Justice Served

JUSTICE SERVED

by

RADCLY f FE

2005

What Reviewers Say About BOLD STROKES’ Authors

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KIM BALDWIN

“Her…crisply written action scenes, juxtaposition of plotlines, and smart dialogue make this a story the reader will absolutely enjoy and long remember.” – Arlene Germain, book reviewer for the Lambda Book Report and the Midwest Book Review ú

ROSE BEECHAM

“…a mystery writer with a delightful sense of humor, as well as an eye for an interesting array of characters…” – MegaScene

“…her characters seem fully capable of walking away from the particulars of whodunit and engaging the reader in other aspects of their lives.” – Lambda Book Report

“…creates believable characters in compelling situations, with enough humor to provide effective counterpoint to the work of detecting.” – Bay Area Reporter

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JANE FLETCHER

“…a natural gift for rich storytelling and world-building…one of the best fantasy writers at work today.” – Jean Stewart, author of the Isis series

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RADCLY fFE

“Powerful characters, engrossing plot, and intelligent writing…”

– Cameron Abbott, author of To the Edge and An Inexpressible State of Grace

“…well-honed storytelling skills…solid prose and sure-handedness of the narrative…” – Elizabeth Flynn, Lambda Book Report

“…well-plotted…lovely romance…I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough!” – Ann Bannon, author of The Beebo Brinker Chronicles.

“…a consummate artist in crafting classic romance Þ ction…her numerous best selling works exemplify the splendor and power of Sapphic passion…” – Yvette Murray, PhD, Reader’s Raves JUSTICE SERVED

© 2005 BY RADCLYFFE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

ISBN 1-933110-15-5

THIS TRADE PAPERBACK ORIGINAL IS PUBLISHED BY

BOLD STROKES BOOKS, INC.,

PHILADELPHIA, PA, USA

FIRST EDITION: JUNE 2005, BOLD STROKES BOOKS, INC.

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND

INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR

ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES

IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

THIS BOOK, OR PARTS THEREOF, MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN ANY

FORM WITHOUT PERMISSION.

CREDITS

EDITORS: STACIA SEAMAN AND RUTH STERNGLANTZ

PRODUCTION DESIGN: STACIA SEAMAN

COVER PHOTOS: LEE LIGON

COVER DESIGN BY SHERI (GRAPHICARTIST2020@HOTMAIL.COM) By the Author

Romances

Safe Harbor

Passion’s Bright Fury

Beyond the Breakwater

Love’s Masquerade

Innocent Hearts

shadowland

Love’s Melody Lost

Fated Love

Love’s Tender Warriors

Distant Shores, Silent Thunder

Tomorrow’s Promise

Honor Series

Justice Series

Above All, Honor

A Matter of Trust (prequel)

Honor Bound

Shield of Justice

Love & Honor

In Pursuit of Justice

Honor Guards

Justice in the Shadows

Justice Served

Change Of Pace: Erotic Interludes

(A Short Story Collection)

Acknowledgments

With each Justice entry I write, I say, “That’s it. I’m done with this series.” It’s difÞ cult to write on many levels, but each time I begin a new story in the series, the characters spring to life and I lose myself in their journey.

My beta readers sustain me through the long weeks of uncertainty as each tale unfolds and I question if I will ever be able to do the story justice. They never let me down, providing insight, encouragement, suggestions, and critiques with tender care. I count on them to keep me from going astray. Thank you Athos, Diane, Denise, Eva, Jane, JB, Paula, Robyn, and Shelley.

In addition, I’d like to extend my appreciation to all the members of the Radlist for constancy and inspiration, to Ruth Sternglantz and Stacia Seaman for Þ ne editorial input, and to Linda Hill, for her vision and commitment to lesbian Þ ction.

Lee has never complained about the sacriÞ ces she’s made to help me realize a dream. For that, I am ever grateful. Amo te.

Radclyffe 2005

Dedication

For Lee

For Taking a Chance

Justice Served

CHAPTER ONE

Monday

I don’t think the doctor wants you going up and down stairs yet,”

warned the small blond in the skintight black Capri slacks, white ribbed tank top, and open-toed stack heels. October was around the corner, but Sandy Sullivan rarely wore more than the bare essentials.

“Have to try,” OfÞ cer Dellon Mitchell grunted. Grimacing with the effort, she swung her injured left leg free of the crutch as she maneuvered up the Þ rst stair in the hospital stairwell. “You live on the third ß oor, remember?”

“We can stay at your place, Dell. You have an elevator and a doorman, remember?” Hands on hips, Sandy stepped back to allow the young, dark-haired police ofÞ cer to set her crutches onto the next stair, but stayed close enough to catch her should Mitchell lose her balance and topple over. Considering that Mitchell was a head taller and twenty pounds of muscle heavier, Sandy might have trouble breaking her fall, but she was not about to let anything else happen to her new lover.

“I don’t want to lie around in my apartment.” Sweating, Mitchell paused long enough to brush her forearm across her forehead. The shock of jet-black hair promptly tumbled back into her eyes. Her bad leg felt like it weighed Þ fty pounds, and she couldn’t believe how much her arms were shaking. She didn’t want Sandy to see that or she had a feeling she would be forcibly dragged back to bed. Even if Sandy was half her size, when she was Þ red up, she was unstoppable. “I want to be able to get back to work.”

Mitchell also didn’t want to point out that it would be better for both of them if they remained visible on the streets in Sandy’s neighborhood, a part of town known for its small-time hustlers, corner drug dealers, and prostitutes. Mitchell had just begun an undercover assignment, and Sandy was supposed to be her girlfriend. The fact that

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RADCLY fFE

the cover story had suddenly become the truth complicated issues, but they still needed to maintain appearances.

“What’s the matter? Are you afraid you’ll get a bad reputation if you have a hooker in your swanky apartment?” Sandy’s tone was less accusatory than anxious as she watched Mitchell, still in her hospital gown. The young cop was as pasty white as she had been the night before, her dark blue eyes clouded with pain that she thought Sandy couldn’t see. “Getting soft, rookie? I didn’t think you cared what your doorman thinks.”

“I don’t,” Mitchell said through gritted teeth. “Especially about you. But I care about people tying me or you to the action the other night.”

Thirty-six hours before, Mitchell had been stabbed while apprehending several key suspects in an Internet pornography ring.

Those arrests had climaxed weeks of work by an unusual team of Philadelphia police ofÞ cers and civilian consultants led by Mitchell’s mentor and role model, Detective Sgt. Rebecca Frye. Mitchell wanted back on that team more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life, except the young woman who peered at her anxiously with a frown on her pale, worried face. And the fastest way to get back on the team was to get back on her feet. “If I didn’t blow my cover already, I don’t want to now.”

“Screw your cover. You’re shaking, Dell.”

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.” Sandy moved closer and wrapped her arm around Mitchell’s waist. “You’re just as stubborn and blockheaded as a certain other cop I’ve met. But you don’t have to be like Frye all the time.”

“It’s not about Frye.” Mitchell allowed herself to lean against Sandy while she caught her breath and swiped futilely at the sweat now beaded on her entire face. “I’m just not used to these crutches.”

“Yeah. And it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you just got operated on yesterday morning and lost a couple of buckets of blood before that, either.” Sandy snorted in disgust. “Jesus, cops are such a pain in the ass.”

“Are you going to bitch at me the whole time I’m laid up?” Mitchell feigned distress, but she was grinning. She leaned back against the wall,

• 12 •

Justice Served

angling her body to take the weight off her leg while making room for Sandy to snuggle up against her.

“I don’t know,” Sandy replied, wrapping her arms around Mitchell’s waist before kissing her neck. They’d been lovers for less than a week, and Sandy couldn’t look at her without getting wet. “It depends on how long it takes you to get better. If it takes too long, I could get very cranky.”

“You think I won’t be able to take care of business?” Mitchell dipped her head, brought her mouth to Sandy’s, and ran her tongue lightly over the surface of Sandy’s bottom lip. Sandy moaned softly, and Mitchell’s heart rate skyrocketed. Oh man, now I will fall down.

With the heat of Sandy’s body warming her all the way through, she didn’t care a bit if they ended up in a heap on the ß oor. As she ß icked the tip of her tongue over the inside of Sandy’s lip, she snaked a hand beneath the back of Sandy’s tank top. She could practically span the entire width of her girlfriend’s small waist with one hand. “God, you feel good,” she muttered.

“I don’t think this activity is on the prescribed list of treatments for stab wounds,” a voice on the verge of laughter announced from behind them.

Mitchell, sliding her arm protectively around Sandy’s shoulders, jerked her head up. Her gaze met the laughing brown eyes of her surgeon, Ali Torveau. Mitchell blushed.

“Uh…morning.”

“Good,” Sandy grumbled, lifting her chin in Dr. Torveau’s direction. “Maybe Dell will listen to you.” Carefully, she disentangled herself from her girlfriend and moved away. “She won’t admit she’s about to keel over.”

“Sandy,” Mitchell complained with a sigh.

“It’s true, Dell.”

Torveau leaned against the wall in the stairwell and folded her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing as she watched Mitchell maneuver down to the landing. “How do you feel?”

When Mitchell hesitated, Ali added, “And don’t try to snow me.”

“Uh…”

“That bad, huh?” Ali pushed away from the wall and eased over to Mitchell. Casually, she slipped her hand under Mitchell’s elbow.

“Come on. Let’s go back to your room and have a look.”

• 13 •

RADCLY fFE

Once Mitchell was back in bed, Ali collected disposable gloves and dressings from a cart in the hallway and prepared to change the dressing on Mitchell’s left thigh. She glanced sideways at Sandy, who was standing by the head of the bed, her hand on the police ofÞ cer’s shoulder. “You okay with this?”

“I’ve probably seen worse.”

Ali merely nodded. There was something in the young woman’s eyes that spoke of hard truth. A minute later, she had the bandage open and perused the row of sutures that extended for ten inches from the top of Mitchell’s midthigh down the inner surface. Carefully, she probed along both sides of the incision, then straightened. “The wound’s nice and clean. Let’s see how the artery is doing.” When she Þ nished palpating the pulses in Mitchell’s foot, she nodded with evident satisfaction. “Everything is in working order.”

“See. I knew that.” Mitchell’s voice was breathy with relief.

Sandy snorted again.

“However, your blood count this morning was lousy. If you were any older, I’d transfuse you. But I’d rather not unless it becomes a problem.” As she spoke, the surgeon rewrapped Mitchell’s thigh. “You feel crappy because you’re weak, and you’re not used to that.”

“When will I feel better?” Unconsciously, Mitchell had reached out for Sandy’s hand, and now she entwined her Þ ngers with Sandy’s much smaller ones. The strength in Sandy’s grasp was comforting, and she held on tightly.

“It will probably take several months for your counts to come back up to normal, but you should start feeling better day by day.” Ali smiled. “It just takes a little patience.”

“Oh yeah, she’s got lots of that.” Although her tone was laced with sarcasm, Sandy regarded Mitchell tenderly.

“It seems to be an occupational trait,” Ali replied. “If you’ve got someplace to stay where you won’t have to do too much walking, you can go today.”

“Okay! Yeah, we can make that work.” Mitchell looked to her girlfriend for conÞ rmation. “Right, San?”

Sandy sighed. “Yeah, yeah, rookie. If that’s what you want.”

The truth was, Sandy wanted Mitchell out of the hospital every bit as much as Mitchell wanted to go. The place scared her under the best

• 14 •

Justice Served

of circumstances, and seeing her normally strong and capable lover weak and in pain was scaring her even more.

Softly, she stroked Mitchell’s cheek. “We’ll Þ gure something out, baby.”

v

Dr. Catherine Rawlings pushed a stack of Þ le folders aside and reached for her phone. “Yes, Joyce?”

“Rebecca’s here,” her secretary announced, adding without needing to be asked, “and you’ve got thirty minutes before your Þ rst appointment.”

“Thanks. Tell her to come in.”

Catherine waited behind her desk for the simple pleasure of watching her lover cross the room. They had met in this room not quite half a year before, when Detective Sgt. Rebecca Frye had been in the midst of a harrowing serial-murder investigation. They had begun their joint involvement in the case as polite adversaries and ended as passionate lovers. As if the whirlwind onslaught of unexpected love had not been enough, Rebecca had nearly died from a gunshot wound, and both she and Catherine were still recovering, physically and emotionally. Even had she not nearly lost Rebecca, Catherine doubted that the pleasure of seeing her for the Þ rst time after they’d been apart would have been any less. Rebecca, more than any woman she had ever known, moved her in the deepest reaches of her being. She smiled as the door opened and her tall blond lover, slender in her trademark tailored dark suit and coolly beautiful, entered her ofÞ ce.

“Hey,” Rebecca said as she walked around the side of Catherine’s desk and leaned down to kiss her. “Got a few minutes?”

“Mmm. On your way to see Dellon?” Catherine replied.

“That too.” With an uncharacteristically self-conscious expression, Rebecca suddenly stepped back and slid her hands into the pockets of her trousers. “But I wanted to talk to you Þ rst. I…have some news.”

“Oh?” Regarding her with concern, Catherine rose, walked around her desk, and slid an arm around her lover’s waist. “Did something happen at your ungodly-early morning brieÞ ng with Captain Henry?”

“A lot,” Rebecca conceded. “We worked out a compromise to keep the team together so that we can Þ nish hunting down the leak in

• 15 •

RADCLY fFE

the department and have a shot at breaking this prostitution network, or whatever the hell it is, wide open at the same time.”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Catherine kept her voice neutral, a practice that was second nature to her from her many years of practicing psychiatry. She was still adjusting to the fact that her lover’s profession carried with it the daily risk of injury or even death.

Balancing the desire to support Rebecca in her work while dealing with her own fears and uncertainty was a constant challenge. Nevertheless, it was a struggle she kept to herself, knowing that Rebecca was a cop to her core. “To keep the team together?”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.” Rebecca curled an arm around Catherine’s shoulder and rested her cheek against Catherine’s thick auburn hair.

“We’re close to putting all the pieces together—who’s been leaking conÞ dential information and altering sensitive police Þ les, who Þ ngered Jimmy Hogan and Jeff Cruz for assassination, what’s going on with the girls in the skin videos and the sex clubs, and how it all ties into organized crime. If we just have a little more time, we can break it.”

It was impossible to miss the undercurrent of excitement and determination in her lover’s voice. But Catherine, sensitive to nuance and inß ection, heard something else there as well—reservation and frustration. Being next in line for the chairmanship of the Department of Psychiatry, she was no stranger to politics. “You said compromise.

What did you have to give him?”

“It’s not what I had to give,” Rebecca grumbled. “It’s what I had to take.”

“Come sit down and tell me,” Catherine murmured, drawing Rebecca toward the sofa opposite her desk. When they were settled side by side, she turned and rested her Þ ngers on Rebecca’s thigh. “So?”

“Avery Clark.” Rebecca named the Department of Justice agent with obvious displeasure.

“He’s back in the picture?” Catherine exclaimed with surprise.

Avery Clark had been the federal government’s liaison with Rebecca’s team during the initial phases of their investigation into a widespread Internet pornography ring. However, when the joint task force had successfully made a key arrest, Clark had asserted jurisdictional primacy and cut Rebecca and her colleagues out of the information loop. Catherine couldn’t imagine Rebecca or any of the other members of the team willingly working with Clark again.

• 16 •

Justice Served

“Oh yeah, he’s back. And how.” Rebecca blew out an exasperated breath. “No Clark, no team.”

“Ah, so no choice.” Catherine squeezed Rebecca’s thigh sympathetically. “Sorry. But you’ll Þ nd a way to make it work.”

“Probably, but I don’t know how I’m going to convince Sloan of it.”

JT Sloan was the civilian computer consultant and a past DOJ

agent herself whose history with the government was still shrouded in mystery. Whatever the unhappy association had been, Sloan’s animosity toward the agency had grown exponentially when her lover Michael had been nearly killed in an assassination attempt. Sloan had been the intended target and, nearly wild with grief and guilt, she had attributed the tragedy in large part to Clark’s withholding of critical information from the team.

“Sloan won’t be a problem if you present it to her correctly.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Your suggestion, Doctor?”

Catherine smiled softly. “Darling, what is the most important thing in the world to Sloan?”

“Michael,” Rebecca answered immediately.

“Yes. Sloan wants to Þ nd the person who hurt her lover, but even more than that, she doesn’t want to hurt Michael any further. You and I both know that the safest place for Sloan is on your team, not running around by herself. And Michael knows it too.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Rebecca said, frowning. “Using Michael against Sloan.”

“I love how honorable you are, but there’s nothing dishonorable about this.” Catherine leaned forward to brush her mouth over Rebecca’s. “You’re not using Michael. You’re just offering Sloan the solution that’s best for everyone.”

Rebecca sighed. “You’re right, but I’ll bet she doesn’t see it that way.”

“She will. Just give her a little time.” Catherine rested her cheek against Rebecca’s shoulder and wrapped an arm loosely around her waist. “So it will be the whole team together again. Sloan and Jason on the computers, you and Watts on the street, and Dellon? What about Dellon and Sandy?”

“It depends on how quickly Mitchell recovers and if there are any

• 17 •

RADCLY fFE

problems as a result of the stabbing. You know she’s going to need to be cleared by psych now.”

Catherine, a civilian psychiatric consultant to the police department, stiffened nearly imperceptibly. “Yes. It’s departmental policy after an ofÞ cer is injured in the line of duty.”

“So that could really hang her up—the paperwork and

everything.”

“You’re not suggesting that I facilitate getting her back to work prematurely, are you?” Catherine’s tone was still mild, but the question was edged in steel.

“I know better than that,” Rebecca answered evenly. She kissed Catherine’s forehead. “I want her to see you. I told you that before she was even injured. She’s got some problems with her temper, and it’s going to get her into trouble. This might be the perfect opportunity to get that all sorted out.”

Catherine tilted her head and regarded her lover intently. “I do believe you’re becoming a fan of psychotherapy.”

Rebecca blinked and then laughed. “Well, maybe a fan of a certain psychiatrist.”

“Oh, aren’t you clever,” Catherine murmured as she kissed Rebecca’s neck. Tightening her grip on Rebecca’s waist, she moved her lips to the corner of her lover’s mouth before remembering where they were and what time it was. With a faint groan, she drew away.

“Now I remember why it’s a bad idea for you to visit me in the middle of the day.”

“Seems like a really good idea to me.” Rebecca’s voice was husky and low.

Catherine moved back even further. “You might be able to recover from a quickie and head right back to work, but I don’t think that I can.”

Rebecca grinned. “Wanna try?”

Laughing, Catherine rose and held out her hand to her lover. “Tell Dellon I said hello and that I’ll be over later to see her.”

Catherine was the only one who called Mitchell by her full name, and it always gave Rebecca pause. It was a little disquieting, knowing that her lover had a very private and singular relationship with one of her ofÞ cers—a young ofÞ cer whom she had taken under her wing and whose career she intended to guide. She knew that Catherine would

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Justice Served

never discuss the details of her therapeutic relationships with anyone, but nevertheless, now and then, she wondered just what Mitchell said to Catherine in the quiet intimacy of their hours together.

“I will,” Rebecca said, before adding, “Mitchell’s being promoted.

She’s going to get her detective’s shield.”

“Rebecca, that’s wonderful! Did you have something to do with that?”

Rebecca shook her head. “Absolutely not. Mitchell earned it, on the last operation and on this one. She’s been an important part of the team, and she handled herself well under difÞ cult circumstances.”

“I’m so happy for her. It will mean so much to her.”

“Yeah.” Rebecca hesitated. “So am I.”

“What?” Catherine asked, not following.

“Being promoted. Detective lieutenant.”

Catherine stared. “And you’re just telling me now? Rebecca! And you said yes?”

The possibility of Rebecca being promoted had been something the two of them had discussed before. Catherine had been in favor of it, secretly hoping that a more supervisory position would keep Rebecca off the streets and further away from potential harm—precisely why Rebecca had resisted.

Rebecca nodded.

“What part of this are you not telling me?”

“I more or less had to accept in order to keep the team together.

And in exchange, I get to head the High ProÞ le Crimes Unit within the division.”

“I see,” Catherine said slowly. “So in this case, a promotion doesn’t mean a desk job.”

Silently, Rebecca shook her head, watching Catherine intently.

Catherine walked behind her desk, sat down, and folded her hands in the middle of her blotter. After a few more seconds of silence, she said, “Congratulations. I’m very proud of you. And I’m glad you aren’t being forced into a position where you would be unhappy.”

“But you’re not happy, are you?” Rebecca asked quietly.

“I am happy. I’m happy for you.” Catherine lifted one hand and smiled. “I just need to rearrange my thinking a little bit.”

Rebecca glanced at her watch. “We only have a few more minutes.”

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RADCLY fFE

“That’s my line, darling.”

“Catherine,” Rebecca said intently, moving around the side of the desk and leaning down over her lover. “I love you.”

Catherine reached up and stroked Rebecca’s cheek. “Go to work, Detective. Everything is all right.”

“You’re sure?”

Of one thing, Catherine was certain. She needed Rebecca more than she needed air, and Rebecca needed a clear mind to do the work she did safely. Whatever misgivings or disappointments she might have, she would not burden Rebecca with them now. “Of course I’m sure. I love you. Call me later?”

Rebecca kissed her swiftly. “You bet. I’ll even bring home dinner.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Catherine called as the door closed behind her lover. Then she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She too needed to be focused for the work she did, and she resolutely forced down the nagging kernel of fear beginning to grow in her depths.

• 20 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER TWO

Rebecca discovered Detective William Watts waiting for her in the crowded main lobby of University Hospital. He slouched against the admissions counter chatting up the receptionist, who was laughing at something he had said. Rebecca mentally shook her head, wondering what it was about the large, often crude cop that some people found so appealing. She knew that Catherine, whose judgment she considered impeccable, liked him. When the out-of-shape, interminably shabby Þ fty-year-old detective had been assigned to work with her after the murder of her longtime partner, Jeff Cruz, she had resisted vehemently. Jeff had been her friend as well as her partner, and no one could take his place on or off the job. Plus, Watts had a reputation for being a slacker.

Although seemingly totally engrossed in his conversation, Watts greeted Rebecca without looking away from the young woman on the other side of the desk. “How’s it hangin’, Loo?”

Rebecca gave a start. How’s it hanging. Jeff’s greeting.

“Better than yours,” Rebecca heard herself say, just as she had countless times to Jeff.

“Yeah,” he sighed as he straightened, then swiveled to face her. “I don’t doubt it.”

She didn’t reply but merely continued wending through the crowd toward the elevators at the rear of the lobby, Watts trailing behind. She’d been paired with Watts almost as long as she had known Catherine, and during those tumultuous months she’d learned that her initial impression of the detective had been wrong. Beneath his façade of insouciance, Watts was a sharp and thorough cop. He was also trustworthy and solid under pressure. Without her knowing it, and certainly without her intending it, he had become her partner. And she still wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

• 21 •

RADCLY fFE

“How long do you Þ gure until we can get the team up and running again?” he asked as they stepped into the elevator.

“Today.”

He grunted but said nothing.

Rebecca waited until they reached the Þ fth ß oor and exited, out of earshot of the other passengers, before elaborating. “As soon as we see how Mitchell is doing, we’ll head over to Sloan’s place and have a strategy meeting.”

“She’s going to be pissed about Avery.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What if she won’t play ball?”

“She will.” Rebecca pushed open the door to room 503 and stopped so abruptly that Watts nearly climbed up her back. “Christ. I don’t see this.”

“What?” Watts snapped, craning his neck to peer around Rebecca.

“Whoa. I’m seein’ it. Hey, move over so I can get a better look.”

Sandy lay in Mitchell’s hospital bed curled against the ofÞ cer’s right side, her head on Mitchell’s shoulder and a hand on Mitchell’s stomach under her police-issue T-shirt. Mitchell, the sheets askew and the tops of her lean thighs bare below white briefs, had apparently been dozing with her cheek pillowed against the top of Sandy’s head. Now she blinked sluggishly in Rebecca’s direction. “Hey.”

“We’ll be back in a minute,” Rebecca grated. “Get yourselves together.” Then she backed from the room, forcing Watts out into the hall as the door swung shut.

He emitted a long, low whistle. “Looks like the kid is taking her undercover gig as that little hooker’s boy friend to heart—can’t say as the work looks too hard to take, either. Man, what I wouldn’t give for that assign—”

“Let it go, Watts.”

He shrugged. “Hey, I always say never pass up a tasty morsel if it’s free.”

“Sandy’s my CI,” Rebecca said with an edge to her voice, “and she put her life on the line the other night. Show her some respect.”

“Yeah, she did,” Watts said with a sigh. He hunched his back, hooked his thumbs over his belt, and rocked on his heels while contemplating the closed door. “I’m just a little peeved that the only

• 22 •

Justice Served

ones getting any action around here are the women.” In a barely audible undertone, he muttered, “With the other women.”

“Pay attention,” Rebecca said with a perfectly straight face.

“Maybe you’ll learn something. You never know, even you might get lucky.”

Watts stood ß at-footed, his mouth open, staring at his lieutenant’s back as she rapped once sharply on the door and then shouldered through. It was the Þ rst time she’d ever joked with him about anything remotely personal. With a happy little laugh, he hustled after her.

v

“So the doc says I can go home today,” Mitchell announced, propped up in bed now with the sheet pulled to her waist and Sandy perched on a chair within arm’s reach.

“That’s great.” Rebecca leaned both hands on the footboard of the bed, a frown forming between her eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Uh, Sandy’s, we Þ gure. I’m supposed to have a place in the same building…I mean, I do have a place there.” Mitchell thought of the tiny studio apartment she’d rented down the hall from Sandy’s. It was empty save for a bare mattress in the middle of the living-room ß oor, and she’d never slept there. She’d just assumed that staying with Sandy meant in Sandy’s apartment. Realizing that maybe she’d jumped the gun, Mitchell cut her eyes to her girlfriend.

“I already told the super that Dell and I kinda have a thing going,”

Sandy said with a dismissive shrug. “And we kinda made it a point to be seen around the neighborhood this week. It will look natural for her to stay with me.”

“It’s important that people not know about your injury,” Rebecca pointed out. “It’s not likely that anyone will associate you with what happened with the sting, but we don’t want to take any chances.”

Mitchell’s eyes brightened and excitement rippled in her voice.

“So I’m going back undercover?”

“Let’s say it’s a possibility,” Rebecca equivocated. She wasn’t certain how soon Mitchell would be streetworthy, and she had a feeling that the investigation was going to move quickly. The data Sloan and her associate Jason McBride had gathered on the Internet sex video subscribers had led to dozens of arrests in the last two days. The people

• 23 •

RADCLY fFE

behind the prostitution and pornography operations had to be getting nervous.

“You can’t even walk yet, Dell,” Sandy objected quietly.

“Just a couple of days,” Mitchell said, her eyes riveted to Rebecca.

“Dr. Torveau said I’d be good in just a few days.”

Sandy jerked upright in her chair, a ß ush rising in her cheeks. “She did not—”

Rebecca held up a hand to forestall the storm. “There’s no point arguing about it now. When I have the plan mapped out, I’ll let you know if you have a part.” The truth was she needed both Mitchell and Sandy on the streets, but she wasn’t about to send a young, inexperienced ofÞ cer—who was also less than 100 percent emotionally and physically Þ t—into danger. “There’ll be some paperwork to take care of before you can get back to duty, Mitchell.”

Mitchell dropped her head back against the pillow with a groan.

“Oh man. Not the shrink again.” Then, as if realizing what she had said and to whom, she hastily added, “I mean, Dr. Rawling’s terriÞ c, but—”

“It’s SOP, Detective,” Rebecca said, “so just suck it up and get it done.”

“Yes, ma’am, but until—” Mitchell faltered, her jaw working but no sounds emitting. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry? What did you say?”

Rebecca grinned and Watts guffawed.

“Congratulations, Mitchell,” Rebecca pronounced. “You’ve earned yourself a provisional promotion. Detective One.”

“For real?” Without thinking, Mitchell held out her hand to Sandy, who took it while edging closer to the bed.

“You’ll need to take the exam next time it’s offered to satisfy all the requirements, but yes, it’s for real.” Rebecca didn’t try to hide her pleasure. “Well done.”

“Yeah, nice going, kid,” Watts chimed in. He gestured toward Rebecca with his chin. “The Loo here deserves some congrats too.”

“Lieutenant?” Mitchell echoed, before grinning broadly. “That’s great!”

“Thanks,” Rebecca said quietly.

“And the team is staying together?” Mitchell asked anxiously.

• 24 •

Justice Served

Being laid up made her worry that the investigation would move on without her—something she fervently did not want to happen.

“Let’s say we’re restructuring.” Rebecca went on to describe the High ProÞ le Crimes Unit in general terms, leaving out the political machinations behind the scenes. “So, Detective, bottom line is that you’re on medical leave until cleared by both Dr. Torveau and the department. Then we’ll talk about assignments.”

“Oh man,” Mitchell whispered. “Detective.” Her eyes tracked from Rebecca to Watts and then to Sandy. “What do you think?”

Sandy’s expression was unreadable as she quietly said, “I think you’ll be a bigger pain in the ass now than ever.”

Mitchell grinned. “Yeah. Most likely.”

v

The room was very quiet after Rebecca and Watts left. Sandy still sat beside the bed. Her small hand, the nails tipped in a red so dark it might have been blood, rested motionless on the white sheets next to Mitchell’s thigh. Mitchell hooked her index Þ nger around Sandy’s thumb and shook gently. “You mad?”

“No. Why?”

Mitchell eased the rest of her Þ ngers over the top of Sandy’s hand and closed them. Sandy did not return the pressure. “Before they showed up, you seemed pretty warm and cuddly. It’s kinda cold in here now.”

“You know, Dell, I have to do sex pretty much twenty-four hours a day. Sometimes I’m just not in the mood, okay?”

A muscle in Mitchell’s jaw twitched, but she kept her hand on Sandy’s. “That’s a fucked-up thing to say to me.”

Sandy slowly turned her head and met Mitchell’s eyes. The sharp retort died on her tongue when she saw the undisguised pain in the deep blue eyes. She closed her own and took a long, wavering breath before opening them again. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Mitchell said quietly.

“I want you all the time,” Sandy murmured.

“Same here.” Mitchell lifted Sandy’s hand to her cheek and rubbed it against her skin. “You pissed off about the promotion?”

Sandy shook her head.

• 25 •

RADCLY fFE

“About me staying with you?”

“No.”

“Come on, honey. Just tell me.”

The silence dragged on so long that Mitchell couldn’t stand it.

“Sandy?”

“It’s the undercover thing.”

Mitchell’s brows furrowed. “I thought you liked Mitch,” she said, referring to her undercover persona. She bit the tip of Sandy’s index Þ nger playfully. “He likes you.”

“It’s not Mitch. You know what Mitch does to me.” Sandy swiveled on her chair, gripping Mitchell’s hand hard. “In case you haven’t noticed, since all this started, somebody popped Frye’s partner in broad daylight, and then somebody else tried to run down Sloan and almost took out her girlfriend instead. You got knifed two days ago and just about bled to death. These guys aren’t fucking fooling. You go poking around down at the clubs, and the next time that blade is going to be in your chest.”

“Jeez, Sandy. I’m a cop.” Mitchell’s tone was clearly incredulous.

“I can handle myself. You’re the one who’s likely to get into trouble, being Frye’s conÞ dential informant. If anybody ought to quit, it’s you.”

Sandy snorted. “Look, rookie. I’ve been managing on the streets a lot longer than you’ve been a cop. I know my way around.”

“Oh yeah, sure you—” Mitchell broke off as a knock sounded at the door. “Yeah?”

The door swung open, and Sloan took one step into the room. “Safe to come in? Or should I wait until you’re done throwing things?”

“I oughtta go,” Sandy said, leaping up as she released Mitchell’s hand.

“Hey,” Mitchell protested. She rolled over and made a grab for Sandy’s hand, then caught her breath and groaned as pain lanced through her leg. “Oh, ow, fuck. Ow.”

“Dell!” Sandy grasped Mitchell’s shoulders and pushed her gently back to the pillows. “Lay down, you blockhead.”

“Don’t go,” Mitchell gasped.

“Okay, okay. Jeez.” Sandy stroked Mitchell’s cheek. “I’ll stay already.”

Sloan cleared her throat. “You two squared away now?”

• 26 •

Justice Served

“Yeah,” they answered in unison.

“Good.” She tilted her chin at Mitchell. “How’re you doing?”

“Not too bad,” Mitchell said, Þ ghting to keep her breath even. Her leg throbbed as if someone had kicked her, more than once. She took in the circles under Sloan’s normally vibrant violet eyes and the sallow tint to her skin. Now that she was paying attention, Sloan, dressed in her usual faded jeans and tight white T-shirt, looked thinner than Mitchell remembered. “You?”

Sloan lifted a shoulder. “Jason and I have been working around the clock extracting data from the computers we conÞ scated in the raid the other night. We’ve got a dozen sources of potential subscribers to sift through—chat-room transcripts, e-mail distribution lists, on-line bulletin boards. We’re drowning in data.” Despite her obvious fatigue, she exuded excitement.

“You know,” Mitchell said, suddenly energized. “I could work on that until my leg’s better. I helped Jason with the initial data analysis, and I set up some of the traces.”

“It’s an idea,” Sloan replied hesitantly. She had considered suggesting it herself, but had resisted trying to recruit one of Frye’s people for her own private investigation out of respect for the homicide detective. But if Mitchell was otherwise unoccupied… “Look, why don’t we see how you’re feeling in a few days—”

Mitchell pushed up on the pillows, shaking her head vehemently.

“I’m okay. They’re going to let me out of here today. I could start tomorrow.”

“There’s just one little problem,” Sandy interjected with the barest hint of sarcasm.

“What?” Mitchell asked, turning to her girlfriend.

“You can’t walk, let alone drive or ride the bike.”

“By tomorrow, I’ll—”

“Stay at our place,” Sloan interjected. “We’ve got plenty of room, and all you have to do is ride the elevator one ß oor.”

“Yeah? That would be grea—” Mitchell halted, carefully not looking in Sandy’s direction. “Thanks, but I’ll be Þ ne at Sandy’s.”

“Both of you.” Sloan grinned at Sandy. “I don’t plan to keep an eye on her, and somebody should. You’d be doing me a favor if you hung out at our place for the next few days and made sure she doesn’t get into trouble.”

• 27 •

RADCLY fFE

“What do you say?” Mitchell gave Sandy a pleading look.

“I’m not going to sit around there all day, you know,” Sandy said ß atly. “I’ve got things to do too.”

“I know. No problem.” Mitchell’s eyes were alight with anticipation. “So that’s a yes?”

Sandy turned to Sloan, trying unsuccessfully to mask her grateful expression. “Sure. Why not.”

• 28 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER THREE

Just as Sloan settled behind the wheel of her new gunmetal gray Porsche Carrera GT, her cell phone rang. She peeled out of the parking space and accelerated down the exit ramp before hitting the speaker button on her phone.

“Sloan.”

“It’s Frye.”

Sloan shoved bills at the bored high school student in the glass-enclosed booth and then gunned the 5.7L V10 engine, just missing the slowly rising toll arm as she sped beneath it and onto one of the narrow one-way streets behind the hospital. “What’s up?”

“Can you meet me at Police Plaza now?”

“Why?” Sloan’s hand tightened on the wheel. A trip to the heart of police bureaucracy was the last thing she wanted to do. Just being inside any law enforcement complex brought back memories she didn’t care to revisit.

“I’d like you to have a talk with my captain.”

“Is this an ofÞ cial request?”

“Not exactly.”

Sloan pushed the Carrera east toward downtown, having intended to return to her ofÞ ce/residence in a renovated four-story factory building in Old City. With a slight detour, she could be at Police Plaza in ten minutes. It was a tangent, however, that held far more than a few moments of lost time in the balance. She had promised herself seven years before that she would never again voluntarily associate with organized law enforcement on any level.

“It’s important, Sloan.”

Rebecca might be a friend, but she was still a cop. That wasn’t something Rebecca Frye ever stopped being. Some part of this request was ofÞ cial, and that’s exactly what Sloan wanted none of. She could

• 29 •

RADCLY fFE

do a lot of things on her own to discover who had orchestrated the hit-and-run assault that had almost killed Michael. She was conÞ dent that, in time, she would have a name. She was equally conÞ dent that she could do what needed to be done for justice to be served, with her own hand and with a clear conscience. She didn’t need ofÞ cial sanction; she needed retribution. The silence grew. The purr of the huge engine and the steady throb of barely leashed power echoed the animal hunger for vengeance that raged in her depths.

“Sloan?”

“Yeah.” Sloan eased her grip on the wheel, downshifted, and turned left toward North Philadelphia. “Be there in Þ ve.”

v

Rebecca stood waiting for her on the other side of the security booths in the main lobby, and Sloan followed her silently toward the elevators.

“There’ve been some developments since the last time we talked,”

Rebecca said as they waited for the elevator doors to open.

“Problem with the arrests?” Sloan asked, suddenly concerned that some legal loophole had popped up to taint the evidence that she and Jason had gathered from the bust the previous weekend. Electronic evidence and computer forensics were still something akin to black magic to most law enforcement agents, who preferred to base their cases on court-tested modes of proof such as Þ ngerprints and eyewitness identiÞ cation.

Rebecca shook her head. “No. They’re all solid. The two of you did a great job.” Once on the third ß oor, Rebecca led the way down the hall. “In fact, that’s why you’re here.”

The nerve center of the detective bureau was a huge, brightly lit room Þ lled with the sounds of ringing phones and rumbling male voices.

Sloan glimpsed only one woman, against the far wall, her voice lost in the cacophony. Picking her way along a narrow pathway created by a dozen or so haphazardly placed desks, she felt the eyes of everyone in the room on her back. All too aware of the rapid pounding of her heart and the knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, she waited beside Rebecca, who rapped on the door of a glass-enclosed ofÞ ce. The last time she’d been in a police station, she’d been wearing handcuffs. She

• 30 •

Justice Served

fought the urge to reach over and rub her left wrist where a faint scar still remained. They’d tossed her none too gently into the backseat of a patrol car, and she’d fallen so that the weight of her body had pinned her arms to the seat. The pressure on the too-tight cuffs had torn her ß esh.

“The captain has a proposition for you.”

“Look, Frye,” Sloan began urgently, “I don’t think—”

“Just hear him out.” Rebecca pushed the door open and said, “This is Captain John Henry. Sir, JT Sloan.”

Sloan had no choice but to enter the small room, made smaller by the two chairs in front of the desk and a bank of Þ le cabinets along one wall. The big man behind the paper-covered desk rose and extended his hand.

“I thought it was about time we met, Ms. Sloan,” Henry said in his rich basso profundo.

“Just Sloan,” Sloan replied automatically as she took his hand.

“Captain.”

Henry pointed at one of the chairs and Sloan sat, crossing her blue jeans–clad legs with a nonchalance she did not feel. She rested her hands on her knees with her Þ ngers loose, despite the fact that she wanted to ball them into Þ sts. Tension thrummed through her limbs like current along a high-voltage line.

Rebecca sat silently beside Sloan.

“I won’t even pretend to understand what it is that you do, Ms.…

uh, Sloan,” Henry said, sitting erect in his chair, his hands clasped on the desk. As usual, his white shirt was wrinkle free and buttoned to the top, where his tie lay neatly knotted. He had rolled each cuff up precisely once. His eyes, intent on Sloan’s face, were brown, a shade darker than his skin, and sharp with intelligence. “But I appreciate the fact that you played a critical part in Detective Frye’s investigation. I also understand that there’s more work to be done.”

“At this point, Captain, your electronic surveillance unit should be able to follow up on most of the information we uncovered.” Sloan knew that probably wasn’t true, but it was the polite thing to say.

“You’re right,” Captain Henry said, nodding thoughtfully. “At least, you would be, if we had an electronic surveillance unit. But we don’t.”

Despite the fact that, in the last few years, all branches of government

• 31 •

RADCLY fFE

and industry had stressed computer security, local law enforcement agencies lagged far behind in developing electronic surveillance units, mostly because they lacked personnel with the necessary skills. Sloan said nothing.

“The mayor and the chief and the head of City Council are very grateful that you and Detective Lieutenant Frye were able to uncover this pornography ring.” Captain Henry’s expression remained neutral, but the barest undercurrent of sarcasm edged his tone. “They were also, however, deeply embarrassed by the fact that such a thing existed in our city. They want to be sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”

Sloan took a quick look at Rebecca. Detective lieutenant, huh?

I guess a lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours. Frye stared straight ahead, her expression completely unreadable. Sloan was momentarily irritated, wishing that Frye had given her a heads-up as to what the hell this meeting was all about, because she still didn’t have any idea. Then her mind focused on what Henry was saying, although she couldn’t really believe what she was hearing.

“…been authorized to hire a civilian consultant to set up the unit.

We’d like you to do it.”

“I’m not available, but I can recommend several well-qualiÞ ed security experts who could handle the job,” Sloan said immediately.

“City Hall wants to see immediate action on this,” Henry countered evenly. “You’re already cleared. Security screening on the others would take too long.”

Sloan couldn’t help but laugh—a short, humorless sound.

“Obviously, your system does need help. I wouldn’t pass a decent security screen.”

“You’ve already demonstrated your considerable abilities, and Lieutenant Frye vouches for you personally.” Henry’s expression never changed. “In addition to that, you’ve already been cleared at the highest level.”

“Highest level?”

“Agent Clark from the Justice Department.”

“Clark,” Sloan whispered.

“While overseeing the development of the ESU,” Henry continued smoothly, “you’ll be assigned to Lieutenant Frye’s unit.”

Sloan was still trying to absorb the fact that Clark had vouched for her. He should know that her arrest and subsequent dismissal from the

• 32 •

Justice Served

Justice Department disqualiÞ ed her from a position such as this. The fact that he had paved the way made the entire offer suspect.

“I need to think about it.”

Henry stood. “Of course.” He extended his hand. When Sloan took it, he squeezed gently. “Just remember, we have two dead police ofÞ cers whose murderer is unaccounted for, an unsolved attempted vehicular homicide—I believe you’re familiar with that incident—

and”—he glanced at Rebecca—“a mole somewhere with direct access to our personnel and case Þ les. The identities of those individuals is probably somewhere in here.” He rested his hand on his computer. “I’d like you to Þ nd them, if you can.”

Sloan stared at the blank computer monitor, but what she saw was Michael lying in the street in front of their building, her face pale, her body battered and bruised, a maroon river streaming from beneath her head. Her hands closed into Þ sts.

“Oh,” Sloan murmured softly, “I can.”

v

Michael Lassiter stared at the computer screen, willing her eyes to focus. A dull throb reverberated at the base of her skull, impeding her ability to concentrate. Queasiness simmered in the pit of her stomach.

With effort, she settled her trembling Þ ngers on the keyboard and began a memo to the division heads of Innova Design Consultants, the company she had founded with her ex-husband and now headed.

Fifteen minutes later, she had completed one paragraph, and her head threatened to explode. Sporadic ß ashes of light streaked across her Þ eld of vision, and the queasiness had swelled to a surging tide of nausea.

She closed her eyes, hoping to Þ ght down the sickness.

“Michael?” Sloan crossed the loft in long strides, her face creased with concern. She knelt by Michael’s chair while cupping her hand at the base of Michael’s neck. “Baby?”

Comforted by the cool touch of her lover’s Þ ngers, Michael leaned into Sloan’s caress. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“Missed you,” Sloan murmured, her eyes riveted to Michael’s pale face. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get a little work done myself.”

Sloan struggled not to let her apprehension show. Michael looked

• 33 •

RADCLY fFE

so frail, and her obvious pain knifed Sloan’s heart. “Rushing things a little, aren’t you?” She lifted Michael’s hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Ali said you should take it easy for a few weeks. Not to expect too much.”

Michael turned her head, resting her cheek in Sloan’s palm. “I didn’t think that reading my e-mail qualiÞ ed as a major endeavor.”

“Why don’t you lie down for a little while.” Sloan slid her hand beneath Michael’s elbow. “Come on, I’ll walk you into the bedroom.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Michael asked, remaining motionless, searching Sloan’s face. “Something about what happened to me?”

“No.” Sloan crouched again until their eyes were at the same level.

She held Michael’s gaze as she lightly stroked her cheek. “No. You had a really bad concussion. Remember Ali said it might be a few weeks before the symptoms cleared up? Headaches especially. It’s probably just too soon to work at the computer.”

“Sloan,” Michael said fervently, “that’s where I do most of my work. I’m a design consultant.”

“I know, baby, I know.” The edge of anxiety in Michael’s voice was unmistakable, and Sloan ached to reassure her. “But you’ve only been out of the hospital a week. This is normal.”

“I hate this.” Michael wrapped her arms around Sloan’s neck and leaned into her, resting her cheek on Sloan’s shoulder. “I hate feeling so weak, and I hate feeling useless. And I hate being apart from you most of all.”

“Oh no, baby. No.” Sloan rose slowly, enfolding Michael in her arms, and kissed her forehead, then her lips. “You’re getting better, and that’s the most important thing to me. Lying with you at night, holding you, waking up with you beside me. That’s everything.”

Michael pressed against her, needing her solid strength. “Not quite everything.”

Sloan’s pulse skyrocketed as Michael’s breath caressed her neck and the soft curves of Michael’s body melded to her own. The rush of arousal was entirely beyond her control, and she tried valiantly not to let her desire show. They had made love brieß y several days before, despite Sloan’s protests. Michael had seemed to need the connection, and Sloan could refuse her nothing. But despite her body’s acute response to her lover’s nearness, sex was the last thing on Sloan’s mind. All she wanted

• 34 •

Justice Served

was for Michael to be well. “No, deÞ nitely not everything, but those other things can wait.”

“No choice.” Michael sighed, brushing her lips over Sloan’s.

“Damn—I’m sorry. I need to lie down.” She mustered a smile. “Then I want you to tell me what you’ve been doing since last night.”

Once they were settled in the bedroom, Michael curled against Sloan’s side with her head on her lover’s shoulder. While Sloan recounted the details of the meeting at Police Plaza, Michael listened without comment, her arm curved around Sloan’s waist.

“So you agreed?” Michael asked when Sloan fell silent.

“More or less,” Sloan said. “I agreed to submit a preliminary assessment of the status of their electronic retrieval and analysis capabilities, along with my recommendations for developing a state-of-the-art electronic surveillance unit. Probably once they see my bill, that will be the end of it.”

Michael laughed gently. “Why did you agree? You don’t need the work, and I can’t imagine that they’ll be able to pay your going rate.”

Sloan shrugged but said nothing. Her continued silence triggered every one of Michael’s alarms, but the persistent throbbing in her head made it hard for her to think clearly. She was aware only of a sense of unease, and her frustrating inability to process it made her headache even worse. She sighed.

“I can’t Þ gure this out on my own, love,” Michael said quietly.

“Please tell me.”

“Developing the ESU is a straightforward job. It’ll be a little frustrating due to the antiquated equipment and bureaucratic roadblocks that are sure to exist, but all in all, it might be fun.”

“And?”

Sloan pressed her lips to Michael’s temple and rubbed her hand in gentle circles over the center of Michael’s back. “And I’ll have access to every computer in the system. Somewhere in there is the answer that we’ve all been looking for.”

“You mean…” Michael began hesitantly. Frowning, she tried desperately to sort out the fragments of memory and shattered connections in her still-traumatized brain. “…who killed Rebecca’s partner?”

Sloan nodded.

“And who…hurt me?”

• 35 •

RADCLY fFE

“Yes.”

“And then what will you do?”

Sloan knew the answer that Michael wanted. She knew the answer but hesitated, because she couldn’t lie to her. “I don’t know.”

Michael raised her head, ignoring the surge of pain, to look into Sloan’s eyes. “You promised me you would tell Rebecca. I remember that. You promised.”

“I did,” Sloan whispered. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into the soft fragrance of Michael’s hair. Her voice barely registered a whisper. “It’s just that…I want to hurt someone for hurting you.”

“I know.” Michael stroked Sloan’s cheek, then threaded her Þ ngers into Sloan’s hair. She raised her mouth to Sloan’s and kissed her gently.

“I won’t ask you to keep your promise, because I know that you will.”

Sloan let the comfort of Michael’s kiss soothe her troubled soul, wondering if she would be able to keep her lover’s trust.

• 36 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER FOUR

Sloan jerked awake to the ringing of the bedside phone. Cursing silently, she tried to reach it without shifting Michael’s head from her shoulder, hoping not to rouse her.

“I’ll get it,” Michael whispered, rolling carefully toward the side of the bed. She retrieved the portable handset and passed it to Sloan before curling up against her lover’s side again.

“Sloan,” she said, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep. She couldn’t believe she’d dropped off in the middle of the day. She rarely slept, day or night, when in the middle of a project. The investigation with Rebecca’s team had been ongoing for several weeks, and her role in it had grown so steadily that she and Jason had put all their other contracts on hold. Now, when she was so close to a breakthrough—with Þ nding Michael’s assailant as the payoff—she could think of little else.

Only her concern for Michael’s well-being took precedence. “Uh-huh.

Sure. That sounds Þ ne.”

“Problem?” Michael asked when Sloan hung up with a faint groan.

“No, just a meeting with Frye.” Sloan kissed Michael’s forehead and eased away. “But I’m going to have to go. I’m sorry. You should sleep a little longer.”

Michael laughed. “Darling, all I do is sleep.” She sat up slowly, then stood. “Let me walk you out.”

Sloan took her hand as they left the bedroom. “You know, there’s something I forgot to tell you. I invited Mitchell to stay here for a few days—until she’s getting around a little bit better.”

“I think that’s a good idea. When is she coming?”

“Today sometime. Her girlfriend Sandy too.”

“Well, we’ve got room.”

“You don’t mind?” Sloan stopped in front of the loft doors and

• 37 •

RADCLY fFE

curved an arm around Michael’s waist, drawing her near. “Because if it’s too much—”

“I don’t plan on cooking and cleaning for them, darling,” Michael chided gently. “It’ll be Þ ne. The company will be nice.” She kissed Sloan lingeringly, cleaving to her as she did. When she drew away, she sighed contentedly. “God, you feel so good.”

“You too,” Sloan replied, her voice husky and low.

“My headache’s gone.” Michael cupped her hand behind Sloan’s neck and kissed her again.

“Oh, baby,” Sloan gasped. “I have to go. Frye is going to be here any minute.”

“You go ahead.” Michael smiled, her eyes liquid with desire. “I’ll be here later.”

“I know,” Sloan murmured, drawing a Þ nger along the edge of Michael’s jaw and over her mouth. “And knowing that is the best thing in my life.”

v

In the conference room on the third ß oor of Sloan’s building, Rebecca helped herself to a cup of coffee. The rest of the huge space was partitioned into various work areas crammed with computers and a vast array of electronic equipment, some of which was not yet available on the open market. At the sound of footsteps at her back, she turned and greeted Sloan. “Sorry for the short notice.”

Wordlessly, Sloan shrugged and headed straight for the coffeepot.

She poured a cup, took a long sip, and lounging against the counter, regarded Rebecca inquiringly. “No problem. Something come up?”

“Clark arrived for a meeting with Henry, and I decided I needed to be unavailable.”

“What’s that bastard doing back in the picture?”

“I don’t know.” Rebecca looked past Sloan to the door and nodded to the handsome blond man who stood on the threshold. His expensive, meticulously tailored shirt and pants contrasted distinctly to Sloan’s casual attire, but the shadows beneath his deep blue eyes mirrored hers.

“Hi, Jase. How’s it going?”

Jason McBride, Sloan’s associate at Sloan Security, smiled tiredly.

• 38 •

Justice Served

“It feels like moving a mountain with a tablespoon, there’s so much data to sift through.”

“You should take a break before Sarah comes and drags you out of here,” Sloan suggested, referring to her best friend and Jason’s live-in lover. “Go home, get some sleep.”

“Yeah, like you, I suppose,” Jason remarked with friendly sarcasm.

“I just woke up.”

Clearly surprised, Jason sank into one of the chairs at the conference table. “So miracles really do happen.”

Laughing, Sloan joined him.

Jason looked to Rebecca. “What’s happening on your end?”

“A few noteworthy bits, but let’s wait for Watts. He’ll be here any minute.”

Right on cue, a subdued pinging emanated from a speaker in the far corner of the room. All three heads turned toward the bank of security monitors lined up along the wall. The Þ rst screen showed an image projected from the video camera above the street-level door.

Watts stood on the top step, frowning up at the camera. Before Sloan could buzz him in, he turned his back to the building, as if looking back down the street.

“Hey,” Jason said as another Þ gure materialized. “That’s Mitchell!”

“I’d better go give them a hand,” Sloan said, punching in a number sequence on a keypad to release the security locks on the street-level door.

“Stay put,” Rebecca interjected. “I’ll go.”

As soon as they were alone, Jason queried Sloan. “Why the meeting?”

“It looks like the team is back in business,” Sloan said.

“Really? Good, because we could use some help tracking down the rest of the video-porn subscribers. And anything else we Þ nd along the way.”

Sloan said nothing.

“What?”

“You might have to handle that alone.”

Jason frowned. “Why?”

“I’m going to be tied up with another job.”

• 39 •

RADCLY fFE

“You’re kidding.” Jason stared, clearly confused. “What could be more important than delivering the coup de grâce to this smut ring?”

“You know what, Jason,” Sloan replied softly.

“We’ve got a line into their organization now, Sloan,” Jason pointed out. “We’ll nail down the porn distributors, and one of them is going to roll. Then we’ll be able to pinpoint Michael’s assailant or at least Þ nd out who gave the order.”

“Starting tomorrow,” Sloan said with evident satisfaction,

“I’m going to have access to everything I need to Þ gure out who is responsible.” At his look of puzzlement, she went on, “I agreed to help develop an electronic surveillance unit for the police department. I’m now an ofÞ cial civilian consultant.”

“You’re kidding.” The sound of voices from just outside the door prevented him from elaborating further on his disbelief. He turned, and a smile lit his handsome features. “Dell? Hey. How are you?”

“Great.” Mitchell, seated in a wheelchair with Sandy at the helm, grinned back. “The doc said I can’t weight-bear until tomorrow. But then I’ll be mobile.”

“Crutches,” Sandy muttered. “Freakin’ crutches, Dell.”

“Excellent,” Jason said. “Hi, Sandy.”

“Hi,” Sandy replied as she helped Mitchell move from the wheelchair to a seat at the table.

Rebecca sat down on Mitchell’s right, with Watts on her opposite side. Once Sandy joined them, Rebecca began. “Okay. Everyone’s here, so let’s get up to speed. As of this morning, we are now ofÞ cially the High ProÞ le Crimes Unit.” She looked around the table. “Jason, you and Sloan will have ofÞ cial status as civilian consultants. Sloan’s going to be doing some work directly from police headquarters, but you’ll still be based here. In fact,” she regarded Sloan now, “I’d like to base the entire unit here if at all possible. I don’t trust the security at headquarters.”

“That’s Þ ne with me,” Sloan said. “Jason and Mitchell can set up a secure databank to handle the necessary documentation. We’ll store everything using the Justice Department encryption protocol, so we should have no problem with the records being admissible in court.”

“Handy,” Watts observed. “You just happening to have that program.”

• 40 •

Justice Served

“I learned everything I know from Uncle Sam.” Sloan grinned.

“Just your tax dollars at work.”

“Uh-huh, right.”

“Jason,” Rebecca’s voice rose above the friendly bantering.

“Where are you with the data analysis?”

“In addition to the guys running the video relay stations that we’ve already identiÞ ed, we could potentially track down about three hundred subscribers just in the greater metropolitan area alone. How hard do you want to go after them?”

“How long would it take?”

Jason waggled his hand. “We have to backtrack through credit card accounts, Internet aliases, multiple e-mail addresses, servers—

the whole works. With just Dell and me working it, probably a few weeks.”

“In all likelihood,” Sloan interjected, “these are the end users. The guys who don’t know anything about the structure of the organization and who just want to get off to porn. For our purposes, the return might not be worth the effort.”

Rebecca’s gaze was distant as she considered options. “These guys are perverts, and some of them are probably active pedophiles.

They need to be investigated.”

“No question,” Sloan agreed. “But do we need to be investigating them?”

“What’s the chance that we’ll pull a name out of those computers that will lead us to our mole?”

“Not an impossibility,” Jason mused. “Most of the porn makers and distributors got into the business because they like the product.

Maybe that’s what hooked our insider too, but we can’t count on it.”

“For the time being,” Rebecca said, “you and Mitchell keep at it.

At least until Mitchell is ready for street duty.”

At that, Mitchell sat up straighter, her body nearly quivering with anticipation. “Am I going back undercover?”

From the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw Sandy stiffen. “We’ve disrupted part of the porn ring, but I think it’s pretty clear that they’re using prostitutes as models. Some local street girls, but others whom we haven’t been able to identify. They’re not in our system—so who are they? I want to know who they are and how they’re being recruited.

So far, the sex clubs are our best leads.” She glanced from Mitchell

• 41 •

RADCLY fFE

to Jason. “And Jasmine and Mitch have an in there, so I want them to work it.”

Jason’s mouth curved into a smile that was pure Jasmine. When he spoke, his voice took on a honeyed texture, although nothing else in his posture changed. “What fun.”

“Jasmine needs to talk to the drag kings and tell them Mitch was in a motorcycle accident. It will explain his leg and his absence.”

“Not a problem. The boys have a show tonight, and Jasmine can drop around.”

During the conversation, Watts shifted in his chair, the ponderous creaking underscoring his uneasy expression. “Mitch rushing out of Ziggie’s right before that bust the other night might raise some suspicions.”

“No one knows I was at the factory during the arrests,” Mitchell pointed out hurriedly. “I can always say I got a call from my girlfriend busting my balls”—she glanced apologetically at Sandy—“because I was out late clubbing, and I crashed the bike speeding to get home.”

Watts nodded. “Yeah, that might play.” He regarded Mitchell steadily. “And you did manage to get in places none of us could.”

“Well, Mitch did,” Mitchell replied with just a hint of self-satisfaction.

“Oh yeah—the guy with the plastic pole,” Watts grumbled. “He’s a wonder, all right.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said, nodding to Mitchell. “As soon as you’re cleared medically and by…the department, I want you to reconnect with the kings and start working the clubs at night. Concentrate on Ziggie’s.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sloan, you’ve got the department computers. Anything new on the identity of the inside man?”

Sloan shook her head. “Nothing beyond what we knew this weekend. There are two ADAs who had access to the warrants and who could’ve tipped someone off to the details of the computer investigations: Margaret Campbell and George Beecher.”

“Let’s sit down with their proÞ les tomorrow and look for something that’s off,” Rebecca said. “Make sure their jackets are complete—criminal records search, education and Þ nancial summaries, job evals—all of it.”

• 42 •

Justice Served

“Done.”

“Watts and I will arrange surveillance on both of them. It’ll be tricky, because they’re likely to be suspicious after the arrests this weekend. They’ll be looking for something out of the ordinary.” She glanced at Watts. “You and I should be the ones sitting on them, at least in the beginning.”

He pursed his lips. “Can’t do it 24-7.”

“Agreed, but I think it’s safe to assume they’re not likely to have contact with anyone during the day. So we’ll start with night tails.”

“You’re the boss.”

“During the day, Watts,” Rebecca went on pointedly, “I want you to go back over everything you can Þ nd in Jimmy Hogan’s Þ les. If Avery Clark is back in the picture, and Jimmy Hogan was one of his undercover agents, then the Justice Department thinks there’s still something here to Þ nd. And I think whatever that is, it’s what got Jimmy…and Jeff…

killed.” Her eyes were a ß at, hard blue, as impenetrable as the surface of a bottomless well. “And I know that Avery Clark is not going to tell us.

He’s hoping to wait in the wings again while we dig out the information he’s interested in. But this time, we aren’t handing it over.”

Her remark prompted a chorus of damn rights and a single, harsh no fucking way from Watts.

“Anything else?” Rebecca asked, looking around the table. When no one spoke, she bumped her Þ st lightly on the table top. “Right, then.

Let’s do it.”

As the team dispersed, Rebecca approached Sandy. “Got a minute?”

“Not really.” Sandy indicated Mitchell, who was pale and shaking, with a tilt of her chin. “I think the rookie oughtta be in bed.”

“I’ll take her upstairs and get her settled,” Jason offered.

Sandy looked as if she wanted to refuse, but she Þ nally shrugged.

“Whatever.”

“Let’s go for a walk,” Rebecca said, leading the way to the elevator.

They rode down in silence with Watts. Once outside, she and Sandy headed toward the waterfront while Watts walked west after mumbling goodbye.

“Cold?” Rebecca asked.

Sandy shook her head, although she wore only a short, tight red

• 43 •

RADCLY fFE

vinyl jacket that did not close across her small breasts. Her nipples stood out starkly under the nearly sheer top.

“You look cold.”

“I’m not.” Sandy’s voice held the barest edge of annoyance. She shot Rebecca a look out of the corner of her eye. “Okay, maybe I am a little.”

Rebecca hooked her Þ ngers beneath Sandy’s elbow and tugged her into a coffee shop on Front Street. They navigated the narrow path between the counter and a single row of tables until they reached the last table in the rear. On the way, Rebecca held up two Þ ngers and asked for coffee. A minute later they sat with steaming cups cradled between their palms.

“I need you to Þ nd Trudy,” Rebecca said, referring to the young dancer-cum-prostitute who had been with Sandy in the porn studio the night of the arrests. “We haven’t been able to Þ nd her since she left the ER the other night.”

“Can you blame her?” Sandy said bitterly. “First she ends up going down on that pig for the camera, and then she gets caught in the middle of your raid. Watts drags her off to the hospital, where some doctor takes her clothes away and pokes and scrapes her everywhere.” Sandy sipped her coffee, apparently oblivious to the scalding heat against her lips. “What do you expect?”

“I expect she’s laying low, but that won’t last long. She’s going to need money.” Rebecca stared into Sandy’s eyes. “She’s going to do what she’s always done to get it, which means hook or pose. Either way, she’s going to expose herself to danger.”

Sandy laughed, a short mirthless sound. “You mean more so than usual?”

“I mean that if anyone knew she was going to be at the shoot that night, they might suspect her of tipping us off.” Rebecca didn’t add that if anyone knew that Trudy had been meeting Sandy to bring her to the porn shoot, she could be in danger too. She knew from the look in Sandy’s eyes that she’d made the connection. “I want to Þ nd out what else she knows—”

“What?” Sandy snapped. “Before someone dumps her in an alley?”

“And,” Rebecca went on with no change in expression, “see if I can get her into a program or shelter somewhere.”

• 44 •

Justice Served

Sandy looked as if she were going to retort, but stared down into her coffee instead. After a long moment of silence, she looked up into Rebecca’s face. “I’ll ask around. She wasn’t that hard to Þ nd the Þ rst time.”

Rebecca nodded.

“Dell’s not ready for the street. The doctor said she was going to be weak because of losing blood and stuff.”

Still Rebecca said nothing.

“She wants to fucking be just like you.” Sandy’s eyes ß ashed.

“Tough, like nothing ever hurts and nothing could ever hurt her.”

“She’s a cop, Sandy.” Rebecca spoke quietly, her tone even and mild. “You’re going to have to accept that about her if you’re going to be with her.”

Her words took them both by surprise, and they blinked simultaneously.

“Christ,” Rebecca muttered, realizing that she’d had almost the same conversation with Mitchell about Sandy just days before. It was crazy, the two of them together. But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to split them up. There were things that she could do, including threatening Mitchell’s career, to force them apart, but she hadn’t done that. When she considered it, as she did in this moment, Catherine’s face came into view—disappointment and sorrow in her eyes. “Look, I don’t want to know about you two. Keep your personal stuff personal, and just let Mitchell do her job.”

“I’m not going to let her get her head blown off,” Sandy said vehemently.

Rebecca leaned forward over the table, her hands not quite touching Sandy’s, their faces inches apart. “If you want her to be safe, then don’t make her crazy. She has to go out the door every day knowing that you’ll be there when she comes back. If you can’t give her that, then let her go now.”

Sandy’s eyes widened. “Jesus. Who are you?”

Wordlessly, Rebecca held Sandy’s searching gaze.

“I heard Dell say that sometimes an older cop takes a rookie under their wing and helps them out. It’s some kind of special big-deal relationship. Rabbi, she said. Is that what you are now?”

“Something like that.”

• 45 •

RADCLY fFE

“So you’re sending her out there with nothing but her dick in her hand?”

Rebecca had to work to suppress a smile, just imagining how Mitchell would respond to this conversation. “She’ll have backup. Most of the time, Jasmine will be with her.” She held out a hand before Sandy could protest. “And she’s a natural. She’s one of the best undercover cops I’ve ever seen.”

“Can I say you said that?”

“No. ”

Sandy grinned. “Man, she’d like to know you think that. But I don’t plan on telling her. She’d be impossible.”

“Good. You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

Rebecca waved a waitress over and ordered two burgers with fries and Cokes. While they waited, she said, “I don’t want you hooking.”

“I’m not going there again,” Sandy said ß atly. “I can’t work the streets and not hook. That’ll get me killed faster than anything.”

“You’ll just have to fake it.”

Sandy laughed. “Fake blowing some guy in an alley? You think he might notice if I don’t do anything except stare at his hard-on?”

“I don’t want you doing anybody in alleys or backseats of cars or three-dollar rooms in ten-dollar ß ophouses. If you run into someone you know, tell them you just Þ nished with a trick. Since you don’t have a pimp, nobody’s keeping score.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You’re out of business, Sandy.” Rebecca’s tone held absolutely no room for negotiation. “I’ll see that you get money on a regular basis.”

Sandy cocked her head and regarded Rebecca thoughtfully.

“You’ve changed. There’s something inside of you now besides just business. How come?”

Rebecca was silent, but she stumbled over the memory of Catherine’s scent enveloping her in the dark. And she knew.

• 46 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER FIVE

Catherine smiled at the assistant who sat guarding the door to Hazel Holcomb’s inner sanctum.

“Hi, Stef, is she around?”

The slender African American woman shook her head. “Not to anyone but you.”

“That busy, huh?” Catherine smiled. “Never mind, then. I’ll catch her before the Þ ve o’clock management conference.”

“No, you’d better see her now if you really want to talk to her. No guarantee she’ll even make it to the conference. Budget’s due.”

The way Stef said budget made it sound as if she were speaking of a virulent pathogen capable of destroying nations.

“I promise I’ll only stay a minute.”

The assistant waved her toward the partially open door to the chief of psychiatry’s private ofÞ ce and returned her attention to the computer screen on her desk. Catherine murmured her thanks and, tapping lightly on the door to announce her presence, stepped into Hazel’s ofÞ ce.

“Oh, thank goodness, you’ve come to rescue me.” Hazel, a vigorous sixty-year-old with short salt-and-pepper hair and a piercing gaze, slipped off her reading glasses and let them dangle on the braided cord around her neck. Indicating a chair in front of her desk with a quick gesture, she leaned back and sighed. “Most of the time I forget why I didn’t want to be an administrator. This week, I remember quite clearly.”

Catherine regarded the mountain of paperwork covering every available surface of Hazel’s desk and grimaced sympathetically. “It looks awful.”

“It’s worse.”

“I’m sorry. I’d volunteer to help but the thought terriÞ es me.”

• 47 •

RADCLY fFE

Hazel snorted. “It would probably be good practice for you. You’re going to be doing it yourself one day soon.”

“I’m not at all certain I want the job,” Catherine said immediately,

“and what’s more, you’re going to be here for a long time to come.”

“There are days I wonder about that,” Hazel said with uncharacteristic solemnity. “There seem to be more and more of them when it just isn’t fun anymore.”

“Those are the times we have to remember to separate the work from the bullshit.”

Hazel blinked, then laughed with genuine pleasure. “You’re right.

And I’m sorry. You came to talk about something, and I ended up telling you my troubles.”

“It seems only fair, since I’m always burdening you with mine.”

“Nonsense. We’re friends, and that’s what friends do.”

Since Hazel was regarding her expectantly, Catherine got right to the point. “I need advice, of course. It’s about a former patient whom I expect to be treating again. Since the last time I saw her in therapy, I’ve gotten somewhat personally involved with her. What’s more, Rebecca is involved with her too.”

“How do you know she’ll be returning?” Hazel asked astutely.

“She’s a police ofÞ cer, and she’s sustained an on-duty injury.

She’ll need to be cleared psychologically before she returns to duty.

Since she’s seen me before, I expect she’ll return.”

“And you’ve gotten to know her outside of therapy, I take it.”

Catherine nodded. “It’s complicated.” She laughed at her own understatement. “Of course it’s complicated, or I wouldn’t be here.

She’s an ofÞ cer assigned to Rebecca’s team, and I’ve worked with the team as a consultant fairly closely for the last month or so. The ofÞ cer and I have worked together in that capacity.”

“So it was still a professional relationship, essentially.”

“Yes, and this particular individual is extraordinarily respectful of boundaries. She’s very much like Rebecca.” Catherine smiled, thinking of Dellon’s quick temper and Rebecca’s cool, tight control. “Although they’re as different as night and day.”

“You’re fond of her, aren’t you?”

Slightly taken aback, Catherine hesitated, considering the early-morning call she’d received from Rebecca just a few days before telling her that Dellon had been seriously injured and was on her way to the

• 48 •

Justice Served

hospital. She remembered her swift relief that it hadn’t been her lover who had been hurt, followed immediately by her concern for a young woman she had come to know and like. “I do like her. But I like many of my patients.”

“I agree. If you didn’t, I’d worry about that.” Hazel lifted a mug and sipped, then made a face. “Cold tea. Almost as bad as cold coffee.”

She leaned forward, punched in several numbers on her phone, and asked Stef if she would mind bringing two cups of tea. “So you’ll be seeing her in a somewhat limited capacity—short-term, focused on her recent injury. Correct?”

“Yes. Usually these things are resolved in three to Þ ve sessions.”

Catherine waited while Hazel got up to take the tea from her assistant.

“Thank you,” Catherine said, taking a mug from Hazel. “But sometimes other things come out, and I end up seeing the individual for long-term therapy.”

“And that’s where you think problems might arise?”

“Potentially.” Catherine blew on the surface of the hot liquid and sipped. “Not necessarily. It’s just there are more confounding factors in this particular relationship than I’m used to dealing with, and I wanted to talk it out with you. I don’t want to transfer her in the midst of emerging issues.”

“I take it you haven’t been personally—socially—involved in any way.”

“No, Rebecca wouldn’t have that kind of a relationship with anyone she worked with, particularly a subordinate. Nor would I.”

“I think the very fact that you’re talking about it means you’ll be particularly sensitive to boundary issues. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Hazel rested her mug on the corner of her desk. “So, how are things with you and the detective sergeant?”

“The detective sergeant is now a detective lieutenant. She just told me earlier today.”

“That’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

“It is. I think.” Catherine shook her head. “It’s not what I thought it would be. I just assumed her promotion would mean she’d be doing mostly administrative work. Instead, they’ve given her command of some special unit to investigate high-proÞ le crimes. That doesn’t sound an awful lot safer than what she’s been doing.”

“Her job still worries you,” Hazel observed matter-of-factly.

• 49 •

RADCLY fFE

Just as honestly, Catherine answered. “Yes. It does. She goes to work every morning to a job where someone might try to kill her. I freely admit, I’m not well-adjusted to it.”

Hazel smiled. “You sound a little angry. That’s better than depressed, which was how you sounded the last time we talked about it.”

Catherine huffed out a breath. “I suppose I’m moving toward acceptance, but I don’t think it’s ever going to be easy.”

“I can’t imagine that it ever could be. Are you happy with her?”

“Oh God, yes,” Catherine replied instantly. “I…” She blushed.

“I’m madly in love with her.”

“Wonderful.”

“We’ve talked about living together.”

“That’s news.”

“I’m ready,” Catherine said. “But I’m not sure that Rebecca is.

Rather, I’m not sure that Rebecca thinks she is.”

“She’s afraid to disappoint you.”

Catherine jerked, startled. “How did you know?”

“A better question is, how did you not know?”

“Oh,” Catherine muttered with obvious frustration. “I hate it when we get to this point in these conversations.” She took a breath and let it out slowly. “I did know. I do know. I just want her to realize that I’m different from the other women she’s been with.”

“I imagine she knows that,” Hazel said gently. “What she doesn’t realize is that she’s different with you than she’s been with anyone else.

When she can see that, she’ll trust herself with you.”

“I’m having some sort of territorial reaction, aren’t I?” Catherine gave a rueful laugh. “I can’t believe I’m jealous of women I’ve never even met.”

“Perfectly natural.”

“Relationships certainly do bring our hidden fears rushing to the surface, don’t they?”

“Being in love deÞ nitely does.” Hazel stood and moved around her desk toward Catherine. When Catherine rose, Hazel put a friendly arm around her shoulders and together they walked toward the door. “You sound like you have a very Þ rm hold on everything that’s happening, both with your young police ofÞ cer and your new lover. Trust your judgment. I always have.”

• 50 •

Justice Served

“Thank you. I’m going to trust your judgment on this, because sometimes where Rebecca is concerned, I have no perspective at all.”

Catherine returned Hazel’s hug and, feeling lighter of heart, left to face the rest of her day, looking forward to her evening with her lover.

v

“Come on, honey, get into bed with me.”

Sandy folded her arms across her chest and regarded Dell suspiciously from the doorway. “What did you take?”

“Whatever Jason gave me.” Mitchell pointed to several prescription vials on the bedside table. “He said I was supposed to take them.”

“Whatever it was, it made you high.”

“Nuh-uh. You do that.” Mitchell patted the bed beside her and grinned. “If you cuddle up with me, I’ll take a nap like I’m supposed to.”

“You’re going to want to fool around.”

“Nah. I won’t.”

“You’re lying, Dell.”

“Maybe.” Mitchell held out her hand. “Come on, honey. Please?”

“Just for a few minutes.” Sandy slipped out of her sandals as she walked to the bed and, with practiced efÞ ciency, shed her top and skirt as well and arrived at the bedside nude. “What?”

“You’re so hot.” Mitchell’s voice was hoarse, her eyes huge as her gaze drifted down Sandy’s Þ gure. “Stand right there.”

“What are you doing? You know we can’t, not with your leg the way it is.”

“Shh. I’m just looking.”

“Then how come it feels like you’re touching?”

“Must be ’cause I want to so much.”

Sandy’s hips gave a small involuntary jerk. “Shut up, Dell. There’s no way we can do anything.”

“Every time I see you, it’s like…wow.”

“Well, you’re done lookin’, rookie.” Sandy lifted the sheets and slid into bed, pulling the covers to her shoulders. She turned on her side and propped her head in one hand, resting the other on Mitchell’s abdomen. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“How come you covered up?”

• 51 •

RADCLY fFE

“You know why. You turn me on bad when you look at me the way you just did.”

“Yeah?” Mitchell leaned over, nudged the sheet aside with her chin, and kissed Sandy’s breast just above her nipple. “So are you now?”

“Uh-huh.” Sandy arched her back and drew her tense nipple across Mitchell’s lips. “Kiss me there.”

With a quiet moan, Mitchell closed her mouth on Sandy’s small breast and sucked. When Sandy’s Þ ngers trembled in her hair, holding her head closer, she used her teeth. When Sandy’s breathing caught, stuttered to a stop, and then picked up again, rapid and shallow, Mitchell teased her Þ ngers up and down the center of Sandy’s abdomen, making the muscles jump and twitch.

“You like that?” Mitchell beat her tongue back and forth across the tip of Sandy’s nipple. “Baby?”

“Yesss.” Sandy Þ sted her hand in Mitchell’s hair and pulled.

“Stop. Dell, stop.”

Trembling, Mitchell laid her cheek in the hollow between Sandy’s breasts, Þ ghting to contain the wild urge to taste her everywhere. The tips of her Þ ngers rested just at the edge of the silken strands between Sandy’s thighs, and she struggled not to slide her Þ ngers lower into the thick wet heat that she knew awaited her. Sandy’s heart raced beneath her ear like a frantic rabbit running from a fox. Fearful that she’d gone too far too fast and forced Sandy into a place that wasn’t pleasure, but pain, Mitchell asked gently, “Did I do something you didn’t like?”

Sandy made a strangled sound, half sob, half laugh. “Sometimes…

when you’re touching me…it feels so good that I get confused.”

“Confused?” Mitchell didn’t move, didn’t change the inß ection or tone of her voice. She listened with all her heart, wanting nothing more than to understand what this one woman needed from her.

“When your mouth is on me like that…I can’t tell where you are, but I can feel you everywhere inside of me…touching me in places I know you can’t be touching me. I feel like I’m going to break, Dell.

And I don’t know what will happen if I do.”

“I won’t let you,” Mitchell promised fervently. “I’ll be right here.

I’ll hold you.”

Sandy inched down on the bed until her face was even with Mitchell’s. She looked into Mitchell’s eyes. “I believe you. I do. But…

• 52 •

Justice Served

no one’s ever made me feel what you do.” She laughed harshly. “God, I never wanted anyone to make me feel anything when they touched me.”

“I love you.”

“Even knowing…what I am?”

“What are you, Sandy?” Mitchell’s lips were almost touching Sandy’s. She stroked Sandy’s hips very gently with just the tips of her Þ ngers.

“You know, Dell. I trade sex for money.”

“When was the last time?”

“You don’t want to know these things.”

“Yes,” Mitchell said quietly, but Þ rmly. “I do.”

“A week or so ago. A couple of car jobs down on Arch.”

Mitchell never stopped her gentle caresses. “Before you signed on with Frye as her CI?”

Sandy nodded. “She told me it was part of the deal…that I don’t hook.”

“And that’s the reason you stopped?”

This time, Sandy shook her head in the negative. “It wasn’t for Frye.”

“Why then?”

“I don’t know,” Sandy whispered. “After that psycho murdered Anne Marie, I quit everything except the quick stuff. Too much can happen when you’re alone in a room with a guy.”

Mitchell blinked. “That was months ago.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you’re done with it?”

“Are you asking?”

“Not yet.” Mitchell moved her hand from Sandy’s hips to her belly and continued her soft caresses. “But I can’t think about anyone else touching you.”

“Don’t think about it. Please.” Sandy traced her Þ ngers over the arch of Mitchell’s cheekbone and down along the angle of her jaw.

She very gently rested her Þ ngers against Mitchell’s mouth. “No one touches me except you.”

“Someday,” Mitchell whispered, “I’m going to have to ask.”

“Dell,” Sandy said softly. “I won’t lie to you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

• 53 •

RADCLY fFE

“Then don’t ask about what you don’t want to know, okay?”

“For now.” Mitchell kissed Sandy gently. “Can I look at you some more now?”

Sandy’s laugh was shaky. “No sex.”

“No promises.”

“Dell,” Sandy whispered, covering the hand that stroked her abdomen with her own. Looking into Mitchell’s eyes, she guided Mitchell’s hand lower between her thighs. “You see?”

“Oh, baby, you are so beautiful.” Mitchell had a hard time getting air into her lungs, and the fever in her belly burned bright. “You have to let me make you come.”

“You think…I’ll say…no?” Sandy’s hips undulated gently to the sweet, slow rhythm of Mitchell’s Þ ngers sliding over her ready ß esh.

Her lids ß ickered, and her eyes lost focus. With a small cry, she rested her forehead against Dell’s, shivering all over. In a voice barely a whisper, she said, “Do it harder, baby.”

“Not yet,” Mitchell choked, Þ ghting not to hurry. “I love the way you feel. I want it to last forever. Don’t come yet.”

Sandy’s hand tightened on Mitchell’s forearm, her Þ ngers spasming erratically as her hips surged into Mitchell’s palm. “Can’t.

Can’t stop.”

Mitchell held her breath, intent on capturing every sigh as Sandy climbed toward her climax. She stroked harder, faster, knowing it was too late to do anything but bring Sandy the release her body screamed for. At the Þ rst rolling tremor, she Þ lled her, and the sudden pressure drove her over.

“Oh, Dell,” Sandy sobbed. “Good…so good…so good.”

Mitchell stayed inside her long after the contractions ended and Sandy curled against her, moaning quietly. Even so intimately joined, Mitchell ached to be closer. “I love you.”

“If I touch you,” Sandy said, her voice lazy with pleasure, “will you promise not to move?”

Mitchell laughed. “Sure.”

“I mean it, rookie. If you so much as twitch, I’ll stop. I’m not going to risk hurting your leg just so you can get off.”

“I’m a cop. I have perfect control.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s see about that.”

Mitchell held out longer than she thought she could, and when she

• 54 •

Justice Served

Þ nally broke under the tender torture of Sandy’s hands, Sandy held her tightly and kept her safe. Just as Mitchell knew she would.

• 55 •

• 56 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER SIX

Oops, sorry.” Sandy stumbled to a stop just inside the kitchen alcove, staring at the woman across the room and wondering how to disappear. The loft was so quiet she’d thought she and Dell were the only ones there. Glad I put clothes on.

Michael turned from the stove with a half smile and an inquiring expression. “Hi. I’m Michael.”

“Oh, so you’re Sloan’s…” Sandy hesitated, because girlfriend didn’t seem to suit the classy woman who managed to look Cosmo-beautiful even barefoot and wearing nothing but a black silk robe.

“Yes, I’m Sloan’s, all right,” Michael answered with a laugh. “And I guess you’re Sandy?”

“Yeah. Look, I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just—”

“I was about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

Tea. Although what she’d been in the mood for was a beer, Sandy nodded. Trying not to be too obvious, she studied Michael in the dim glow of the overhead track lights. The woman looked very pale and unsteady on her feet. Sandy knew what had happened to her, but until that moment, she’d never appreciated how serious the injury had been.

“You should probably sit down. I can do the tea, if you tell me where the stuff is.”

“I’ve been trying to become more self-sufÞ cient,” Michael said, smiling wanly.

“Why?” Sandy asked as she padded over to the stove, suddenly conscious of how she must look. She’d pulled on Mitchell’s jeans and T-shirt, and both hung loosely from her smaller frame. Barefoot, too, she was a head shorter than Michael.

“I hate being sick, and I’m tired of Sloan taking care of me.”

Michael leaned against the marble counter. “The tea is in that box over there.”

• 57 •

RADCLY fFE

“Sloan probably doesn’t mind,” Sandy said, as she studied the rows of tea bags neatly lined up in the slotted wooden case. She didn’t recognize any of the names.

“I mind. And she’s got enough things to worry about without me adding to it.”

Catching the obvious note of frustration in the other woman’s voice, Sandy glanced over her shoulder at Michael. “It hasn’t been all that long, right? Since you got out of the hospital?”

“About a week.” Michael pushed a hand through her shoulder-length blond hair. “God, it feels like forever. I just can’t seem to…think clearly.”

“That happens when you’ve been knocked around. It’ll get better.”

Michael’s eyes moved to the pink scar on Sandy’s forehead. “It’s not fun, though, until it does, is it?”

“Nope. So…are some of these, like…special?” She tilted her chin toward the box. “Peppermint? Sleepy Time?”

“I’m not much on the ß avored ones, myself. Would you rather have something else? There’s soda or…” She hesitated, starting to assess Sandy’s age before realizing that was foolish. Whatever the girl’s chronological age, it had no bearing on who she was. “…beer or wine.”

“Tea’s Þ ne.” Sandy dangled two bags by their strings, swinging them gently. “How about English Breakfast? That sounds pretty straight.”

“Perfect.” Michael Þ nally relented and sat at the breakfast bar while Sandy assembled the tea. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Sandy replied as she settled on an adjacent stool. “This place is really neat. It’s just like Sloan’s place downstairs—all open except for the partitions.”

“Are you working with Sloan?” Michael frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m still not remembering everything. You’re not a police ofÞ cer too, are you?”

Sandy snorted. “Oh man, no way.”

“Computer security?”

“I, uh…help Frye out sometimes.”

“Oh. How’s OfÞ cer Mitchell doing?”

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“Too much,” Sandy complained. “She can’t wait to get back to work.”

“That seems to be some kind of occupational requirement.”

Michael smiled as if at some secret thought. “I’m glad you two decided to stay here until her leg heals a bit and she’s getting around more easily.”

“That was really nice of you. Thanks.” Sandy sipped her tea, surprised to Þ nd that she liked it. “At least this way, Dell can work with Jason till she’s better. That really matters to her…being part of the team.”

“It’s quite a crew, isn’t it,” Michael said with obvious fondness.

“Sometimes I know that Sloan would rather be on her own, but I feel better that she’s working with the others. I like to think they keep each other safe.”

“Yeah.” Sandy thought of Frye, and of how that night in the warehouse, with the guy between her legs—pinning her down—she’d trusted that Frye would come. Somehow in the last few weeks, she’d learned to count on Dell and Frye and the others, and when it wasn’t scaring her, it felt good. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

v

“Hey, honey,” Mitchell said lazily. “Whatcha got for me?”

“Tea,” Sandy replied, setting the mug on the bedside table. She switched on the lamp and examined the plastic prescription vials.

“Jeez, strong stuff.” She opened one, shook out a pill, and extended it to Mitchell. “Here, take this.”

“Tea? How ’bout a beer?”

Sandy shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Not with this stuff—it’ll knock you on your ass.” She pursed her lips. “Although maybe that’s not so bad.”

Mitchell laughed and reached for the tea. “I’ll take it tonight, just for you. But that’s it. I can’t think when I’m on this.”

“Aw, you’re so good.” Sandy leaned down and kissed her. “Maybe you’ll get a reward later.”

“Going somewhere?” Mitchell demanded. She caught Sandy’s hand and prevented her from moving away. “It’s late, San. Come back to bed.”

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“I told you I wasn’t going to be hanging around here all the time,”

Sandy replied, extracting her Þ ngers from Mitchell’s grip. “I have a life, y’know. I have things to do.”

Mitchell pushed herself up in the bed and shoved the tea and the pill onto the bedside table. “What things? What can’t wait until tomorrow morning?”

“I need clothes.” Sandy indicated the borrowed jeans and T-shirt she still wore.

“So you can get them in the morning. You’re not gonna wear anything to bed, are you?” Mitchell grinned.

“Jeez, what is it with you? Didn’t we just take care of things for you?” Despite her words, Sandy’s tone had softened. She brushed her Þ ngers through Mitchell’s hair. “No more for you tonight. You need to get some rest.”

“Okay. So come to bed, and I will.”

Sandy backed up a step. “I’ll be back later, Dell.”

“What are you doing, Sandy?” Mitchell’s eyes were dark, her voice urgent. “Are you working? Is that it? Because if you need money—”

“If I do, I’m not taking it from you,” Sandy snapped. “Not now, not ever. So just forget it.”

“Wait!” Mitchell called as Sandy spun around and started from the room. She ß ung the covers off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The pain hit instantly. “Fuck. ”

Inside a heartbeat, Sandy was back at her side. “Idiot. You’re such a fucking idiot.” Gently, she helped Mitchell lift her legs back to the bed and lie down. “What are you trying to do? Break something open?”

“You’re making me crazy,” Mitchell groaned. A wave of nausea followed the pain, and she closed her eyes, Þ ghting the urge to vomit.

You’re making me crazy.

Sandy stared, Frye’s words echoing in her mind. If you want her to be safe, then don’t make her crazy. She has to go out the door every day knowing that you’ll be there when she comes back. If you can’t give her that, then let her go now.

“Here,” Sandy said softly, offering the tea and the pain medication again. “You need this. Take it, Dell.”

Weakly, Mitchell complied, then closed her eyes again. When she felt the gentle weight of Sandy’s body settle on the mattress next to

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her, she lifted her arm and made room for Sandy against her side. She leaned her cheek against her lover’s. “You mad?”

“No. Just…” Sandy feathered a kiss over the edge of Mitchell’s jaw. “You gotta give me a little space, Dell. I’m not used to answering to anyone.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck,” Sandy muttered, inching closer. With a sigh, she nuzzled her face against Mitchell’s neck. “It’s okay. It’s even…sorta nice, when I think about it.”

Mitchell stroked Sandy’s bare arm, then kissed her. “I’m not used to being with anyone either. I just love you so much…”

“Don’t start with that now,” Sandy warned, her voice husky. “I gotta go. I’m not fooling.”

“Okay.”

“I’m coming back, Dell. I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Sandy smoothed her hand down the center of Mitchell’s chest and rose up enough to kiss her Þ rmly on the mouth.

Mitchell closed her Þ ngers around the back of Sandy’s neck, holding her into the kiss long enough to taste her, deep inside. Then she let her go. “See you soon.”

v

Catherine awakened to the sound of quiet movement in the dark.

Far from being frightening, the experience was becoming not only welcome, but soothing. It meant that Rebecca was home, safe. The clock by the bedside read 3:38. Not many months ago, Rebecca would have patrolled the streets until the sun came up.

“You’re early,” Catherine murmured as she lifted the sheets and slid over to make room.

Sighing, Rebecca settled next to her and drew her close. “Sorry. I tried to be quiet.”

“You were, but you don’t need to be. I like to wake up when you come home.” Catherine curved her leg over Rebecca’s thighs, and the touch of her lover’s skin stirred her as always. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah.” Rebecca slid her hand under Catherine’s hair and alternated between stroking the back of her neck and weaving the

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thick, soft strands through her Þ ngers. “I spent most of the last six hours watching George Beecher hit on women in fern bars.”

Catherine laughed. “I don’t think they call them that anymore, darling.”

“Well, whatever they call the places where swinging singles go to hook up, that’s where I was. Jesus, what a life.”

“He’s still one of your two prime candidates as the Mob’s inside man in the department?” Even as she asked, Catherine shook her head.

“I can’t believe I’m even saying this. It seems impossible.” Then she remembered the night that she’d raced from Sloan’s building to Þ nd Michael lying in the street unconscious and knew that it was all far too real. “God, an assistant district attorney.”

“Better than a cop,” Rebecca pronounced.

“Yes.”

“I trust Sloan’s information. We have to run with the names she’s given us until we come up with something more solid.”

“So you’re going to…what? Follow him around every night?”

Rebecca shrugged. “Once we get the Þ rst bit of hard evidence, I can justify twenty-four-hour surveillance to Henry. Until then, yeah, it’ll be just me. Watts is taking the woman.”

Catherine was silent, struggling to assimilate the reality of her lover’s work. That it was a valuable service, she did not doubt. That it was essential to the structure of the society in which she lived, she did not doubt. She respected Rebecca’s skill and was proud of her dedication. And she hated every minute, day or night, that Rebecca squared off, face-to-face, with evil.

“I see,” Catherine Þ nally said, because regardless of how she felt, Rebecca would do what needed to be done.

“It’s not dangerous,” Rebecca said as if reading Catherine’s thoughts. “Only deadly boring.”

“I don’t mind you being bored now and then,” Catherine murmured, smoothing her palm over the center of Rebecca’s chest. The tips of her Þ ngers brushed the ridge of scar tissue at the upper border of her lover’s left breast, and she faltered, the tactile sensation triggering the memory of the bullet impacting Rebecca’s chest.

“It won’t happen again,” Rebecca murmured, gathering Catherine’s Þ ngers and lifting them to her lips. She kissed each Þ ngertip, then the palm. When Catherine moaned softly in appreciation, the sound struck

• 62 •

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home hard. Suddenly, every cell vibrated, and the need to join exploded in the very heart of her. “Catherine.”

The word was a benediction in the darkness.

“Yes,” Catherine answered the unspoken.

Rebecca arched her back and angled her hips until Catherine was beneath her and her hands framed Catherine’s face. “Don’t worry.”

“I don’t.” Catherine kissed her, a gentle brush of lips, then a deeper caress of tongue against tongue. “Not much.”

“You lie very badly, Dr. Rawlings.” Rebecca drew Catherine’s lower lip between her teeth and nibbled gently before easing her mouth over the crest of her lover’s chin and down her throat. As she worked her lips along the smooth skin, Catherine tilted her head back, exposing the fragile structures to Rebecca’s teeth. The trust in that simple gesture drove the breath from Rebecca’s chest, and as need ripped through her, she skimmed a hand between Catherine’s thighs. Finding her lover wet, she teased a Þ nger between her lips and over her Þ rm clitoris, sliding through Catherine’s desire with tantalizing slowness.

Gasping, Catherine dug her Þ ngers into Rebecca’s back and lifted her hips, seeking more of the enticing touch. “You’re so good at that.”

“What?” Rebecca rubbed her cheek over Catherine’s breast and captured a nipple with her lips. She toyed with the hard nub, ß icking it with her tongue as she echoed the rhythm with her Þ ngers. “Oh.” Flick.

“You mean…” Tug. “This?”

“Yes. Oh God.” Catherine nearly screamed as her body stiffened.

She drove her face into Rebecca’s neck and, in a voice almost too strangled to be heard, pleaded, “Inside. Make me come…deep.”

Rebecca pushed herself up on one arm as she buried herself in Catherine’s yielding depths. She pushed steadily, gasping as tissue slick with passion enveloped her, claiming her even as she laid claim.

“Oh Christ,” Rebecca whispered. “I love you.” She leaned back to bring Catherine up to face her, her arm thrusting steadily between Catherine’s thighs.

“I can’t…” Catherine gasped for air. “Can’t wait much longer.”

Rebecca’s thumb found Catherine’s rigid clitoris, and she stroked Þ rmly. “I don’t want you to wait. I want you to come all over me, right now.”

“Oh, I am. I am.” Catherine shivered, then froze as a cry tore from

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her throat. As her climax crested, she dropped her head to Rebecca’s shoulder and sucked hard on the thick muscle.

The unexpected sensation lanced through Rebecca’s chest and belly, igniting the nerve endings that already danced on the edge of explosion. “Touch me. Catherine, God, touch me.”

Still coming, Catherine skimmed her hand down Rebecca’s tensed abdomen and between her legs, closing unerringly around her clitoris.

Beyond thought, she tugged at Rebecca with the same staccato rhythm that pulsed through her body, harder than she might have had she been aware of her actions.

“Oh,” Rebecca shouted, shocked into orgasm. “Oh yeah…oh.”

As they clung to one another in the Þ nal moments of release, their cries mingled and eventually dwindled to faint moans and soft whimpers. Rebecca carried Catherine with her down onto the bed, cradling her against her chest. Catherine groped for the sheet and pulled it over them.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Catherine murmured, her voice thick with the vestiges of passion. “Know just what I need, just when I need it.”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Rebecca said seriously. She stroked Catherine’s hair. “I feel so damn lucky to have you.”

“What we have,” Catherine said. “It’s precious.”

“I know.” Rebecca sighed. “I’m trying to deserve it. I know I probably don—”

Catherine pressed her Þ ngers to Rebecca’s mouth. “Shh. That’s not what I meant.” She pressed a kiss to the scar that marked Rebecca’s heart. “I want you more than anything else in my life—more than safety, more than certainty, more than promises. Just you, here with me like this, every night. When you can, give me that.”

“I will,” Rebecca whispered. When I’m sure I won’t disappoint you, I will.

• 64 •

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Tuesday

Hey, it’s about time you showed up.” Jason greeted Mitchell with an affectionate smile and rolled an ofÞ ce chair in her direction. “Park it there, and let’s get to work.”

Gingerly, Mitchell leaned her crutches against a bench, eased into the chair, and propelled herself across the hardwood ß oor with her good leg to Jason’s side. “Man, it feels good to get down here.”

“How’d you escape?”

“Sandy got in late. She’s still asleep. I think Michael’s napping too.”

“Well, let’s just see how much we can get done before Sandy hauls your ass back upstairs.”

“I’m a lot better,” Mitchell protested.

“Don’t tell me—tell her. She’s the one riding herd on you.”

Mitchell grinned. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Rebecca called earlier. She and Watts have to be in court for some other case and will be by later. Sloan is at Police Plaza with the detectives she’s training for the new Electronic Surveillance Unit.” He shook his head. “They have no clue what they’re in for.”

“You know, six weeks ago I would’ve done anything to get assigned to that unit.”

“So what changed your mind?” Jason pushed a stack of computer printouts toward her. “I bet Rebecca could get you assigned if you wanted. It wouldn’t hurt for us to have another inside computer technician.”

“Uh-uh. I’ve got other things to do now.” Mitchell shufß ed the papers. “Are these the hits on the porn subscribers?”

“Yep. We need to start putting names to accounts.” Jason brought up a spreadsheet on the monitor. “This is how I’ve broken down the data so far.”

• 65 •

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“Okay. Split it up and I’ll get going.”

“So,” Jason said, transferring Þ les, “you like the undercover thing, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mitchell said absently as she scanned the Þ gures scrolling on her screen.

“And Mitch. You like Mitch too.”

Slowly, Mitchell swiveled to face Jason. “You know I do.”

“And you’re still okay with it?”

If it had been anyone other than Jason, she might not have answered. But Jason was the one person, other than Sandy, whom she trusted to understand. “It feels good. Like, just another part of me.”

Jason nodded, his eyes on her face. Waiting.

“And, well, Sandy likes it too.”

“That’s handy.”

Mitchell grinned. “And I like that she likes it.”

“Even better.” Jason appeared to be weighing his words.

“Sometimes it can get confusing.”

“Are you ever confused?” Mitchell asked softly.

“No,” Jason replied just as softly. “Never about what I feel, only about what others might think.”

“I already know what the only people who matter to me think.”

Jason looked as if he wanted to ask more, but he merely nodded.

“The boys were asking after Mitch last night. I told them he was laid up for a few days because of the motorcycle accident. They want to visit.”

Mitchell blinked. “Here?”

“I told them he was staying with some friends. It would probably be good for your cover if they saw you and Sandy together.”

“What about all the security and stuff in the building? Don’t you think that’ll make them curious?”

“They won’t ever see this ß oor, because we’ll program the elevator to go right to the loft. All they’re going to see is the garage and Sloan and Michael’s apartment.”

“What about the camera over the door? Most people don’t have one of those.”

Jason grinned. “We have a custom light Þ xture that screws over it for just such times as these.”

“Okay then. When?”

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“Jasmine has a show tonight. The kings will probably be there.

You up for it afterward?”

“Sure.” Mitchell wondered, however, if Sandy would be ready for Mitch to get back to work.

v

Watts, carrying a Styrofoam cup brimming with mud-colored coffee, ambled down the hall leaving a trail of splashes on the scuffed tile ß oor in his wake. He leaned against the door frame of a large room that resembled the vice squad room with its haphazard arrangement of desks and mismatched chairs—but there were ten times as many computers here. Sipping his coffee absently, he regarded the two men in shirtsleeves and baggy chinos—the kind of nerdy guys who got their asses kicked in high school—as they listened with rapt attention to Sloan. She was half turned away from him, one hip hiked up on a desk, as she pointed to something on a monitor that Watts couldn’t see. He had assumed that she’d be bored to tears setting up whatever it was the city wanted her to do, but to his surprise, she seemed to be into whatever she was saying. Even from where he was standing, he could sense her energy. He pushed away from the doorway and strolled in to join the group.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Just getting organized,” Sloan replied, easing off the desk. “You guys go ahead and get the network hardwired. I’ll be back.”

When she indicated the hallway with a tilt of her head, Watts nodded and preceded her out. Once there, he said, “I’d have brought you coffee, but this stuff doesn’t qualify.”

“Thanks anyway. I know better than to ingest anything around here.”

“I see you got stuck with the pocket-protector twins.” Watts snorted. “Hard to believe they’re detectives.”

Sloan suppressed a smile. “They’re eager.”

“So you’re really going to set up this electronic spy thing?”

“That’s what they’re paying me to do.” Sloan grinned. “Although if I only gave them what they’re actually paying me for, they might be able to manage interdepartmental data retrieval in a decade or so.”

“Nothing but the best when you work for the city.”

• 67 •

RADCLY fFE

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Sloan glanced into the room where the two detectives were absorbed in sorting out a tangle of cables. She lowered her voice. “But once I get the various networks connected, I’ll be able to browse any database I choose. I already know someone on the inside has been hacking data from the crime lab and the detective bureau’s Þ les. With unlimited access, I can trace him back to the source computer, not just the department.”

“How long?” Watts asked eagerly.

“If I had Jason and Mitchell here, maybe a week, but there’s no way to do that without someone getting suspicious.” Sloan lifted a shoulder. “Working by myself—I don’t know. I could get lucky, or it could take me a few weeks.”

“How long if you sleep once in a while?”

Sloan’s mouth tightened. “I have a wife, Watts. I don’t need another one.”

Watts smirked. “How about a boyfriend?”

“How about you Þ nish your coffee break somewhere else and let me get to work.”

“I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

“What?”

“I need to look at some Þ les that don’t exist.”

“Yeah?” Sloan’s eyes brightened. “And where might these nonexistent Þ les be located?”

“Well—I Þ gure one of three places. Captain Henry, Avery Clark, or buried in the narco records.”

“You want to know what Jimmy Hogan was doing for the Justice Department that got him killed.”

Watts nodded.

“It’s not Henry,” Sloan said with certainty. “When the initial evidence pointed to him as being the mole, I went through every byte of data in his system. He never had anything to do with Hogan’s undercover assignment and never got a single report from him. That all went to narco, because Hogan was presumably their boy.” Her expression hardened. “Of course, no one knew he was really Justice’s plant and working for Clark. So it’s possible he never Þ led any kind of substantive report with the PPD but just passed everything he got on to the feds.”

“Maybe. But Hogan must’ve been feeding some tidbits to Jeff

• 68 •

Justice Served

Cruz, or else why would Jeff have been with him down on the docks the day they were shot?” Watts slid a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and shook one out. He lit it with a scratched and dented Zippo and took a deep drag. “Hogan either thought Jeff knew something, or he decided to cut Jeff and the Loo in on his investigation.”

“Hogan was supposed to be undercover investigating the drug arm of Zamora’s operation. Frye and Cruz didn’t have anything to do with drugs.” Sloan followed the trail of smoke from Watts’s cigarette as it curled indolently toward the ceiling. “You’re gonna set off the smoke alarms.”

“Nah. None of them work.”

“No,” Sloan mused, her mind still occupied with the elusive connection between Jimmy Hogan, a federal agent working undercover as a narcotics detective working undercover as a small-time drug dealer, and Jeff Cruz, a detective in the Special Crimes Unit who dealt primarily with sex crimes. The obvious tie-in was that all of those criminal endeavors were part of the organized crime network. “Too loose.”

“Huh? What? The smoke detectors?”

“The association.”

Watts squinted through the fumes. “You wanna give me a hint here?”

“It has to be something more speciÞ c than just the fact that the Zamora organization was behind the crimes that both Hogan and Cruz were investigating. Something links the drugs and the sex.”

“It always comes down to the same thing,” Watts noted sourly.

“Puss—uh, girls. It’s gotta be the prostitution.”

“That makes sense, since Clark showed up and put us all on the trail of the Internet pornographers.” She jammed her hands in her pockets and started pacing. “There have to be reports from Hogan to Clark. If he wrote them on a computer or e-mailed them, I can Þ nd them.”

“You work on that,” Watts dropped the butt and crushed it under the toe of his scuffed wingtip, “and I’ll drop around to narco and see if I can get anything out of the guys Hogan was supposedly reporting to.

If I can get you a name, you’ll have another thread to pull.”

“Fine. I’ll be here turning the Wonder Boys into cybersleuths for a while yet.”

“Yeah. Don’t forget their red capes. Meanwhile, I’ll do some real

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detecting.” Laughing to himself, Watts sauntered off, a happy man with a mission.

v

“Mmm.” Sandy purred and stretched as a warm mouth slowly deposited gentle kisses down the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades. Without opening her eyes, face still buried in the pillow, she reached behind her and felt for the familiar form. Finding it, she smoothed a hand over the subtle curve of hip. “I’m sleeping, Dell.”

“Go ahead,” Mitchell whispered, continuing her tactile journey down the center of her lover’s back. She swirled the tip of her tongue in the hollow at the base of Sandy’s spine as she caressed her Þ ngers up the inside of Sandy’s leg, stopping to stroke the buttery-soft skin high on the inside of her thighs. “I’m Þ ne here by myself.”

Sandy shifted, drawing up one knee, opening herself to her lover’s quest. “Yeah? Then how come you’re touching me instead of yourself?”

“’Cause you’re sexier.” Emphasizing her words, Mitchell traced a Þ ngertip ever so lightly along the lacy border of Sandy’s labia, coating the delicate tissue with the moisture that rose beneath her touch. Her voice was husky when she murmured, “See?”

“I’m too tired for sex,” Sandy groused, but her hips lifted in silent invitation.

“I’m just petting you. You don’t need to wake up.” Mitchell eased onto her right side, taking care not to put any weight on her injured leg, and cupped Sandy’s sex in her palm. Still squeezing gently, she followed the curve of Sandy’s ear with her lips until she reached the ß eshy lobe. Sucking the plump ß esh in and out between her lips, she pressed the pad of her Þ nger to the tip of Sandy’s clitoris.

“Too late,” Sandy gasped. “Everything just woke up.”

Mitchell chuckled. “I noticed.” She rocked the stiff prominence of Sandy’s decidedly aroused clitoris, her stomach tightening as Sandy whimpered. “Oh man, me too.”

“What?” Sandy pushed back into Mitchell’s hand, rotating her hips, working herself against the teasing Þ ngers. “What, baby?”

“Wide awake.”

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“Too bad.” Sandy’s breath came in short, shallow bursts. “You started it. You Þ nish me Þ rst.”

“Say please,” Mitchell taunted, pulling her Þ ngers away from the spot where she knew Sandy wanted her, at the same time dragging her teeth down the side of Sandy’s neck. Sandy shivered and moaned.

“If you fuck with me now you’ll pay, rookie,” Sandy warned, pushing her hips into Mitchell’s crotch. “I swear…you’ll be sorry.”

“I’ll risk it.”

“Come on, baby. Don’t tease. I wanna come.”

“Bad?”

“Touch me and see.” Sandy’s breath caught as Mitchell dipped inside her, then out again. “Do that…again…I’ll come for you.”

Mitchell’s stomach tightened, her clitoris twitching, but she ignored the painful pleasure. She pressed her thumb Þ rmly to the tight circle of muscle between Sandy’s buttocks while sliding her Þ ngers over the slick, swollen labia. Sandy bucked as if jolted with an electric current.

“Dell…” Sandy’s voice shook. “I don’t know…if…”

“It’s okay,” Mitchell soothed. “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

“I…just…easy.” Sandy Þ sted the sheets, her legs tensing. “Talk to me…talk to me while you make me come.”

“That’s it, honey,” Mitchell whispered, her mouth against Sandy’s ear as she carefully massaged the sensitive ring. “That’s all I’m going to do this time, just make you feel good.” When Sandy began to push back against her, Mitchell held pressure with her thumb while sliding her Þ ngers in and out of her lover’s warm depths. “That’s right. Take me all the way in, honey.”

“More,” Sandy gasped.

Despite the urgent thrust of Sandy’s hips, Mitchell held back, fearful of going too far too fast. Instead, she worked her free hand beneath Sandy’s body and caught her clitoris in her Þ ngers.

Sandy made a faint, high keening sound, and Mitchell squeezed harder.

“Coming. Dell…Dell…”

Eyes closed, Mitchell pressed her forehead to Sandy’s back and worked her lover with both hands, squeezing and stroking and Þ lling her to overß owing. Mitchell’s arms trembled and her hips thrust erratically

• 71 •

RADCLY fFE

in time to her lover’s as Sandy climaxed with a choked cry. Releasing a pent-up breath, Mitchell smiled and relaxed against Sandy’s side.

Long moments later, Sandy muttered, “You fall asleep?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Did you come?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Wanna?”

Carefully, Mitchell rolled over onto her back and Sandy followed, curling up in the curve of her body. “I think I’m pretty good. Sometimes when you come, it feels like I did too.”

“You think you’ll get tired of it?”

“Tired of what?” Mitchell snugged her cheek against the top of Sandy’s head while making aimless patterns over Sandy’s shoulder with her Þ ngertips. She’d never felt so peaceful in her life.

“You know…the sex thing.”

When Mitchell didn’t reply, Sandy stiffened. “Never mind. It’s dumb.”

“Sandy,” Mitchell murmured, tightening her hold before Sandy could move away. “I want to make love with you for the rest of my life.”

“Jeez, rookie.” Sandy forced a laugh, struggling to hide her shock.

“I just meant…that’s not why I…you don’t have to say—”

“I know,” Mitchell interrupted. “I’m just telling you the way I feel.”

“I don’t think we oughtta talk about this. Because it’s just too crazy.”

“Okay,” Mitchell replied easily. “We don’t have to talk about it now.” She lifted her head and kissed Sandy soundly on the mouth. “But I meant it.”

“You just don’t quit, do you,” Sandy complained. But her eyes were soft with longing and desire.

“Not where you’re concerned,” Mitchell whispered. She caught Sandy’s hand and drew the small Þ ngers down the center of her abdomen and between her legs, where she held them cupped against her. “And I’m wide awake now, honey.”

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Rebecca piloted the Corvette through the narrow one-way streets of South Philadelphia. Watts, hunched in the passenger seat beside her, was for once mercifully silent. Turning left onto Delaware Avenue, the wide four-lane highway that ran along the waterfront, she drove north until she reached the parking lot adjacent to the Maritime Museum. She parked alongside the huge wooden pilings, interconnected by rusted links of chain, that formed the only barrier between someone standing on the blacktop and the roiling brown water of the Delaware River twenty feet below.

Wordlessly, she switched off the engine and slid out. A moment later, Watts joined her at the edge of the pier. Directly below them, a Þ fteen-foot-square wooden dock rocked on the water, matching the rhythm of the ebb and ß ow of the currents. The chalk outlines of the two bodies that had lain there six months before had been washed away by the waves and the rain in the intervening months. But Rebecca could still see, with photographic clarity, exactly how her partner Jeff Cruz and the undercover narcotics detective, Jimmy Hogan, had looked.

Right down to the small, neat, matching holes in the backs of their heads. Her hands closed into Þ sts.

“Loo?” Watts asked carefully.

“We should have something by now, Watts.” Rebecca’s tone was pensive, her expression brooding. “We’ve been taking bites out of the Zamora operation all summer—even made a few busts, grabbed a few headlines.” She snorted derisively. “But we can’t get a handle on who killed two of our own.” She turned her head, gave Watts a hard stare.

“What the fuck are we missing?”

“Well, you know, we Þ gure it was a contract hit, right?

Untraceable.”

Rebecca stared back at the water. “We might never get the

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triggerman. But whoever gave the order is right here.” She let her gaze follow the river south, then half turned and swept the city skyline.

“Jimmy and Jeff—one of them was getting close to something big.

Something so big it made killing two cops an acceptable risk.”

“This pornography ring,” Watts offered. “Shutting that down has got to be taking a chunk out of Zamora’s income. Maybe Hogan got wind of it through his drug connections and wanted to clue you and Cruz in. And maybe that’s what got them killed.”

“How long do you think it will be before this network is up and running again? Or one just like it?”

Watts shrugged as he Þ ngered a cigarette from his pocket. “Half a year, maybe. The equipment doesn’t cost much, there’s always plenty of perverts, and a new crop of girls hits the streets every day.”

Rebecca nodded. “You know it. I know it. So does Zamora. Why take the chance of bringing the full attention of the PPD down on your head for six months’ income?” She shook her head. “Just doesn’t play.”

“Maybe Jimmy got wind of a big drug shipment. An eighteen-wheeler full of blow is deÞ nitely worth a couple of bodies.”

“Agreed.” Absently, Rebecca leaned forward with both hands braced on the wooden piling in an attempt to stretch the tight muscles in her chest. Between the surgical incisions and the damage from the gunshot wound, the left side of her chest was constantly in spasm. It didn’t help, and she pushed off with an irritated shake of her head.

“Except I have to believe that Jimmy would’ve told someone in narco about it and not us. We’re sex crimes, not drugs.”

“Yeah, can’t argue.” Watts ß icked the butt into the river. “Something in the middle. It always comes back to that.”

“The currency of ß esh.”

“Huh?”

Rebecca regarded Watts solemnly. “Sex. It sells, it pays, it’s the common denominator that runs through every branch of Zamora’s organization. We have to concentrate on the girls.”

“Yeah,” Watts spat in frustration. “But what about them? Most of them have no pasts we can trace, no permanent address, and no interest in helping us. It’s like they’re right there in front of us and invisible at the same time.”

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“Exactly. We need to start creating some solid proÞ les. Facts, not fantasies.”

Watts snorted. “Should be a snap. And just where do you plan on starting?”

“Ziggie’s.”

v

“Honey?”

“Yeah?” Sandy replied, leaning into the closet as she sorted through the clothes in a faded ß oral brocade suitcase she’d brought from her apartment.

“I’m gonna need your help a little later on tonight, so can you plan on being back here around midnight? I mean, if you’re going out?”

Slowly, Sandy pivoted, a white satin thong dangling from her Þ ngers. “I was thinking of wearing this. What do you think?”

“I think it’s really sexy,” Mitchell said, trying to keep the bite from her voice. I think if you’re going out, you shouldn’t be wearing anything like that. Why would you need to?

“Yeah,” Sandy mused as she closed her Þ ngers around the slip of material. “Me too. And since I was planning on staying here and watching videos with you and Michael, I thought you could think about it while you’re eating popcorn.”

“You like to tease me, don’t you?” Mitchell rolled to the edge of the bed and levered herself upright with her crutches in one adroit move.

“Slick,” Sandy observed, holding out one arm with her palm extended. “Just stay right over there, supercop. And yes, I like to tease you. It makes your eyes get this dark, dark hungry blue color. You complaining?”

“Nope.” Ignoring Sandy’s directive, Mitchell closed the distance between them until she was inches from her lover. Then she angled the crutches against the wall and placed both hands on Sandy’s waist for balance. “But you know what happens if you tease the animals.” She lowered her head and nipped at Sandy’s neck. “You get bitten.”

Sandy slapped a hand against Mitchell’s chest. “No teeth. No lips either. I told Michael we’d hang out with her tonight. She’s ordering pizza and everything. I don’t want to be horny the whole time.”

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Mitchell snaked her arm further around Sandy’s waist and nuzzled her neck. “Give me Þ ve minutes. I promise to make you happy.”

“All I have to do is push,” Sandy murmured seductively, her mouth against Mitchell’s ear. “And you’ll fall on your ass.”

“I don’t mind if you’re on top. Makes me hot.” Mitchell chuckled when Sandy bit her earlobe. Hard. “Okay. Okay.”

“What’s happening later, anyways?”

“Jasmine is bringing the kings around. I want to gear up.”

Gently but Þ rmly, Sandy pushed Mitchell away. “You’re not going out with them tonight.”

“No. Uh-uh. They just want to see how Mitch is doing.”

“Okay.” Sandy’s tone was doubtful.

“I’m going to see Dr. Rawlings tomorrow afternoon,” Mitchell informed her quietly. “I need to get cleared so I can go back to work, San.”

“You’re still on crutches.”

“I have that appointment with Dr. Torveau in the morning, too, remember? You’re coming, right?”

“I said I was.”

“So,” Mitchell said nonchalantly, “maybe I can get a cane.”

Sandy sat on the side of the bed, her arms braced on either side of her body as she leaned back and regarded Mitchell suspiciously.

“Promise you don’t go back to work until you’re a hundred percent.”

Mitchell Þ dgeted.

“Dell.”

“I was sort of planning on going to the club this weekend. I should be okay by then.”

“Are you going to ride your bike?”

Mitchell raised a shoulder. “Probably.”

“Then Dr. Torveau has to say it’s okay.”

“Oh Christ, come on, Sandy—”

“Promise.”

Carefully, Mitchell shufß ed to the bedside and eased down next to Sandy, keeping her left leg out straight. She put her arm around the smaller woman. “I promise.”

Sandy settled against Mitchell, both arms around her waist and her head on Mitchell’s shoulder. “Then I’ll help Mitch get ready tonight.”

“Thanks.”

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“Under one condition.”

Mitchell sighed. “Okay.”

Sandy raised her head and peered at Mitchell curiously. “Okay?

Just like that?”

“I’m going to say yes eventually.”

Laughing, Sandy nipped at Mitchell’s chin, then kissed the tiny red spot. “You’re pretty smart for a cop.”

“Yeah.” Mitchell kissed her. “So what did I just agree to?”

Sandy smoothed her hand down the front of Mitchell’s T-shirt, danced over her ß y, and cupped her between the legs. “Mitch wears his working gear.”

Oh yeah. Too busy kissing Sandy again, Mitchell didn’t answer.

v

“How’s it going?” Sloan brushed her hands over Michael’s shoulders as she leaned down to kiss her neck.

“Mmm.” Michael tilted her head back against Sloan’s chest and closed her eyes as strong Þ ngers massaged the tight muscles along her spine. “A little better than yesterday. I can actually read for ten or Þ fteen minutes at a time without getting a headache.”

“That’s great, baby.” Carefully, Sloan swiveled the ofÞ ce chair around so that Michael faced her, then knelt before her. With a thumb, she traced the smudges beneath the sapphire eyes that were still dimmed with pain. “Tired?”

Michael covered Sloan’s hand with hers and rubbed her cheek against Sloan’s palm. “Yes. But that’s better too.”

“Good.”

“How was your day?” Michael combed her Þ ngers through Sloan’s hair, then rested her hand against the side of Sloan’s neck. “You look a little…harried.”

Sloan gave a crooked grin. “I’d forgotten just exactly how much I hate working in a bureaucracy. It takes three times as long to do anything. And the equipment…I don’t know how they can keep track of parking tickets with the system they have, let alone collate data on criminals.” She laughed. “It’s a challenge.”

“Did they give you some help?”

“A couple of fairly decent guys.” Sloan thought of the two detective

• 77 •

RADCLY fFE

threes who’d been pulled from burglary to form the core of the ESU.

Two guys who’d been selected because they’d once upon a time taken a computer course. But their inexperience bothered her less than her new ofÞ cial status as the civilian head of the unit. The ESU might be tucked away in the corner, but news would travel fast. She forced a smile, determined to concentrate on Michael and forget about what she couldn’t control for a few hours. “I’ve missed you.”

“I love you.” Michael caressed Sloan’s cheek. “You know, not talking about it won’t help.”

Sloan frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“You’re deÞ nitely getting better. You’re back to reading my mind.”

“I may have forgotten some things, darling, but I remember everything about you.” Michael leaned down and kissed Sloan lingeringly, a gentle but possessive kiss. “You don’t hide things from me. And even when you try to avoid telling me what you think I’m not ready to hear, it shows.”

“It’s nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Is it something to do with you?” Michael asked mildly.

“Not exactly. Maybe.”

“Then it has to do with me.”

With a sigh, Sloan inched closer and pillowed her head against Michael’s breasts. Michael in turn stroked the back of her neck. Finally, Sloan mumbled, “It’s the visibility. If there’s anyone the least bit suspicious that we might be trying to track them down, my presence at Police Plaza is going to tip them off. They could start to cover their tracks. Computer tracks, that is. I’m working against the clock.”

“They know who you are, don’t they.”

“Probably.”

“They know that you can Þ nd them.”

Sloan nodded wordlessly.

“And you think,” Michael said haltingly, “you think my accident wasn’t an accident. That someone was trying to hurt you and I was just in the way.”

“We don’t know that,” Sloan said quickly.

“But that’s what you think.”

“Michael—”

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Justice Served

“So it follows… God, I wish I could think clearly. It follows, doesn’t it…if they see you at police headquarters working on the computer system, they might feel even more threatened.” Michael’s Þ ngers trembled against the back of Sloan’s neck. “And they might want to…be more… thorough than the Þ rst time.”

“It’s not going to happen.” Sloan leaned back and framed Michael’s face in her hands, her thumbs gently caressing the curve of her lover’s jaw. “Baby, there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Always.”

“Can you stay here tonight instead of going back to work? Sandy picked up some videos, and I’m going to order pizza.”

Sloan thought about the work she had planned to do in the ofÞ ce downstairs, reviewing the data that Jason and Mitchell had collected in the last few days and running some traces herself. She thought about the long hours she had been away from home since the case had started to break the weekend before, and how often Michael had been alone.

By the time she came to bed it was often almost morning, and she frequently rose after only an hour or two of sleep and went back to work.

With guilty eyes, she noted the circles under her lover’s eyes, the pale cast of her skin, and the whisper of hollows beneath her cheekbones.

Michael might be out of danger, but she was far from well.

“Comedy or drama?”

“Actually, I think she got Night of the Living Dead and every one of the sequels.”

“I’m in.” Sloan rose and guided Michael to her feet, pulling her into a loose embrace. She buried her face in Michael’s fragrant hair, relaxing into the welcoming curves of her lover’s body. For the Þ rst time all day, she felt calm. “Pizza?”

“Extra cheese.”

“Maybe I’ll just forget about working tonight. After the movies, we can escape and go to bed early.”

Michael guided Sloan’s mouth to hers, whispering against her lips, “I’d like that.”

• 79 •

• 80 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER NINE

It won’t work, Mitch.” Sandy stood with a hand on her cocked hip, studying Mitch through narrowed eyes as he Þ nished buttoning his ß y. His dark hair was slicked back, with just a single thick wave slashing across his broad forehead, his chest and stomach were ß at beneath the tight stretch of his black T-shirt, and his narrow hips seemed tight and powerful beneath the faded black jeans.

He looked up, surprised and worried. “What’s wrong?” He ran a hand over his chest. “Is the Ace too bulky? Does it show through my shirt?”

Sandy shook her head. “No, it looks good.”

“Not enough shading?” He traced along his jaw where Sandy had expertly accentuated the already strong lines with the subtle application of makeup.

Another negative head shake.

“So what—?”

“It’s not your face. ” Sandy smiled faintly at Mitch’s obvious expression of distress and twined her arms around his neck. With her body tight to his and her mouth against his ear, she whispered, “I can tell you have a hard-on.”

Mitch laughed, a combination of embarrassment and pride. He pulled her closer to his groin, his hands spread across her lower back.

The pressure of her body against the fullness in his jeans sent the blood thundering to his belly. “You told me that’s what you wanted, right?

The working gear?”

“Yes,” Sandy admitted, rolling her hips over him lazily. “But Michael might get up. And I don’t want her to see you like this.”

“Why?” Mitch searched her face, frowning. “Are you

embarrassed?”

Sandy bumped him sharply, groin to groin, making him gasp in

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surprise. “No,” she said, as if speaking to a Þ ve-year-old. “I just don’t want any other woman but me checking out your equipment.”

“Sandy,” Mitch complained, distracted by the subtle insistence of her hips moving against him. “It’s always gonna show some. And even if Michael sees, she isn’t going to be interest—”

“You don’t know that,” Sandy whispered as she slid a hand between their bellies and cupped the rigid length of him. “You look so hot.” She squeezed, massaging him rhythmically. “And this is mine, baby.”

Mitch was losing focus, every sense concentrated on the exquisite pressure against the turgid tissue beneath the cock in Sandy’s hand. His stomach spasmed, and his legs shook. “Sandy. Honey. You gotta cut that out.”

With a hand between his legs and one around his shoulders, Sandy walked him back against the dresser, until she had him pinned with the weight of her body fused to his. She pumped him faster and watched his eyes glaze. “You like it, baby?”

“Oh…jeez…honey…” Mitch trembled and groaned. “You’re gonna get me off like that.”

“I could,” Sandy said sweetly, stilling her hand as she kissed his mouth. Still leaning into him, she stroked her tongue inside his mouth until he quivered the way he did when he was getting ready to come.

Then she eased away. “But I’m not going to, not right now.”

Mitch braced an arm along the edge of the dresser for support, his chest heaving. “What are you doing to me? Honey, what are you doing?”

She stroked his cheek. Kissed him again. Pumped his cock one more time with her hand. Eased farther away. “I want you to remember where this belongs. Now go change into something that’s not gonna make every girl within a mile want to fuck you.”

“If I move right now, I might come.”

“Are you hard, baby?”

“Oh yeah.”

She nipped his chin gently. “Good. Save it.” Forcing herself to back completely away, when what she wanted to do was unbutton his jeans and pull him down on top of her and into her, she said, “I’m going to get dressed.”

Smiling a satisÞ ed smile, Sandy pretended she didn’t hear him whimper as she turned her back and stripped off her top.

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Justice Served

v

“Darling?” Michael massaged Sloan’s back as she lay with her head pillowed against Michael’s breast.

“Mmm?”

“I think there’s a party going on in the other room.”

“Mmm.”

“Are you awake, or are you just humoring me by pretending to be listening?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Michael gently extricated herself from her lover’s grasp and sat up in bed. “I think I hear Sarah’s voice.”

Sloan rolled onto her back and lazily opened her eyes. “How come I’m wasted and you’re wide awake?”

“Because you did all the work,” Michael murmured, stroking Sloan’s cheek. “In fact, as I recall, you were having one of those butch attacks and wouldn’t let me do anything.” Her Þ ngers hesitated, then began their slow caress again. “Are you afraid to let me get too excited?”

Sloan stiffened. “No. You had an orgasm, right?”

“Yes,” Michael agreed gently. “A very sweet, very tender, very quiet orgasm. And when I wanted to touch you, you—”

“Baby,” Sloan interrupted, “I just couldn’t wait. I just…lost it there.”

“I know, and I love it when you’re like that. When all you have to do is lie on top of me and come in my arms.” Michael leaned over to look directly into her lover’s eyes. “But tell me that you weren’t trying to keep me from exerting myself.”

“Ali said—”

“Ali said we could have sex,” Michael said Þ rmly. “She didn’t say we could only have sex if I stayed very still and let you tend to me.

That’s not the way we make love.” She kissed Sloan to take the edge off her tone. “I happen to like to make you scream.”

“Jesus,” Sloan groaned, her body twitching. “You know how crazy you make me. And just being next to you—”

“Is wonderful, yes. But it’s not everything that I want.” Michael glided her hand down the center of Sloan’s chest, over her stomach,

• 83 •

RADCLY fFE

and between her legs. She closed her Þ ngers and watched Sloan’s eyes grow hazy. “I want you like this.” Never taking her eyes from Sloan’s face, she slid into her, pressing her palm hard against Sloan’s clitoris, still swollen from her recent orgasm. “I want to make you come my way, my time.”

Sloan’s chest jerked with spastic breaths, her hands trembling on the sheets. “Please. Michael, please, I love you so much.”

“I know, my darling,” Michael whispered, beginning to thrust. “I know.”

v

Sandy sat on one end of a leather sofa across from the matching one where Jasmine, in tight black satin slacks and a deep burgundy, scoop-neck top, lounged beside a redhead in a pale green oxford shirt and chinos. Sandy watched the two of them with curiosity, trying to Þ gure out the score. Every time the really cute redhead—Sarah, she said her name was—spoke to Jasmine, she rested her hand lightly on Jasmine’s knee. Jason had said he liked girls the Þ rst time he’d helped Mitch get dressed. Sandy had made it pretty clear then that Mitch was off-limits, and Jason had said that wasn’t a problem because he was involved. As for Jasmine, Sandy wasn’t so sure. Jasmine ß irted with the drag kings, so maybe Jasmine liked boys. And Mitch was a guy.

“Whatcha thinking, honey?” Mitch murmured, sliding an arm around Sandy’s waist as he settled a hip on the arm of the couch for support. He’d been using one crutch to get around, and he propped that against the back.

Sandy leaned into his body and tilted her head up to see his face.

“Jasmine’s really hot, isn’t she.”

Mitch grinned. “Sizzlin’.”

“Phil,” Sandy whispered, indicating the small, hard-bodied drag king with the hint of Þ ve o’clock shadow, tight blue jeans that announced in no uncertain terms that he was a guy, and short-sleeved, retro striped shirt, “has the major hots for her.”

“As long as it’s her and not you,” Mitch growled as he dipped his head and kissed her behind her left ear. “All those guys are horny. I thought their tongues were gonna fall out when they Þ rst saw you.”

• 84 •

Justice Served

“They were just being guys,” Sandy said offhandedly. “At least they looked at my face before my tits.”

Mitch laughed softly. “It’s a tough choice.”

“You better think so.” Sandy dropped a quick kiss on his neck. “Is everything going okay?”

“Yeah, they all seem cool.”

“No questions about why you’re here?”

Mitch shook his head. “Jasmine already took care of that. They know she’s friends with Sloan and Michael, and that’s how I knew them. They offered to let me stay here for a few days until my leg’s better because of the elevator.”

“Good.” Sandy hooked an arm around his leg, absently stroking the inside of his thigh, still watching Phil talking to Jasmine. The young drag king’s bright eyes were Þ xed on Jasmine’s face, and although Sandy couldn’t hear the conversation, the tone of Phil’s voice telegraphed his excitement. He had it bad, that was plain to see. “Does Jasmine turn you on?”

“What?”

“You heard.”

“No,” Mitch said quickly.

Sandy gave him a look. “Something wrong with your

hormones?”

He leaned down, pulling her close against his side as he bent his head to hers. “She’s gorgeous. And sexy. And the only woman who gets me hot, even a little, is you.”

“You know,” Sandy whispered, rubbing her mouth on the edge of his jaw, “you really learn fast.”

“Honey, it’s the truth.” Mitch smoothed a hand down her bare arm. She wore red satin slacks that nearly matched Jasmine’s and a lacy white bit of nothing on top that showed off her small, Þ rm breasts to mouth-watering advantage. “Besides, you think I have energy for anyone else after what you do to me?”

Before Sandy could reply, a voice from across the room caught their attention.

“Can anybody come to this party?” Sloan asked, her hand in Michael’s.

Immediately, the three drag kings who made up the core of the Front Street Kings Drag Troupe jumped to their feet, their eyes Þ xed on

• 85 •

RADCLY fFE

Michael. With her hair down, in a faded gray workout T-shirt of Sloan’s and loose cotton pants, she was as naturally beautiful as a woman could be. Despite the lingering hints of trauma that shadowed her face, her eyes were clear and warm as she smiled at her unexpected guests.

“Hello, I’m Michael.” She held out her hand to the nearest king, Ken Dewar, who took her hand.

“Ma’am,” Ken murmured, and brushed his lips over her knuckles with courtly grace. “I’ve seen you at the club with Sloan, but she’s never introduced us.” He lifted bedroom eyes to hers, the corner of his mouth raised in a rakish smile. “Probably wise.”

Michael laughed, delighted at his charm. “So very nice to meet you. And I shall certainly take Sloan to task for not introducing us sooner.”

Ken tossed a grin to Sloan, who merely growled good-naturedly, before indicating his companions with a sweep of his arm. “These two outstanding fellows are Phil E. Pride and Dino.”

“Gentlemen,” Michael replied, offering her hand to each in turn. “I take it you all have everything you need? Food? Something to drink?”

“We’re great,” Dino said with just a hint of South Philly in his voice, hoisting his bottle of Black & Tan. “Jasmine took care of us.”

“Thank you,” Michael said as she leaned down to kiss Jasmine’s cheek. “Hello, Sarah.”

“Hi.” Sarah stood, sliding an arm around Michael’s waist. “You look terriÞ c.”

“You’re a true friend to lie about that. Thanks.” Michael’s gaze went to Sloan, who stood talking to Ken with an arm draped over his shoulder in friendly companionship. “I feel wonderful, though.”

Sarah laughed. “Can’t imagine why. Sloan looks pretty contented too.”

Michael blushed and shushed her. “Quiet. We have guests.”

“I don’t think the boys would be shocked.”

“Maybe not. But I’d prefer not to make an announcement.”

“Fair enough.” Sarah cast an eye toward the sofa where Phil had taken her place next to Jasmine. “I see my girlfriend has another admirer. Sometimes I wonder why I let her out of the house alone.”

Michael followed her gaze and smiled. “You’re not really worried, are you? I mean, it all gets a bit confusing to me still, but Phil does know that Jasmine is, well, more than Jasmine.”

• 86 •

Justice Served

“Oh, sure. Phil knows Jasmine is a transvestite, just like Jasmine knows that Sloan is a lesbian and that Phil is a drag king. But that doesn’t stop Jasmine from teasing Sloan, or Phil from lusting after a sexy woman like Jasmine. Sometimes one reality just gives way to another, don’t you think?”

“Well,” Michael mused, “I know that Sloan Þ nds Jasmine attractive and that it confuses her at times.”

Sarah tilted her head thoughtfully. “But you don’t? Find Jasmine attractive, I mean. And you’re a lesbian.”

“Well, I think you’re very attractive, and I love you as a friend, but…well—”

“I don’t have a starring role in your fantasies?”

“Actually, no one does except Sloan. But that’s just me. Sloan,”

Michael murmured, watching her lover grinning at something Sandy had just said, “is put together differently. She has a different kind of On button than I do.”

“And you’re not bothered by that?” Sarah’s tone was curious, not censuring.

“I can hardly be upset with her for something she can’t help.”

Michael met Sarah’s eyes. “I trust her to put our relationship Þ rst before casual attractions.”

“I guess we’re pretty much in the same place, then. Jasmine is more a good friend than a lover, although now and then…” Sarah shrugged. “We cross lines.”

“Really? I’ve wondered.”

“Well, there are times when I’m watching Jasmine get ready to go out or up onstage performing, that I get this overwhelming desire to just…ravish her.” Sarah laughed self-consciously. “And then, when I do, right in the middle of it all…guess what I Þ nd.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea.” Michael laughed as well and returned Sarah’s hug. “I think sometimes we just have to accept things the way they are, even if they’re not the way we think they will be. That seems to be the case more often than not around here.”

“Mmm. Especially tonight.” Sarah leaned near so as not to be overheard. “Mitch is certainly a surprise. The other guys look terriÞ c, and I’ve known them all long enough that I don’t think of them as anything other than guys, but Mitch…Mitch is the most natural-looking drag king I’ve ever seen.”

• 87 •

RADCLY fFE

“If I didn’t know,” Michael agreed, “I’d bet any amount of money that he’s Dell’s brother. The resemblance is there in exactly the same way it often is between brother and sister—similar features, but no confusion as to who is male and who is female.”

“Fascinating, isn’t it. His girlfriend is keeping a close eye on him too. She’s a little cutie.”

“Sandy.” Michael smiled fondly. “She’s very sweet and very capable. I also have the feeling that there’s very little of life that she hasn’t experienced.”

“So, do you know what’s going on?”

Struck by the serious tone in Sarah’s voice, Michael felt a wave of apprehension. “What do you mean?”

“I just thought Sloan might have said something. Jason has been working nonstop since the end of last week, and I know they’re close to wrapping up this big case. And Jasmine is somehow involved.”

“And she hasn’t said?”

“Oh, as much as she ever does. I’m just facilitating things down at the club, sweetie. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t ruin my manicure doing anything dangerous. ”

“Why is it that Sloan says very much the same thing—minus the manicure, of course.”

“Because we’re just girls, and they’re all big, tough superheroes?”

Sarah’s voice held a hint of exasperation mingled with affection. “Even Jasmine.”

Michael sighed. “I can see that Sloan and I are going to have another talk.”

“Uh-oh. Did I just get her into trouble?”

“Oh,” Michael said softly, “she’ll survive. After all, she’s a big, tough superhero.”

v

At the sound of Michael’s laughter, Sloan tuned out the conversation with Ken and half turned in her lover’s direction. It had been too long since she’d heard Michael’s voice free from pain, and her heart tightened at the lilting sound. Michael stood arm in arm with Sarah, and the two were obviously sharing a private joke. At that instant, Michael met her eyes, and Sloan nearly staggered at the impact of her

• 88 •

Justice Served

lover’s gaze. It was as if Michael reached across the distance between them and caressed her. It was always that way. No one ever touched her the way Michael did.

“She’s…ah…incredible,” Ken remarked as if reading Sloan’s thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“The Þ rst time I saw the two of you at one of the shows, I Þ gured it must be a mistake. You couldn’t have gotten that lucky.”

“Still can’t believe it myself.”

“So—it’s nice of you to help Mitch out.”

Slowly, Sloan searched Ken’s eyes, appreciating the unspoken question. “He got pretty banged up.”

“So Jasmine said. I remember him tearing out of the club that night. Funny, I thought I saw his girlfriend there earlier too. Of course, it could’ve been someone else, but she’s so hot, she’s hard to forget.”

Sloan regarded Sandy, who still sat within the circle of Mitch’s arms, chatting now with Dino. “I don’t know every girl Mitch is seeing.”

“He did mention he wasn’t married,” Ken said. “But if you ask me, she’s got him by the roots. And he doesn’t look like he minds.”

Before Sloan could formulate an answer to that, Ken continued,

“I’ve known Jasmine a long time. All the Kings have. Whatever she’s into, we’re there. Just so you know.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that. Before you leave, I want to give you a couple of numbers to call. Just in case…you ever need to.”

“That would be Þ ne. Now,” Ken said with a slow smile, “I’m going to go invite the very beautiful Michael to one of our shows. Front-row seats, this time. Courtesy of the Front Street Kings.”

“You guys are dangerous,” Sloan complained.

Ken raised a brow and shrugged insouciantly. “We have to maintain our reputations.”

Sloan watched him walk away, appreciating that they had gained another ally in the underground warfare to come.

• 89 •

• 90 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER TEN

Wednesday

Well, hello,” Catherine said with a smile. “You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

Mitchell hooked her cane over the arm of the chair in front of Catherine’s desk and settled into it, keeping her left leg straight as she did. “Thanks. I feel a lot better too.”

“How’s the leg?”

“Pretty much healed. The stitches stay in for another week, but,”

she indicated the cane with a tilt of her chin, “no more crutches.”

“Wonderful.” Catherine eased back in her chair and crossed her legs. As was her habit on the days she saw clients, she’d dressed conservatively in a two-piece taupe brushed-silk suit and low heels.

Mitchell’s Þ le, unopened, was centered on her desk blotter. “Are you still at Sloan and Michael’s?”

“Probably for another day. Then I’m going back to my…

apartment.”

“The one in Sandy’s building?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Does that mean that you’re going back to work as well?”

Mitchell shifted in the chair and studied the knees of her black chinos, which she’d worn with a white, open-collared oxford shirt and black loafers for her day of doctor’s visits. “Well, I can’t go back to work until I’m cleared by you.”

“What about Dr. Torveau?” Catherine asked, showing no reaction to the subtle evasion. “Has she released you to work?”

“Not in so many words,” Mitchell admitted. “She said I could do anything I wanted except ride my motorcycle and lift weights.”

“Anything? That’s excellent.”

Mitchell brightened and sat up straighter.

• 91 •

RADCLY fFE

“Do you think she meant physically subduing a suspect?”

Catherine’s tone was mild, her eyes kind.

“She didn’t mention that, exactly.”

“But you did talk with her about the kinds of things you need to be able to do in the line of duty, right?”

“I told her about most of it.” Mitchell’s voice was pitched low.

Catherine said nothing.

Mitchell sighed. “Actually, I told her about working with Jason on the computer traces.”

“Rather sedentary.”

“I didn’t say I had a desk job…” Mitchell raised her eyes to Catherine’s. “Not in so many words.”

Catherine nodded.

“But I might have let her think it was…mostly…a desk job.”

“Why did you let her think that, do you think?”

“Because I want to get back to work.” Mitchell forcefully enunciated each word, as if the importance of what she was saying couldn’t be overemphasized.

“I know you do. But why tomorrow and not a week from tomorrow?”

“Because this is my big chance, and I don’t want to miss it.”

“Big chance. Tracking down the rest of the Internet

pornographers?”

Mitchell shook her head impatiently. “No. I mean, that’s part of it. But that’s not…that’s not what I’m going to be doing.” She leaned forward, her hands loosely Þ sted. “I’m going to be working undercover.

That’s a big deal for a detective. Especially a rookie detective like me.

I’m going to be going after the intel that could break this case. Not just the pornographers, but maybe the whole prostitution ring. It’s big, and the lieutenant is putting me right in the middle of it.”

It’s big and it’s dangerous and you can’t wait. Catherine had worked with police ofÞ cers long before she’d fallen in love with one, and she’d rarely seen one who didn’t live for the excitement. Rebecca, she believed, thrived on the hunt, and although that drive was instinctual, her deeper motivations were philosophical. Rebecca sought justice. She wondered what Dellon searched for. “Why is it good?”

“Are you kidding me? This is a chance to really do something. To put away some of the scum who use girls like they’re disposable—to be

• 92 •

Justice Served

wadded up and tossed in the toilet after they’ve come in th…” Mitchell colored and looked away. After a second, she said quietly, “Sorry.”

“For what, Dellon?” Catherine asked just as quietly.

“Look, it’s my job. This is an important case, and I want to do my job.”

Catherine considered the unanswered question and then decided to let it pass for the moment. She’d learned in their previous sessions that Dellon often revealed more in what she didn’t say than in anything she might if pressured. And the young detective was pale and shaking, a vivid reminder that she had been out of the hospital less than a week. “I know how much the job means to you. But you understand my concern for your safety.”

Mitchell nodded. “If I get Dr. Torveau to sign off for me to resume active duty— real active duty—will you clear me to go back too?”

“Dr. Torveau and I are interested in slightly different things, Dellon.” Catherine smiled. “Are you having any problems sleeping?”

“Not when I get the chance.”

Catherine looked puzzled. “I don’t follow.”

“I just meant…well…Sandy’s staying with me at Michael and Sloan’s. So, sometimes I don’t get to sleep until…late.”

“How are things between the two of you?”

“They’re…” Mitchell colored. “More or less…fantastic.”

Catherine laughed. “May I infer then that your lack of sleep and your new relationship are related?”

“Pretty much. Yeah.”

“Congratulations.”

Mitchell Þ nally grinned. “Thanks.”

“No nightmares?”

“What?” Mitchell grew very still, pressing her palms to her thighs.

“No.”

Catherine was familiar with the posture. She’d seen it when Dellon had Þ rst been referred to her following a temporary suspension from duty after a physical altercation with a suspect. Some might have interpreted her body language as defensive, but Catherine recognized it now as protective. Her question had triggered something in the young woman with the potential to hurt.

“Have you found fragments of the episode breaking into your

• 93 •

RADCLY fFE

consciousness at odd moments? Memories surfacing and taking you unawares?”

“No,” Mitchell said, her voice suddenly rough. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Like what, Dellon?” Catherine asked softly.

“Like what nightmares are made of.” Mitchell gazed at Catherine, but she was seeing the past.

“Tell me about the other time.” Catherine’s invitation was gentle, her voice soothing. But there was strength in her tone, as if whatever was coming would not be too much for her to hear.

Mitchell blinked and shook herself, as if she had just surfaced from the bottom of a murky pond into bright daylight. She smiled crookedly.

“Tired. I guess I’m a little out of it.”

“You were going to tell me about the nightmares.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Mitchell said briskly. “I don’t have nightmares.”

“Anymore?” Again, the question was gentle.

Mitchell’s eyes blazed, a combination of pain and deÞ ance. “That’s right, not anymore.”

Catherine waited, but Dellon remained silent. The clock behind Dellon revealed they were almost out of time. “When do you see Dr.

Torveau again?”

“Not until the beginning of next week—for the suture removal.”

“You’re not ready for duty, Dellon.”

Mitchell’s jaw set hard, her chin jutting forward as the muscles tightened. “How long?”

“I really can’t say. Certainly not before Dr. Torveau reevaluates you in light of what you are likely to be doing in any kind of street situation. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

Catherine laughed. “You want to get out of here and back to work, don’t you?”

“Almost more than anything.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Catherine watched the young detective carefully rise and make her way with a determined gait to the door. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t hide her limp. And Catherine now knew that in addition to the knife wound, there was some former trauma, some other pain, that had

• 94 •

Justice Served

once plagued her. And whatever that old pain was, it had the potential to rise up again and cause destruction if not purged once and for all.

v

Rebecca grimaced as the pager on her belt vibrated. She was twenty feet from the front door to Catherine’s ofÞ ce building and had hoped to catch Catherine between patients for an early dinner or a quick cup of coffee. Spending the major portion of the last two nights tailing George Beecher had meant that she’d seen little of her lover in the past half week, other than a few murmured words when she’d slipped into bed in the middle of the night.

In previous relationships, days, sometimes weeks, had passed without meaningful contact with her lover when she’d been in the midst of a case. Her excuse had always been that she had to work when the trail was hot, because once the case grew cold, she had little chance of breaking it. But in truth, she’d always been most comfortable alone in the night, chasing evil or, if that pursuit failed, chasing away her own demons with a drink. Even after she’d given up the bottle, she hadn’t been able to give up the obsessive need to work until she had nothing left inside but the ashes of fury and frustration.

Now, she had another need.

She needed the touch of Catherine’s hand to settle her, the sound of Catherine’s voice to soothe her, and the press of Catherine’s body in the night to replenish her.

She was a better cop now, a better woman, because of Catherine.

Her pager vibrated again. Swearing, she pulled it from her belt and read the number. Exchanging the beeper for her cell phone, she pressed two on the speed dial.

“What?” she said by way of greeting.

“I might have something,” Watts replied, eschewing social niceties as well.

“Something break with Campbell?” Rebecca was beginning to feel that Margaret Campbell, the ADA who had Þ nanced her way through law school by stripping, was the Mob connection and leak in the law enforcement system. Because George Beecher appeared to be nothing more than a rich guy who spent his non–working hours chasing women.

• 95 •

RADCLY fFE

“No. She’s as boring as the sports teams in this town. She goes right home after work and stays there. Oh—once she went out to the drugstore, but she didn’t buy anything exciting. Cold medicine.”

“Okay, I got the picture. So why are you calling me?” Rebecca glanced at her watch. It was just before six and she knew that Catherine started her evening hours at seven. If they were going to have any chance to see one another, it needed to be soon.

“I found a couple of faxes Jimmy Hogan had stored in his locker.

Somebody had cleaned out his stuff and tossed everything that didn’t look ofÞ cial into a cardboard box. Including some paperwork.”

“Wait a minute. No one claimed Hogan’s personal items?”

“Nope.”

“And you were down in storage going through them?”

“Yeah.”

“Good thinking, Watts,” Rebecca muttered.

“What was that?” he asked, his tone suggesting he’d heard clearly.

“Nothing. Go ahead.”

“Like I said…”

Rebecca heard the click of metal on metal, then his long intake of breath as he drew on his cigarette.

“…there were some unÞ led papers, and three of them were faxes from Port Authority. Shipping schedules for the two months right before he was killed.”

“Shipping schedules.” Rebecca rubbed the bridge of her nose, digesting this new piece of information. “What do you think? Stolen cars? Drugs?”

“Can’t tell. We’ll have to try to Þ gure out which ships he was checking on. Maybe get a look at their bills of lading.”

“Christ. That’s a million hours of paperwork.”

“Maybe not.”

Rebecca waited, and when he said nothing, Þ nally complained,

“Come on, Watts. I’ve got better things to do tonight than reading your twisted mind.”

Watts laughed. “All three faxes came from the same person. A supervisor at Port Authority. Maybe…uh, here it is… C. Reiser has some idea what Jimmy was after.”

“First thing in the morning, let’s go Þ nd out.”

• 96 •

Justice Served

“Any chance we can get together at Sloan’s Þ rst? Her coffee beats the hell out of that crap at the station house.”

“Seven thirty. Tell the others.”

“You got it, Loo.”

“And Watts—nice work.”

“What was that?”

Rebecca hung up.

v

Mitchell hummed to herself as she waited for the elevator in the ground-ß oor garage of Sloan’s building. Sandy should be home by now, and maybe no one else would be. Jason, she knew, would be deep in the data traces on the third ß oor, Sloan was most likely still at Police Plaza, and Michael had gone with Sarah for a late-afternoon doctor’s appointment. Which meant that she and Sandy would be alone. Not that being alone was a prerequisite for making love, but it sure made things more fun when you didn’t have to worry about making noise.

And somehow, Sandy always got her to make noise.

Grinning at the memories and the images of things to come, she used her key to program the double-wide converted industrial elevator to the private fourth-ß oor residence. When the doors slid silently open directly into the living room, she stepped out, calling, “Honey? Hey, San? Your baby’s home and ready to rumble.”

“Dell,” Sandy said quietly from the direction of the kitchen.

One-handedly loosening her belt and stripping it off with a snap that cracked like a bullwhip, Mitchell turned in the direction of her girlfriend’s voice. “Hey, sexy, I—”

The Þ rst thing she saw was the uniform. For some reason, it still stirred her to see it, the gleaming silver bars, the crisp creases in the deep green material, the row of duty medals and ribbons. The United States Army. The dreams of her childhood. Her eyes followed upward, over the neatly buttoned jacket, to the face framed by dark hair, only an inch or two longer than her own and with a touch of curl that hers never had. The blue eyes were hers, though. As was the rest of the face.

Mitchell’s gaze jumped to Sandy, whose face was pale, her eyes dark pools of questions and hurt. I would’ve told you, honey, but she’s part of the past. And the past is dead. Buried.

• 97 •

RADCLY fFE

“Hello, Dellon.” The voice, modulated and oddly devoid of emotion, drew Mitchell’s attention from her lover.

“Erica.” Mitchell whispered the name as she stared at the face that was the mirror image of her own.

• 98 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rebecca!” Catherine tossed aside the insurance form she had been in the midst of completing and hurried around her desk to greet her lover.

“Hi,” Rebecca replied hastily. “I know you don’t have much time, but—”

Catherine stopped her words with a kiss. Settling her palms against Rebecca’s shoulders, she leaned into her, savoring the taste of her after a day apart. Then she drew back with a smile and a sigh. “I have almost an hour. It’s so good to see you.”

Rebecca skimmed an arm around Catherine’s waist. “I still can’t believe how much I miss you, even when I see you every day.”

“Darling,” Catherine chided gently, “seeing me for Þ ve minutes in the middle of the night when we’re both too tired to even talk hardly counts.” She touched her Þ ngers to Rebecca’s cheek, then kissed her softly again. “It’s been a long week. I’ve missed you too.”

A quicksilver ß ash of concern ß ickered in Rebecca’s eyes and then quickly died. But not before Catherine had seen it.

“I know how hard you’re working,” Catherine said. “I know how important this case is. I understand.”

“Do you?” Rebecca asked, almost to herself, thinking of how many women she had lost because of her obsession with work. Not Catherine. God, please not Catherine.

“I do. ” Catherine wrapped both arms around Rebecca’s waist and tightened her hold. “You look exhausted. What else is bothering you?”

“Nothing—I’m Þ ne.”

“Rebecca.” Catherine drew out the word. I can hear the evasion in your voice.

“It’s just…hell…I don’t know how…I need you to know that just because I’m not home…” Rebecca raked a hand through her hair.

• 99 •

RADCLY fFE

“Christ, I don’t even know how to tell you how important you are to me.”

“Oh, Rebecca,” Catherine murmured, “you’re here. That’s how you tell me.” She took her lover’s hand and led her to the sofa that sat against the wall opposite her desk. Curling into one corner, she drew Rebecca against her with an arm around her lover’s shoulders. “Just to have these few moments together makes all the difference.”

“It does.” With a sigh, Rebecca pillowed her cheek against Catherine’s shoulder. “I just have to be with you and something inside me settles.” She tilted her head enough to meet Catherine’s eyes. “Some days, I’m not sure how I would keep going without you.”

“Oh, Rebecca,” Catherine murmured, gently stroking Rebecca’s face as she pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love so many things about you. Your strength, your conviction, your need to right the wrongs in a world where those things don’t seem to matter to many people any longer.” Unconsciously, as she spoke, she caressed Rebecca’s back, urging Rebecca to relax against the curve of her body. “But more than anything, I love being important to you. I love knowing that my loving you makes a difference in your life.”

“I don’t know how I held on until you, Catherine.” Rebecca closed her eyes and let peace take her. In Catherine’s arms, she relinquished the memories of so many nights when loneliness of the spirit and desolation of the heart had scoured her, leaving her hollow. Of the years Þ lled with alcohol-induced numbness and meaningless encounters with women whose names she could not remember. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Catherine sensed Rebecca drift away and held her Þ ercely.

“I was happy with my life, before you,” Catherine whispered, stroking Rebecca’s hair. “I had everything I wanted—my career, good friends, satisfying interests.” She rested her chin against the top of Rebecca’s head and reveled in the sharp, clean scent of her. “You brought me to the Þ re, Rebecca. You brought me to the passion. Oh, darling, you are my life.”

In the still room, Catherine watched the rest of the hour pass, listening to her lover’s quiet breathing, guarding her as she slept.

Providing this one woman refuge, creating for her a place to rest, a place to heal, brought Catherine the fulÞ llment she hadn’t known she’d needed.

• 100 •

Justice Served

“Darling,” Catherine Þ nally murmured.

“Hmm?” There had been a time when Rebecca would have snapped into immediate consciousness at the slightest sound, already reaching for her gun. But now, she lingered on the edge of waking, reluctant to relinquish the safety of her lover’s embrace.

“It’s time,” Catherine announced gently.

“I know.” Rebecca eased away but kept one arm around Catherine’s waist. “I had intended to ask you out to dinner at Chucksteak Charlie’s.”

“Oh, I can’t believe we missed that!”

Rebecca grinned. “Sorry.”

“This was much better.” Catherine leaned forward and kissed Rebecca softly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me love you.”

Rebecca gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Letting you? Jesus, like I have a choice.”

Catherine smiled. “Good. Remember that.”

“Always.” With a sigh, Rebecca stood and stretched, rubbing one hand briskly over her face. “I’ll probably be late again tonight.”

“Be careful.” Rising, Catherine threaded an arm around Rebecca’s waist to walk her to the door. “I’ll see you when you get…home.”

Home.

The word lingered in the air between them as Catherine searched Rebecca’s face. When will you let it really be our home? In your heart, and mine? She knew the question must show in her eyes, because a shadow passed through Rebecca’s. She waited and watched Rebecca struggle with that Þ nal barrier, knowing that tonight would not be the night that it fell.

“I’ll see you later,” Rebecca said at last, sweeping her Þ ngertips over Catherine’s cheek.

“Yes.” Catherine kissed her one more time and stepped away. “Be safe, darling.”

v

Mitchell dragged her eyes away from her twin and strode directly to Sandy. In a low voice, her back to Erica, she asked, “You okay?”

• 101 •

RADCLY fFE

“I guess.” Sandy’s gaze ß ickered from her lover’s face to that of the woman who watched them intently from across the room, her expression devoid of emotion. Except cold calculation. “Jesus, Dell.

What the fuck?”

“I can explain.” A frantic edge of desperation underlay Mitchell’s voice. She caught Sandy’s wrist in her hand, expecting her to pull away, but the ß inch at her touch cut even deeper than withdrawal. “Sandy.

Please. Just give me a chance to Þ nd out what’s going on.”

“That would be good, don’t you think?” Sandy’s voice was ß at, her eyes empty. “I’d sort of like to know that myself.” She couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off the other woman. “Jason must’ve thought she was you, because he keyed the elevator automatically. He was probably so busy with his head up some computer he just glanced at the monitor.”

“She’s my sister . ”

“Well, duh. ” Sandy grabbed Mitchell’s waistband and yanked her a few more steps back until they were almost in the kitchen alcove. In a low voice taut with nerves, she said, “She’s been here almost an hour and hasn’t said word one. Except to ask if OfÞ cer Mitchell resided at this address. Oh, and to introduce herself as Lieutenant Mitchell. Fuck, she’s like a zombie in a slick uniform.”

“That’s her normal attitude.”

“You could’ve warned me she was coming!”

“I didn’t know. ”

“Then how about mentioning a carbon-copy sister running around?”

Sandy glanced at Erica again. “She’s watching me like I’m going to lift your wallet.” She shivered. “God, she looks just like you.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Mitchell said, her voice brittle and tight.

“When she walked in, I thought at Þ rst…” Sandy shook her head.

“I’m glad I kept my clothes on.”

Mitchell laughed quietly, the Þ rst glimmer of hope returning to her heart. Sandy seemed more freaked than pissed. “I’m telling you, I didn’t know she was coming. I don’t know why she’s here. I have to talk to her.”

“Yeah, you do.” Suddenly serious, Sandy extricated her arm from Mitchell’s grip. “I’m gonna take off.”

“No,” Mitchell said, more loudly than she intended.

“Yes, Dell,” Sandy said stifß y. “Whatever’s going on here, it’s…

family stuff.”

• 102 •

Justice Served

“You’re the only one who matters to me.” There was something verging on panic now in Mitchell’s voice. “Please. Please don’t leave me.”

Sandy’s eyes narrowed as she stared at her lover. “Is she going to do something to you? Hurt you somehow?”

“No,” Mitchell said with a shaky laugh. “No. I just…I just don’t want to lose you.”

“Lose me. Lose me how, Dell?”

Mitchell couldn’t breathe. Sweat trickled from her hair down her neck. Her stomach threatened to heave. “Don’t let them chase you away.”

“Them? Who?”

“The people who say we’re wrong.” Mitchell’s voice was barely a whisper, and her face was ashen. Her eyes, normally so clear, were unfocused, clouded with past torment.

“Dell. ”

Mitchell twitched and blinked. She focused on Sandy’s face, relieved to see the temper in Sandy’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“You know what I said before?” Sandy asked, placing her palm along the edge of Mitchell’s jaw. “About you being pretty smart for a cop?”

“Yeah?” Mitchell trembled, holding her breath.

“I take it back.” Sandy traced her Þ ngers tenderly down Mitchell’s neck and rested her open hand against her chest, caressing her softly.

“I’ll see you later, rookie.”

“Sandy.”

There was an interminable moment of silence, or so it seemed to Mitchell. Please. Please I need you.

“I promise, Dell,” Sandy whispered.

v

Mitchell didn’t move until she heard the faint whisk of the elevator doors open, then close, and the distant whir of the motor taking Sandy away. She waited another twenty seconds, steeling herself, searching for anger to be her strength. Then she turned and faced her twin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Who’s the girl?”

• 103 •

RADCLY fFE

“I asked you Þ rst.”

“The hospital needed some kind of insurance information, and they didn’t have a current telephone number. At least not one you answered.

Apparently they got your emergency contact information from an old form on Þ le at the police department. It took me a few calls, but I Þ nally got someone who’d said you’d been detailed here recently.” She surveyed the loft. “I take it they didn’t mean here, precisely. Interesting setup.”

Mitchell ignored the unspoken request for an explanation. It wasn’t she who needed to explain. “Why did you come?”

“I’m your sister, Dellon.”

“And that’s supposed to mean something?”

Erica’s eyes, the same deep blue as Mitchell’s, sparked with ire.

“I’m not the one who relinquished my commission. I’m not the one who walked away. I’m not the one who left everything—and everyone—

behind.”

“Like I had some kind of choice?”

“You had a choice. You had a choice before you ever got into bed with—”

“That’s enough.” Mitchell didn’t raise her voice, but it whipped through the air between them like a hand striking ß esh. “You should leave.”

Erica’s body was rigid, her shoulders back, her arms straight at her sides. She looked like a recruiting poster, clear-eyed and righteous with purpose. “Damn you.” Her voice was surprisingly soft, nearly plaintive.

“Do you know how much it hurt me to lose you?”

“I know.” There was no sympathy in Mitchell’s voice, only bitterness. They had shared the same womb, the same birthday, the same hopes and dreams. They’d been closer than lovers. She’d bled from the loss as if from an amputated limb, until her heart had run dry.

“That girl…she can’t be more than sixteen. You can’t seriously be—”

“Leave it alone, Erica.”

“Have you lost your mind, Dellon?” Erica Þ nally broke form and approached Mitchell, stopping a few feet away. They did not touch.

“You threw away one career. Now you’re willing to risk another for someone like that?”

“Someone like that,” Mitchell said very slowly. Her entire body

• 104 •

Justice Served

quivered; the hairs on her arms stood up from the tension wiring her skin. She was afraid if she moved, she’d burst into ß ames and never be able to contain the rage. “Oh—you mean not shallow and Þ ckle?”

“Robin I could almost understand,” Erica spat, “but her? She’s nothing like…us.”

“No, she’s nothing like us.” Mitchell’s voice was dangerously soft. Her hands cramped from the effort to keep them at her sides. She wanted to break things. “She’s nothing like Robin, either, is she? And we both know how virtuous and honest Robin was.”

“She made the right decision. You should have too.”

Mitchell’s head snapped up and she had to step back, back from the wrath left unrequited for so long. “I chose an honest life.”

“You threw away your life!” Erica laughed, a hollow sound. “God, you always were so damned idealistic.”

Mitchell’s eyes traveled over the pristine uniform, the symbol of all that she had once believed to be good and honorable. She thought about Sandy, a young woman who fought seemingly insurmountable odds just to survive, and who should have been hardened and jaded by the struggle. Sandy’s hands, Sandy’s heart—so tender. She thought of the sweet acceptance she had discovered in Sandy’s arms and met her sister’s furious gaze. “It’s not idealistic when it’s real.”