchell sat down, automatically sliding a hand up the inside of her thigh to cup her crotch, adjusting for the new position.

“Good move,” Jasmine murmured, running her fingers through Mitchell’s thick hair. “Men and drag kings are fond of frequent manual dick checks.” She laughed. “Lest it disappear.”

“Should be fun on the bike,” Mitchell muttered. The unaccustomed pressure between her thighs that escalated intermittently with every small movement was disturbingly arousing. Her entire body was tingling, and she couldn’t wait for Sandy to see her. Oh man. What if she doesn’t like it? Jesus Christ. What if she does?

“Are you and Sandy an item?” Jasmine asked as she altered the arch of Mitchell’s dark brows with several adept strokes of the eyebrow brush.

Mitchell met Jasmine’s gaze in the mirror. “No. Why?”

Jasmine switched to a wider brush and picked up a dark shade of toner. As she accentuated the width of Mitchell’s naturally strong jaw, she said, “She’s hot for you.”

Mitchell twitched. Everywhere. “There’s nothing going on with us.”

“Uh-huh.” Jasmine walked around from behind the chair and held out her hand, then pulled the nouveau drag king to his feet. She checked Mitch’s beard shadow, ran her eyes over the hard muscled chest, let her eyes drop to the prominence of genitalia nestled in soft dark leather. Nice. “Do you want there to be?”

“Want what to be?” Mitch was aware of the languid scrutiny, and unexpectedly, he got hard. If this keeps happening, I’m going to go nuts.

“Something to be going on between you and Miss Cutie-Pie.”

“Yeah.” It felt so good to say.

“Well, then, stud,” Jasmine said, taking Mitch’s hand, “I think you’re about to get your chance.”

When she heard footsteps, Sandy looked up from the couch where she’d been nursing her second beer and rifling through a magazine about vintage cars. Jasmine walked into the living room with her arm around the waist of … Oh fuck, Dell. Look at you. You are so, so hot.

“Sandy, this is Mitch.”

Watts’s voice echoed in Sandy’s memory. You gotta be the person twenty-four seven, because if you lose it for just a minute, you’ll get made. And then…

“Hiya, Sandy.” Mitch hoped his nervousness didn’t show. Sandy hadn’t said a word, and he couldn’t tell if she liked it or not. Maybe she doesn’t go for drag; maybe she doesn’t go for girls any way at all. Christ, maybe she’s straight. Mayb…

Well, if he’s supposed to be my boyfriend, time to prove it. Sandy put the bottle on the coffee table and walked directly to Mitch, not stopping until her breasts nearly touched his chest. Wordlessly, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth.

Mitch’s head spun wildly. He had imagined a lot of reactions when she saw him, but not this. His first thought, before the incredible feel of her mouth drove every thought from his burning brain, was that she was only kissing him because he was a guy. But then he knew that this was not what Sandy did when she was with men. This was something special, just between them. Then he couldn’t think at all because his heart was pounding so loudly and his insides were turning over, and his legs were shaking too badly to do anything but struggle to stay upright. And God can she kiss.

“So, boyfriend,” Sandy said calmly after she broke the kiss, “you promised me pizza.”

Jasmine laughed, shaking her head in delight and admiration for Sandy’s aplomb. “Mitch, love, if that’s the way she asks for pizza, you might want to go for a four-star restaurant next time.”

Jasmine let herself out, her soft laughter drifting back to them.

“Is it okay?” Mitch asked quietly when they were alone. He still hadn’t moved, and neither had Sandy.

“You look great.”

“You okay calling me Mitch?”

Sandy shook her head, exasperated. “You are Mitch. You have to be, or else you’re going to get your ass killed.” She took Mitch’s hand and squeezed. “You told Frye you could do this, and I’m starting to believe it. So do it, rookie.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

Sandy smiled a small, secretive smile. “Because you looked a little nervous, and that’s not how you need to look. You need to look tough and sure, and I figured a kiss would get you on track.” And because you looked so good I just had to.

“I’m not nervous now.” Mitch’s voice was low, husky.

“Then it worked.” Sandy dared a quick peak into Mitch’s eyes. They were that dark, dark blue again. Hazy and hot. She liked knowing that look was for her. But she wasn’t ready for more. “You gonna feed me or not?”

“Yeah.” Mitch’s throat ached with wanting her, but it would have to be on her terms. He pulled out his leather jacket, shrugged into it, and then held open a second, softer brown one. “It’s getting cold at night now.”

Sandy hesitated and then turned to let Mitch slide the coat over her arms. For just a second she leaned back against him. She felt the quicksilver brush of lips against her neck, and she shivered. “Thanks.”

“Come on, girlfriend,” Mitch murmured close to Sandy’s ear. “Let’s go get that pizza.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sloan closed her eyes and rubbed her face wearily. The symbols on the screen had blurred to the point where she knew she’d miss something critical soon. She was alone in the CSU lab, and the quiet colluded with her exhaustion to lull her into torpor.

“One more scan,” she muttered, “then I’ll call it quits for the night.”

She opened the root directory and began to search for the activity log from the time period in question. Data scrolled by, all routine. So routine, in fact, that she almost did miss it. A password query, a series of them, and then a password change—followed by file access.

Sloan jolted upright, her attention totally focused, her mind absolutely clear. Fingers flying over the keyboard, she was quickly immersed in the data stream, functioning on a subconscious level, guided by the intuitive logic leaps that only the master hackers ever attained. She was on the trail of her quarry, and she was close.

Mitch looked around the small dark empty apartment that was just down the hall from Sandy’s. “I’ll be fine here tonight.”

“There’s no furniture.” Sandy tugged his arm toward the door. “What are you gonna do, crash on the floor?”

“I’ll get a few things tomorrow. I won’t need that much.”

“Fuck that. You’re sleeping at my place.”

Ignoring the fact that he’d never won an argument with Sandy yet, Mitch was too tired to argue. It had been nerve-wracking being out in public with Sandy, even though they had hung out in the Tenderloin around 13th and Locust where just about anything goes. No one had seemed to pay them any attention as they’d walked around, Mitch with his arm around Sandy’s waist, her with a thumb hooked over his belt in the back. Despite their apparent anonymity, that was only part of the problem. For three hours, Sandy had been all over him, and it was driving him crazy.

She rubbed her hand up and down his back while they walked, squeezed his butt from time to time, and sidled up to him when they stopped to look in the window of a video store, her pelvis pressed to his hip, her breasts against his arm, her fingers stroking his abdomen just above his pants. When they ended the evening in a neighborhood bar because Sandy had said it would be good for them to be seen together, she’d practically climbed into his lap. All of which had left his nerves shattered and his body screaming for relief.

Much more of anything from her and he was going to come out of his skin.

“Okay, fine,” Mitch conceded as they walked down the short dingy hall and into the startling warm oasis of Sandy’s apartment. “I’ll crash on your floor. At least it’s clean.”

Sandy regarded him steadily. “You can sleep with me.”

“I can’t.” Mitch’s voice was low, nearly mournful.

“Why not?”

“Sandy, for God’s sake.” Jesus, she never makes anything easy. “I’m gay.”

“No foolin’.” Sandy’s smile when she looked back at the handsome drag king was oddly tender. “So? Can’t you be good?”

“Usually.” Mitchell blew out a frustrated breath, rubbing at the restraining ace on her chest. I want you to touch me so bad. If you’re next to me… “But not tonight. I’m so wound up…I…I just don’t think I can.”

“Well, I’m not worried, Dell.” Sandy took a step closer, which in the tiny room brought them within touching distance. “And I’m not scared.”

Mitchell’s heart tripled-timed. “Well, I am.”

“Does that hurt?” Sandy asked with concern, pointing to Mitchell’s chest. “You’ve been rubbing it.”

“Itches.”

Sandy took Mitchell’s hand. “Come over here and sit down.”

“Sandy…”

“Be quiet, Dell,” Sandy said as she put both hands on Mitchell’s shoulders and gently forced her down on the edge of the sofa bed. Then she knelt between Mitchell’s legs and reached for the bottom of the white T-shirt. Her belly brushed the leather between Mitchell’s thighs.

“I’m so turned on,” Mitchell confessed in a whisper. “You’re making me so nuts, I can’t stand it.”

“Good.”

When Sandy pulled the shirt from her pants, Mitchell closed her eyes and leaned back on her elbows, unable to do anything but surrender. Her stomach was in knots, her skin on fire, her clitoris full and hard and pounding. Whatever this was, whatever this wasn’t—no matter what anyone said—she needed it. Needed Sandy’s small hands on her, needed that warm mouth…

“Oh Jesus,” Mitchell moaned as Sandy leaned forward and kissed her abdomen. “Your lips are so soft.”

“Mmm, so’s your skin,” Sandy murmured, licking a circle around the tight navel. Her breasts rested against Mitchell’s fly, and she rubbed them back and forth slowly as she worked her lips over the taut muscles. “You taste good.”

The weight of Sandy’s body pressing into Mitchell’s crotch forced the firm form in her pants harder against her straining flesh. Discomfort became acute stimulation, and her clitoris twitched with warning spasms.

“Wait…wait a second,” Mitchell uttered in desperation, one hand cradling Sandy’s cheek, the other reaching for the fly of her leathers. “Let me get this out of here.”

Sandy grasped her hand and looked up. “Leave it for a little while. It’s sexy.”

Mitchell blushed and met Sandy’s eyes. “It’s not…it won’t work.”

“I don’t need it to work, idiot.” Sandy pulled the T-shirt over Mitchell’s head and reached for the tape holding the ace wrap in place. “I know who you are, Dell.”

Mitchell looked down as Sandy carefully released her breasts, the blond head bent over her naked flesh. With trembling fingers, Mitchell stroked Sandy’s cheek, then ran her thumb over the full pink lips. Sandy bit the tip of her thumb, and her thighs tightened. When Sandy brushed her fingers over Mitchell’s nipples, she tensed and cried out.

Sandy’s breath came faster, her hands shaking as she flattened her palms over the small firm breasts, massaging them gently. Moaning in surprise, she felt herself get wet. She hadn’t really expected that. All night she’d told herself she was just playing with Mitch to get him used to being treated like a guy. But she’d enjoyed it—more than enjoyed it. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but she’d been hot all night. And she wanted Dell now, wanted her the way she hadn’t thought herself capable of wanting anyone—not this way, not in her body, in her blood. “Oh yeah, you feel so fucking good.”

Through eyes gone dim with arousal, Mitchell watched Sandy suck a hard nipple into her mouth, and the sight and sensation drove her close to the edge. Whimpering faintly, dangling on the brink of exploding, Mitchell turned her head and sought Sandy’s gaze. “Please, Sandy…please.”

“Mmm,” Sandy murmured, leaning close. “You are so sexy when you’re hot, you know that? I wanna keep you this way for a while.”

“I’m gonna die…” Mitchell ached for the feel of skin against her skin, for Sandy’s flesh beneath her hands.

They both jerked as a shrill ring pierced the room. Mitchell stiffened as Sandy cursed.

“Mother fucker.”

“What is it?” Mitchell asked, her stomach so tight with unrequited need she thought she’d be sick.

“My phone.” Sandy’s voice was wild.

“Ignore it, okay.” Mitchell drew Sandy’s hand down to her fly and pressed her fingers to the swelling there. She whimpered; she couldn’t help it. “Please.”

The sound shrilled again.

“No—it’s my phone. Jesus Christ.” Sandy was having trouble thinking clearly. She was so excited her brain was mush. “Frye’s phone. That’s her calling.”

Mitchell went cold.

The phone rang a third time and Sandy lunged for her purse. “Yeah, what?”

“How you doin’, Sandy?”

“Peachy.” Sandy glared at Mitchell who had sat up and was pulling on her T-shirt in quick angry motions.

“Did you get Mitchell squared away?”

“Yeah.” Sandy laughed without humor. Oh yeah, I took care of her all right. Fuck.

“I still need the street Intel on those filmmakers.”

“Okay. When?”

“How about right now.”

Sandy panicked. “You can’t come up here.”

“I wasn’t going to.” A beat of silence. “What’s the matter? You got someone up there with you?”

Oh no, just Dell with a hard-on and pissed as hell. Jesus, she’d probably go for your throat right now. Sandy made a fast decision. “A john.”

“That wasn’t the deal. You work for me, you don’t turn tricks.”

“Look, I’ll meet you right now.”

Another pause. “Okay. Meet me at Woody’s, in the back room.”

Sandy closed the phone and faced Mitchell. “I have to go out.”

“She calls and you jump? She that good?”

“You’re a jerk.” Sandy gathered her small purse and headed for the door.

“Take my jacket.”

Sandy pulled a tiny royal blue satin zip-up top from the coat tree by her door and slipped it on. “Don’t you know by now that they don’t buy what they can’t see?”

Mitchell paled. “Sandy…”

But she was talking to a closed door.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sandy threaded her way through the crowd clustered around the bar for last call and walked into the dark recesses of the rear. She dropped into the seat across from Frye at a tiny back table. “Funny place for a meeting, unless you’re looking to get laid. You looking for some action? Cause I’m free now, thanks to you.”

Rebecca ignored the taunts. Sandy’s anger was one thing she counted on, and she had a feeling it was a big part of what kept Sandy from being swallowed by the street. “You get rid of your visitor?”

“What do you think? I left him at my place?” Sandy ried not to think about where Mitchell had gone, what she was doing, who she might be with. “You gonna be calling all the time now? It cramps my style.”

“You’re not supposed to have a style any longer, remember?” Every night as she drove the streets, Rebecca watched the young girls sell their bodies to survive, knowing there was nothing she could do to change their fates. She tried, and would probably keep trying—scanning the faces, looking for likenesses to the blurred images on the missing persons bulletins, taking those she could convince to leave the life to shelters or women centers—but it was a never-ending battle doomed to failure. Every day there were more of them. Why Sandy meant more to her that any of the others, she couldn’t say. “I have an investment in you, and I expect you to take care of yourself.”

“I’ve managed just fine so far.”

“Yeah—that new scar on your forehead is proof of that. Someone beat the living hell out of you, didn’t they?”

“It was nothing. I could have handled that even if Dell—” Sandy clamped her jaws shut. Shit!

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “What does Mitchell have to do with it?”

“Nothing.”

“Her life is on the line now, Sandy. Don’t fuck with me, I don’t have time.” Rebecca’s tone was harsh, not with anger, but worry. What in hell have I missed?

“A guy was roughing me up. Dell stopped him.”

“Stopped him how?”

“Like cops do—she took the fucker down and arrested him. She got into trouble for it, too—because she pulled her gun and got rough or something.”

And the pieces tumbled into place. Mitchell on suspension. Mitchell undergoing counseling—mandatory in situations like that. Catherine and Mitchell—Catherine who must know all about it. How much hasn’t Catherine told me?

“Okay,” Rebecca said quietly. “So let’s talk business. I need you to find an Asian girl named Lucy.”

“Lucy what?”

“No last name—she’s about sixteen, and she might work for Angel Rivera.”

“Angel’s a mean pimp.” Sandy’s eyes grew hard. “He hooks his girls on smack to keep them working.”

“I know that,” Rebecca said, her anger barely contained. And I’d love to put him away, or kick the crap out of him, but he always manages to slip through some crack in the system. “I tried showing the picture of the girl from the video around Chinatown. I thought maybe she was a runway and someone might know her.” Four hours in and out of every bodega and restaurant in a ten-block area and one slim lead to show for it. “No one knew her, but someone said they thought maybe she was a friend of this Lucy.”

“That’s kinda thin, don’t you think?”

“It’s what I’ve got.” Roberta looked at her watch. “Where’s Mitchell now?”

That twist of pain was unexpected and Sandy jerked involuntarily. To cover her surprise, she laughed harshly. “How should I know? You’re the one told me to stay away from her, remember?”

“Things have changed.” Rebecca leaned forward intently. “She’s good, but she’s a novice. I need you to watch her back.”

“So what do you want me to do? Move in with her?”

“If you have to.”

Sandy stood. “You know something, Frye? You use people.”

Rebecca made no reply and Sandy walked away.

You use people.

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, although not quite as honestly as Sandy put it. Jill had complained that Rebecca put the job first and gave her what was left. Which was never enough. Rebecca thought of Catherine, and how much she needed her. How she so often came to Catherine, weary and drained, and let Catherine comfort her with her body and her tender soul. I use her, too.

Catherine rarely slept deeply when Rebecca was working. She rolled over and opened her eyes, having been roused by a soft noise in the darkened room.

“Rebecca?”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to be quiet.” Rebecca padded across the floor, slipped naked into bed, and buried her face in the sweet softness of her hair.

“Everything all right?”

“Mmm. I love you so much.”

Catherine heard the faint catch in her lover’s voice. “Darling? Did something happen?”

“No, I’m just beat.” Rebecca took a long breath. She wasn’t going to burden Catherine with more of her guilt.

Catherine hesitated, knowing there was more. She always knew. She kissed Rebecca’s forehead, then her eyelids, then finally her mouth. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Catherine,” Rebecca whispered. I need you so much. I don’t know if I could keep going…

“What, darling?”

“I…you’re the best thing in my life. The most important thing.” Rebecca smoothed her fingers over Catherine’s cheek, along her neck, and then lowered her head to kiss Catherine’s breast just above her heart. “I just want you to know that.”

“I love you.” Catherine held Rebecca tightly, letting that be enough.

Michael rose carefully. The clock read five-thirty. The side of the bed where Sloan had lain was cold.

She went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, then looked into the mirror for the first time since the accident. She blinked, drew a shaky breath, blinked again.

Thank god Sarah washed my hair because the rest of me is a fright.

With horrific clarity, she abruptly recalled the conversation with Sarah.

Car accident…skull fracture…broken ribs…bruised kidney.

Someone had tried to kill Sloan, and she had been hurt instead.

“My God…”

Michael made her way carefully to the guest room at the opposite end of the loft and halted at the door. “Sarah?”

A light came on, and Sarah was instantly by her side.

“Michael? What is it? Are you sick?”

“Where’s Sloan?”

“I…what?” Sarah took Michael’s hand. “You should go back to bed. You’re white as a sheet.”

Michael looked beyond Sarah to Jason, who was just tying his sweat pants. “Where is she, Jason?”

He looked helplessly at Michael. “She said she was going to check on some data for Rebecca.”

“You left her alone?” Michael’s voice rose with anger and fear. “What were you thinking? Someone tried to kill her.” Michael’s vision dimmed and a wave of pain rolled through her head and flooded her consciousness. She swayed and Sarah grabbed her arm.

“Michael. Sit down.”

“I’m fine.” Nevertheless, Michael allowed Sarah to lead her to the bed. “I’m sorry.” She lifted anguished eyes to Sarah and Jason, who stood side by side a few feet away, both looking distraught.

“Ah, hell,” Jason muttered, looking to Sarah for guidance.

Michael’s voice cut through the air. “Tell me. What?”

“She was working on finding the leak in the department—maybe she found it.”

“Someone tried to kill her and almost killed me instead. Don’t you realize what she’ll do? God, she’ll be crazy.” Michael’s voice was cold and eerily flat. “Find her, Jason. You find her right now and bring her home.”

Six a.m. Quitting time.

Sandy trudged up the dark narrow stairwell to the third floor on autopilot. She unlocked her apartment door, stepped inside, and stared at the woman sitting on the side of her bed. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Sandy found her voice.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to say I was sorry for being an asshole.”

“Okay. You said it.”

Mitchell curled her fingers over her knees to hide the shakes. She was so fucking tired. “I didn’t have any right to come down on you for leaving last night. I was…I was a little crazy.”

“You were a lot crazy if you think Frye and I have anything going on.”

“I know. I just…” Mitchell drew a long breath. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

When Mitchell started to rise, Sandy put a hand on her thigh, stopping her. “I’m sorry for leaving you in a state. I didn’t want to.”

Mitchell blushed. “Not your fault.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sandy bumped Mitchell’s shoulder with hers. “I thought it was.”

“I was so hot for you,” Mitchell whispered, glancing at Sandy with a half turn of her head. “I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what the fuck I was saying.”

“Was hot for me?”

“Am.” Mitchell took Sandy’s hand, caressed it gently. “Have been for quite a while.”

“Same here.” Sandy leaned her head on Mitchell’s shoulder. “You wanna stay?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Silently, they both rose, undressing slowly, watching each other in the breaking dawn light. Sandy lifted the covers and slid under, then held them open for Mitchell. The bed was narrow, and they turned to face one another, their bodies lightly touching. Mitchell rested her hand softly on Sandy’s hip. Sandy nestled her face close to Mitchell’s on the pillow.

“Is it okay if we just…” Sandy shivered. She’d never been this way with anyone. “Is just sleeping okay for now?”

“It’s fine.” Mitchell’s body was doing the all-over tingle thing again, and she was wet. But that was okay. It was good, great. Perfect. “You’re really beautiful, you know.”

“Dell,” Sandy said gently. “You are such a blockhead.”

Carefully, Mitchell inched forward and kissed Sandy, a tender whisper of lips brushing lightly. “I know. But you’re still beautiful.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Catherine lifted the phone mid-way through the second ring. “Hello?…Yes, she’s right here.” She extended the receiver to Rebecca. “It’s Jason.”

“Sorry, Rebecca…we can’t seem to find Sloan.”

Rebecca sat up, instantly alert. “I’ll be right over.”

Jason, unshaven in wrinkled clothes, looked up hopefully as Rebecca walked into the central office area just after eight a.m. “Anything?”

“Nothing.” Rebecca had never seen him with a hair out of place, even when he’d been lying on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back, Mitchell’s knee between his shoulder blades.

“I should have realized she’d go after whoever hurt Michael on her own. Michael is…everything to her.”

Rebecca understood that. That’s what she would do if anyone hurt Catherine. “It’s my fault. Not yours.”

“I know her bes—”

He cocked his head, listening to the sound of the elevator descending to the first floor, then the slow steady whir of the gears reversing. Together, he and Rebecca watched as the double-wide doors slid soundlessly open.

Sloan’s eyes were rimmed with dark shadows, her cheeks gaunt, her clothes beyond creased. Her shoulders sagged, and her step was unsteady.

“You hurt?” Rebecca asked sharply.

Sloan shook her head and sat heavily into the nearest chair. “I got him.”

Jesus, god. Rebecca’s body turned to ice. “Who?”

“Captain John William Henry.”

Rebecca’s face never changed expression but her stomach heaved. With effort, she kept her voice even. “What did you do?”

Sloan looked at her, her eyes slightly unfocused. “I sat across the street with my gun in my lap, locked and loaded, all night. Knew he’d be out early.”

Jason jumped to his feet. “Sloan, don’t say anything else! I’m calling Jack Goldberg.”

Sloan sat up straighter. “I don’t need an attorney.”

“Are you willing to talk to me without an attorney, Sloan?” Rebecca was quiet, nonthreatening, and she hadn’t moved an inch since Sloan arrived.

“No, she isn’t,” Jason said adamantly.

“I didn’t do anything.” Sloan leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. “He came out, he got in his car, he drove away.”

“That’s it?” Rebecca asked.

Sloan nodded.

“You carrying now?”

Again Sloan nodded.

Rebecca walked to her and extended her hand. “Give me you weapon.”

After a long moment, Sloan complied.

“Jason,” Rebecca said, ejecting the clip and putting it along with the automatic in her pocket, “take her upstairs and see that she stays there.”

“You can’t do that. This guy is mine.” Sloan jumped up, her eyes suddenly bright.

“Get her out of here, Jason.” Rebecca’s voice was flat and hard. “Now.”

Rebecca remained motionless until Jason and Sloan disappeared into the elevator. Captain Henry. And Sloan almost took him out. Christ, how many more ways can I screw up this case.

Mitchell was awakened by a persistent pulse of pleasure centered in her left breast. Raising her head, she focused on the blond head bent over her chest and watched Sandy suck her nipple between her lips.

“Ahh, jeez Sandy.” Mitchell’s head dropped back and she closed her eyes again. “What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sandy whispered, stretched out on top of Mitchell, one thigh between hers. “And I couldn’t stand to just look any longer.”

Eyes still closed, Mitchell trailed her fingers along Sandy’s side, brushing the curve of her bare breast. “Feels good. So good.”

“Mmm.”

Sandy shifted, nestling her own breast in Mitchell’s palm. Her voice was soft as she said, “You can touch me now.”

Ever so carefully Mitchell ran her fingertips over the gentle swell of silken skin, thumbing lightly back and forth across the erect nipple. Sandy made a small mewling sound.

“Okay?” Mitchell asked, opening her eyes and pushing up against the pillows.

Sandy nodded, lids half closed, as she rocked slowly against Mitchell’s leg. “You can do it…harder.”

“You sure?” Mitchell asked, squeezing rhythmically, harder each time.

“It…oh…Dell…I can feel it…all the way down.”

Mitchell groaned and captured the other breast in her hand. Sandy arched upward on extended arms, pressing her breasts harder into Mitchell palms. As Mitchell rolled and tugged her nipples, Sandy began to shiver, her hips moving insistently against Mitchell’s thigh.

“Stop,” Sandy gasped abruptly. “Dell, stop.”

Immediately, Mitchell stilled, her entire body rigid. Her voice was hoarse with tension and arousal. “What? Sandy, what? Did I hurt you?”

Sandy lowered herself against Mitchell’s body and pressed her face to Mitchell’s neck. She was trembling.

Mitchell caressed her back, rocking her gently in her arms. “Hey. Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Sandy mumbled, her fingers tracing the curve of Mitchell’s jaw. She kissed the side of Mitchell’s neck, then the corner of her mouth.

Mitchell worked to stay focused through the mists of arousal. “Sandy? Come on. Help me out here.”

“I’ve never come with anyone touching me before.”

Mitchell’s eyes darkened; her breath stuttered to a stop. She eased onto her side, keeping Sandy in her arms. Their heads rested close together on the pillow, their breasts and thighs lightly touching. “Do you want to?”

“I almost did, and then…” Sandy turned her face away.

Mitchell tapped a finger on Sandy’s chin. “And then?”

“I got scared.”

“Ah, babe.” Mitchell kissed Sandy gently. “I want what you want. You tell me.”

“I want to touch you.” Sandy drew a finger down the center of Mitchell’s body, resting her fingers in the dark triangle at the base of her abdomen. “I want to make you come.”

Mitchell moaned softly. “I want to touch you, too. So much.”

“I want you to,” Sandy whispered. She found Mitchell’s hand and pressed it between her own thighs. Her eyes flickered closed, then opened, the pupils wide and dark. “I don’t know if I can.”

Mitchell felt the heat, felt the hard shape of her desire, felt her tremble. “Anything you say…I’ll just stroke you a little, okay?”

“Yes. Yes.” Sandy slipped her fingers between Mitchell’s legs, squeezed lightly, and smiled when Mitchell gasped. When Mitchell mirrored the motion, she moaned. “Nice. Dell…that’s so nice.”

“Yeah.” Mitchell struggled not to come immediately.

“Dell,” Sandy breathed. Touching Mitchell made her so excited, she could barely discern what aroused her the most—Mitchell’s pleasure or her own. “Oh…you just got so hard.”

“I’m gonna come,” Mitchell gasped. She pressed her forehead to Sandy’s, groaning softly as she spasmed in Sandy’s palm, shuddering with the swift and merciful release of the tension in her depths. “Sandy. Sandy.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sandy watched in awe as Mitchell closed her eyes and arched her back, so beautiful. The sharp rise of her own orgasm took her by surprise and she cried out, every muscle clenching as it struck.

“Incredible,” Mitchell whispered. Her throat closed around sudden tears, and she swallowed hard. “You are so beautiful.”

“Yeah?” She still had her hand between Mitchell’s thighs. She pressed the base of the swollen clitoris, then stroked.

“Uh-huh.” Mitchell jerked, moaning softly.

“You’re doing that again.”

“What?” Mitchell’s voice was hoarse, her stomach tight.

“Getting really hard.”

“That’s cause…you’re making me come again. Ah…god.”

Sandy leaned up on an elbow, grinning. “Yeah?”

“Ye…” Mitchell choked on the word, coming too hard to do anything but fight for air. When the last ripple of orgasm faded, she fell back, gasping. “Thank you.”

Sandy’s smile of self-congratulation changed to an expression of astonishment. “Dell, Jesus. You’re nuts.”

Mitchell tried to focus and finally fixed on Sandy’s face. “Why?”

“Because…I wanted to be with you.” Sandy leaned near and kissed her. Long and deep and hard. “You got a girlfriend, rookie?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“I’m holding out for Mitch’s girl.”

Sandy laughed. “I don’t know, Dell. Mitch is fucking hot.”

“Uh-huh. I noticed you thought so.”

“Yeah, I did.” Sandy rolled over and straddled Mitchell’s hips, rubbing herself against the base of Mitchell’s belly. She was still wet and the fleeting friction against her erect clitoris made her groan. “But then, so are you. Big time.”

Mitchell reached for Sandy’s breasts, gently cupping them as she arched her hips, making Sandy bite her lower lip and close her eyes. “So I’ve got a chance?”

“We’ll see, rookie,” Sandy whispered. “We’ll see.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Michael rested her palm against Sloan’s chest and smiled faintly. “You look awful. Take a shower and go to bed.”

A few minutes later, Sloan, naked and still damp, emerged from the bathroom.

“Come to bed.” Michael loosed her robe and slid under the sheets, stretching an arm out across the pillow.

Sloan lay down next to her, rested her cheek on Michael’s shoulder, and sighed. It had seemed so clear when she’d arrived outside Catian’s Henry’s house what she needed to do, but as time passed, she’d become confused and uncertain. She knew Michael wouldn’t want her to take matters into her own hands; Frye would know immediately it was her doing if anything happened to the guy; and, as she turned the automatic over and over in her hands, she had come to doubt that she could pull the trigger. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You didn’t worry me so much,” Michael replied, threading her fingers into Sloan’s thick, dark hair. “You scared me.”

“I’m really beat, baby,” Sloan murmured. “I fucked up last night. I…I’m not thinking right. I haven’t been right since you got hurt.”

“I know, love.” Michael kissed Sloan’s forehead. “Everything is going to be all right. I’m going to be all right. So are you.”

Sloan didn’t reply. She was already asleep.

Michael closed her eyes. They were together, and it was a start.

Mitchell stepped off the elevator at Sloan Security and hurried down the hallway toward the sound of voices. She was late. Way late. She thought about Sandy as she’d last seen her, lying naked, asleep in the midst of the tangled sheets. Feeling almost high, Mitchell grinned, knowing that she wouldn’t have changed anything about the last few hours.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mitchell said, her eyes on Rebecca.

Watts gave her a hard stare. “Late night out with the boys, Officer?”

“No, sir, I—”

“Did you get settled into the apartment?” Rebecca asked briskly.

“Yes, ma’am, I di—”

“Good. Sit down. We were in the middle of a briefing.”

Mitchell sat, her gaze forward. What the hell has happened? And where is Sloan?

“Sloan thinks she’s nailed our leak. I want to be sure, because we’re going to have to concentrate all our resources on building a case against him if she’s right.” With a black marker, she wrote Suspects at the top of the blank board and underlined it. “Let’s go through them, one by one.”

Next she wrote Police Dept to the far left of the board. Beneath it, she wrote Captain Henry—Special Crimes, Adams—Civilian Clerk-SC, Trish Marks—Homicide, Charlie Horton—Homicide.

She moved over an inch and wrote City Hall. “Watts? Want to fill in the players?”

Watts pulled a tattered leather bound notebook from the inside of his brown suit jacket, flipped it open, and read dispassionately. “Two ADAs handled the warrant for the bust at LongJohn’s. That would be Margaret Campbell and…uh…George Beecher. The judge was Sally Marchamp.”

As he spoke, Rebecca added the names. With one more shift to her right, she headed the last column under Suspects with Civilians. Beneath that, she wrote Whitaker and Rawlings. When she turned, she met her lover’s gaze. Much as she’d expected, Catherine regarded her calmly, but there was a quizzical expression in her eyes.

Rebecca surveyed the room. “Who can we absolutely eliminate?”

Watts cleared his throat. “Marks and Horton. They got assigned the Cruz and Hogan hits on a random rotation, and they have no other connection to anyone in the case other than that.”

Rebecca knew that Watts was biased against the leak being a cop, but she tended to agree with him that Marks and Horton were low on the list. “Who else can go?”

“Dr. Rawlings,” Mitchell said clearly. She glanced briefly at Catherine, who smiled back. “I didn’t tell her anything about the detail—only that I was on it. I did not discuss the nature of the operation or the timing for the raid.”

“There was nothing in any of my notes or reports that specified what Officer Mitchell was involved in professionally at the time of our sessions,” Catherine advised quietly.

“Fair enough.” Rebecca crossed out Catherine’s name.

“If I might add,” Catherine said steadily, “I’ve known Rand Whitaker professionally for many years. Although anything is possible, I can’t see him being involved in anything nefarious.”

“He’s got a house in the Hampton’s, drives a vintage Ferrari, and owns a huge estate in Merion. He doesn’t get all that on what the PPD pays him as a consultant,” Jason pointed out.

“In addition to that, he’s got too many potential avenues of access to information within the department,” Rebecca said flatly. “He stays on the list until we get the in-depth financials, at least.”

“Adams, the clerk, was hired by the department after the information from Flanagan’s reports went missing. Since we’re assuming that the person who set up Sloan is also behind that, she can go,” Jason recommended.

“Agreed. We’re down to five, then,” Rebecca said to Jason. “You need to run the ADAs and the judge.” She took a deep breath. “And we need everything you can get on Captain Henry. As soon as Sloan is able, I want to talk to her. She’s going to have to give us a solid reason to go after him. He’s a ranking officer with a good rep.”

Jason took a breath and carefully did not look at Watts. “Henry’s credit cards are maxed out, he has a second mortgage on his house, and nothing showing in the way of assets. He’s borrowed against his retirement fund as well. Money could be a motive for him to turn.”

“Any indication of where his money is going?”

“No sign yet.” Jason kept his voice level. “I’ll have more tomorrow.”

“Make it today. I want all of you all over that suspect list. I want everything there is on every one of them, ASAP.” She explained about the possible connection between the Asian girl in the video and the prostitute named Lucy. “I’ve got a slim lead on one of the girls from LongJohn’s video, and I’ve got street sources looking for her.”

Mitchell stiffened. Sandy.

“Mitchell, you with us?” Rebecca asked sharply.

Mitchell jerked upright. “Yes, ma’am.”

Rebecca gave her a hard stare. “Where do we stand on the inside action at Ziggies?”

Jason said, “Jasmine will take Mitch to the Troc tonight. Introduce him around. We should be good to go for him hitting Ziggies within a day or two.”

“Mitch? Who the hell is Mitch?” Watts barked. The mention of Jasmine set his teeth on edge.

“Friend of mine,” Mitchell replied evenly, meeting his gaze.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Watts appeared as if he wanted to say more but a deadly look from Rebecca had him coughing into his fist instead. “Right. Mitchie.”

Mitchell straightened in her seat, and she almost seemed to grow in size. Her alto voice resonated with warning. “That’s Mitch. Not Mitchie.”

For a second, Watts just stared. Then the corner of his mouth twitched and finally, he grinned. “Okay, kid. Okay. Don’t get your…balls…in an uproar.”

“Wouldn’t think of it, Detective. Sir.”

Rebecca rubbed the bridge of her nose. Christ. The two of them are like kids. But she recognized the camaraderie beneath the jibes, and that’s what made the team work. That’s what made someone put their life on the line without a second thought. “We’re looking for any information on the guy in the sex video who might work or have worked at Ziggies, and any information that the girls there might have about how the videos are getting made. Who organizes it, who picks the girls, when and where they’re shooting the flicks. Anything to point us to a location. Questions?”

No one had any.

“We’ll meet here at the usual time tonight. If anyone gets anything before then, I’ll expect a call. No one makes a move without my say so.”

As the group dispersed, Watts sidled up to Mitchell. In a voice too low for Rebecca to hear, he asked, “So, kid—what’s the deal? When you walked in this morning, you had that ‘just got laid last night’ look.”

“Yeah?” Mitchell replied curiously. “How can you remember, considering how long it must have been since you’ve looked that way?”

Watts shook his head remorsefully. He had a hard-assed female partner who outranked him, which was bad enough, but now he had a snot-nosed rookie giving him shit. He laughed out loud. Life is good.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Rebecca slumped into a chair and blew out a long breath. “Jesus, what a crew.”

“How are you doing?” Catherine pulled her own chair closer and rested her hand on Rebecca’s forearm.

“Okay.” Rebecca gave her a weary smile. “I feel a bit like I’m walking a tightrope without a net here, which I guess I am.” She rubbed her face. “I can’t believe it’s Henry. Or maybe I just don’t want to believe it.”

“Maybe it isn’t?”

Rebecca kissed Catherine, then drew away with a sigh. “I have to go. I’ve got a meet with a source.”

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. Catherine said nothing, because this is the life her lover led, but it frightened her none the less. As she watched Rebecca walk away, Catherine wondered if she would ever get used to it.

“Do you really think it’s Henry?” Watts asked when Rebecca pulled away from the curb, heading the Vette south on 10th.

“I don’t know. He’s in the right place. It’s got to be someone with rank.”

“Yeah,” Watts agreed dispiritedly. “I hear you. Man, I hate to think it’s him, though. Not like I love the guy or anything, but still…”

“He’s one of us.”

“Yeah.” Watts looked out the window. “Where we goin’?”

“We’ve got a date with some girls.”

His eyebrows raised. His voice sounded hopeful. “Yeah?” At the look from Rebecca, he swallowed his grin. “That cute little whore come through for you?”

“Sandy,” Rebecca said very softly. “Her name is Sandy.”

The warning note that resonated in her voice made his gonads tighten, pull up, and run for cover. “Okay. So, she’s yours now. Got it. Sorry.”

“Sandy found us a girl. I don’t know if it’s the girl. We’re going to buy them breakfast and find out.”

“Workin’ girls and a double date. My favorite.”

Rebecca ground her teeth and pulled into an angled slot in front of the Melrose Diner. “You sit. I talk.”

“Sure, sure, Sarge.”

Once inside the crowded noisy diner, they found Sandy and a smooth-faced Asian girl who looked about fifteen seated on one side of a red vinyl-covered booth. Watts slid in first, then Rebecca. A waitress stopped with a coffee pot in hand and said, “What youse havin’?”

Both girls ordered meals that would give a truck driver pause. Watts and Rebecca ordered coffee.

“Hiya, Sandy,” Rebecca said softly, just a touch of menace in her tone. “This Lucy?”

“Yeah.” Sandy sounded sullen and did not look Rebecca in the eye. It was important for Sandy’s safety as well as her future credibility that she not appear to have a friendly relationship with the police. “So we’re here. You promised you’d pay.”

“Later. If we like what you have to say.” Rebecca was impressed that Sandy had gotten the girl to agree to a meet. “If we don’t, you miss dinner and I’ll be dropping around when you least expect it to ruin business for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sandy shifted on the seat, clearly unhappy. “So ask, then leave us alone.”

The girl with Sandy had kept her eyes on the tabletop the entire time. Rebecca slid Jason’s composite of the guy in the sex video into her line of view. “Know him?”

The girl shook her head no.

“You sure?”

Head nod.

“Ever seen him?” Watts grumbled.

The girl shrugged.

Rebecca’s pulse jumped. Good man. Rebecca slid a folded twenty across the table and under the photo. “Where?”

“Around the clubs,” the girl replied after a pause. She had no accent and her voice was soft, gentle. “He drives.”

“Drives?” Rebecca glanced at Sandy, who made an I don’t know gesture. “What does that mean?”

“He brings some of the girls to the clubs.”

“Some of the dancers?”

Head nod.

“Do they just dance? Or do they hook, too?”

“Maybe.”

“Where? Which clubs?”

A shrug.

Rebecca passed another twenty. She didn’t think the girl was holding out for more money. She was scared. “Which clubs?”

“I don’t know…I haven’t seen him in a while. Maybe the Blue Diamond—”

“The place on Delaware Avenue?” Watts asked.

She nodded.

“Where else?”

Shrug. “Ziggies once. I don’t know.”

“What’s his name?”

Negative head shake.

“Okay,” Rebecca said. She passed the photos of the two girls who had been in the video with him. “How about them?”

The young girl stiffened.

Bingo.

“Fifty dollars,” Rebecca whispered. Come on. Help me.

A trembling finger landed on the Asian girl’s photo. “She used to dance at the Blue Di. Maybe she still does.”

“Name?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice was almost transparent now. Her dark hair framed a face both guileless and world-weary. She raised liquid eyes to Rebecca’s. “Her stage name was Trudy.”

“What about the other one?”

“No.”

“No you don’t know her?”

“She just said that, Frye,” Sandy interjected, sensing Lucy was about to bolt. “Jesus. You got your money’s worth. Leave us alone so we can enjoy the food. You and Bluto there kinda spoil the appetite.”

Rebecca folded a fifty dollar bill around her card. As she slid that across the table under the rim of Lucy’s plate, she said quietly, “I can take you to a shelter where you can get a new name, a new start.”

A head shake. Definite. No.

“You need help—any kind of help, call me.” Rebecca gave Sandy a hard stare. “You—keep your nose clean. And keep your ass out of the alleys.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sandy snorted with a kiss-my-ass attitude and turned her attention to her breakfast.

Rebecca and Watts left, handing the waitress money for the check on the way out the door.

“Did we just get anything?” Watts asked as he crammed himself into the Vette.

“I don’t know,” Rebecca mused, heading north out of South Philly towards Sloan’s. She looked at Watts speculatively. “Have you ever heard of prostitutes having escorts?”

“Nope—pimps might cruise around checking up on their stables, but they don’t drive the girls to work.”

“Sex videos, Internet porn rings, girls being shuttled around to sex clubs.” She shook her head. “What does that sound like to you?”

“Organized?”

“Definitely that and—” Her phone rang and she pulled it from her belt. “Yeah, Frye…okay, fine…on our way.”

“What’s up?” Watts asked.

“Sloan’s awake, and she wants to talk to me.”

“Huh. You gonna chew her ass?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he said, laughing. “Can I watch?”

Rebecca eyed him flatly. “Gee, Bluto, I don’t know about that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

When Sloan opened the door, Rebecca stood still on the threshold, taking stock. The security consultant looked like a different woman than a few hours before. Her eyes were clear and bore barely a hint of shadow.

“Thanks for coming.” Sloan stepped aside with a sweep of her arm, bidding entry. “Please.”

What caught Rebecca’s attention almost immediately was the exquisitely beautiful woman seated on the sofa in the central living area. Her classically elegant features were scarcely marred by the bruises and obvious swelling. There was pain swimming in her deep blue eyes, however, and it hurt Rebecca on some basic, instinctual level to see it.

“Detective Sergeant Frye, my partner, Michael Lassiter.”

“Rebecca,” Rebecca said, walking forward to offer her hand. “Hello.”

“I’m so happy to meet you,” Michael said, smiling into the arctic blue eyes.

“I’m glad to see that you’re better,” Rebecca replied.

“Yes, thank you.” Michael glanced at Sloan, who stood quietly to one side. “It was my idea that you come upstairs. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Rebecca smiled. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Other than keeping my impetuous lover out of harm’s way?” Michael ignored a slight groan from Sloan’s direction, smiling softly. “You can accept an invitation from Sloan and me for you and Catherine to join us for dinner when I’m a bit more worthy of company.”

“I’d be delighted to accept for both of us.” Rebecca was surprised to realize that she’d have a hard time denying this woman anything. “As to Sloan, that’s another story. She’s a little independent.”

Michael nodded carefully. “I won’t argue. I won’t even mention extenuating circumstances of which you’re well aware. So, I’m going to leave you two to sort that out.”

Sloan moved forward quickly to help Michael rise. Slipping an arm around her lover’s waist, subtly supporting her, she glanced at Rebecca. “I’ll be right back.”

When Sloan rejoined her, Rebecca waited for Sloan to make the first move. It wasn’t what she expected.

“Sorry if that put you on the spot,” Sloan said quietly. “Michael is having trouble remembering things, and—”

“You don’t need to explain. Seeing her like that…it makes me want to put a gun to someone’s head.” Before Sloan could reply, Rebecca added, “But I won’t.”

“Neither will I.”

“You’re too close to this one. I knew it from the beginning and I let it slide. That was my mistake.” Rebecca fixed Sloan with an unyielding stare. “But you blew it last night. You should have called me as soo—”

“I know. I was wrong. I apologize.”

Rebecca nodded slightly, accepting the apology. “The fact remains, I don’t know that you won’t decide the investigation is moving too slowly and take matters into your own hands.”

“I won’t.” Sloan’s face tightened and a muscle in her jaw jumped. “I won’t because it would hurt Michael.”

Rebecca considered it. Considered what she had seen of Sloan’s condition when Michael had been injured. Considered the effect that love, no, not just love—bone-deep need—had had on her own life since meeting Catherine. She blew out a breath. “Your word on it.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Watts will be deeply disappointed.”

Sloan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“He was hoping for a royal ass-chewing.”

“You can always fake it,” Sloan suggested with a laugh.

“Nah. He’d enjoy it too much.”

When Rebecca and Sloan walked into the conference room together, Watts craned his neck and examined Sloan from head to toe. “I don’t see any bite marks.”

“They’re there,” Sloan said quietly in passing.

Watts smiled, satisfied.

Rebecca settled into a chair at the head of the table. “Okay, Sloan. It’s your show.”

“I found a back door in Flanagan’s computer,” she said. “In simple terms, that’s a secret way into a system unknown to the user. Depending on the level of access, the intruder can remove, alter, or delete files. This user had root access.”

“That’s good?” Watts asked sharply, hating the way these discussions left him feeling like a rookie again.

Sloan shook her head. “That’s bad. At least for the person whose system has been compromised. It means that the intruder can do just about anything to the data and then alter the logs so that it’s impossible to see what he, or she, has done.”

“And you identified him?” Rebecca asked.

Sloan nodded. “I tracked the log-on data back to Henry.”

“Can you prove it’s him from what you have?” Rebecca asked sharply.

“Not yet,” Sloan admitted. “I need to go back tonight. I need to look at what Henry’s been doing. With the information I have, I can easily access his files.”

“Do it,” Rebecca said immediately. “In the meantime, we work the other angles. Sandy nabbed us a solid lead—a dancer who might be our video girl. Watts and I will look for her.” She turned to Mitchell. “I need you in those clubs, as soon as possible. We’re looking for information on an escort service that might be transporting girls to the clubs—to perform, to hook, we’re not sure. That and any word you can get for us on the video shoots.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rebecca looked at Jason. “What kind of cover story are you going to use?”

“There is a big drag scene in DC. A place called Club Chaos on Dupont Circle is the heart of the drag king scene, and Jasmine performed with some of them there a couple of times.” Jason looked at Mitchell. “I thought we could put Mitch out as having been a bouncer at the club. That way, he won’t be expected to perform.”

Rebecca stood. “Okay. Anything breaks, I want to know.” She purposefully did not look at Sloan. “Anything.” Then she turned to Watts. “I need a couple of hours, then let’s cruise the clubs down on Delaware.”

“Sure, Sarge.” He heaved himself to his feet. “Sounds like my kinda night duty.”

Mitchell, sweating and swearing under her breath, humped the mattress up another few stairs. She looked out from under the leading edge, which was balanced on her back, at the open-toed, stack-heeled shoes and skin tight black slacks of someone standing on the third floor landing. Nice toes. Craning her neck, she looked up the length of the very sexy body into laughing eyes. Totally nice everything. Her legs got shaky and it wasn’t from the effort of carrying the mattress.

“Hiya, Sandy.”

“Hi, Dell. Whatcha doin’?”

“Moving in.”

Sandy eased down a step on the narrow staircase, grabbed one side of the mattress, and lifted. Together they dragged it the rest of the way down the dim hall and dumped it unceremoniously into the middle of the empty living room of Dell’s studio apartment.

“This is pathetic,” Sandy observed, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“I get a hot plate in here—it will be fine.” Mitchell couldn’t look anywhere but at Sandy, so bright-eyed and fresh and oh-so-hot-sexy-kissable… Mitchell jerked at the warm touch on her hand.

“Uh-huh.” Sandy took Mitchell’s arm and tugged. “Come on. You can shower at my place.”

“I gotta go to work.”

“So do I. Come on.”

Once inside the apartment, Sandy closed the door and put both arms around Mitchell’s waist beneath her leather jacket. “I thought you’d never show up.”

Then, Sandy pressed full-body against the startled cop and kissed her, taking her time, working her way over the surface of Mitchell’s lips before slipping her tongue between them and exploring. By the time she was inside Mitchell’s mouth, sucking slowly on her tongue, Mitchell had walked them across the room to the sofa, and they fell onto it in a jumble of arms and legs. Mitchell groaned as Sandy’s hand slid up the inside of her leg and cupped her through the jeans. Sandy moaned as fingers found her nipple through the thin material of her top.

“Sandy,” Mitchell gasped. “Jesus, you’re making me crazy with that.”

“Yeah. Me, too. Do something about it, will ya?”

Do something about it, will ya? Do something…Something inside snapped. Mitchell stood abruptly on shaking legs, stripped off her jacket, and threw it behind her. Then she reached down for the bottom of Sandy’s top, curled her fingers in the thin fabric, and dragged it up and off. Swiftly, she knelt before the sofa and, with one arm around Sandy’s waist, pulled the startled young woman toward her, forcing Sandy to spread her legs on either side of Mitchell’s body. Tight between Sandy’s open thighs, Mitchell leaned forward and put her mouth to Sandy’s breast, closing around the nipple with her teeth as she caught and squeezed the other between her fingers.

Sandy gave a startled cry, drove her fingers into Mitchell’s hair, and pressed her breast harder to Mitchell’s mouth. “Oh my god. Dell.”

Mitchell was on fire. All day, the memory of being with Sandy—her smell, the softness of her skin, her surprised cries of pleasure—had simmered just below the surface of her consciousness. All day she’d wanted her, and now, now she couldn’t touch her enough.

“Dell,” Sandy gasped, tugging at Mitchell’s hair. “Dell, take your shirt off. Come on, baby…let me feel your skin.”

With her lips still around Sandy’s nipple, sucking the hard knot of flesh relentlessly, Mitchell began tearing at her clothes, pulling her shirt from her jeans, fumbling at her fly. Sandy’s hands joined hers and finally she had to release Sandy’s breast long enough to lean back and remove her shirt. In the next instant, Sandy’s hands were on her, running over her breasts and abdomen, pushing below the edge of her jeans. Everywhere, everywhere she burned.

“Sandy.” Shivering with need, Mitchell looked up into Sandy’s eyes. “I want to taste you. Please…is it okay?”

Sandy’s eyes widened. Her hands trembled as she framed Mitchell’s face. “You have…such a fabulous mouth.”

Still kneeling, Mitchell groaned as Sandy’s hands moved lower beneath the waistband of her open jeans. “Do not…go there,” she warned, her stomach board-hard with arousal as she pulled away.

“Hey!” Sandy protested.

“Be patient.” Carefully, Mitchell slid Sandy’s tight black slacks down and off, then drew her fingertips up the inside of Sandy’s smooth thighs. Sandy, heavy-lidded and breathing quickly, was propped on her elbows, watching her.

“Okay?” Mitchell’s voice was hoarse.

Sandy nodded, placing one hand behind Mitchell’s neck. “Uh-huh. Better even.”

Mitchell let Sandy guide her head down, closing her eyes as she immersed herself in the warm, wet welcome. The first kiss drew a sound of surprised pleasure, the next a long sigh, and when she carefully traced the delicate folds and firm prominences with her tongue, a sob of joy. Sandy’s fingers on the back of her head pulled her closer, and as she played the nerve bundle with her tongue, she unconsciously lowered one hand to stroke herself.