Неизвестный - 6. Justice For All

Michael stroked her cheek. “Promise you won’t get distracted?”

Sloan caught her wrist and kissed her fingers. “Promise.”

“Go ahead, then,” Michael whispered.

Sloan nodded to Dell and Sandy and took the stairs down to the third floor. She had set several programs to launch in an attempt to trace probes being sent out against her system. She wanted to see if they’d been activated. As soon as she caught sight of her main screen, she knew there was a problem. Images flickered across the surface, where there should be only data.

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As she drew closer and could make out details, a red haze of fury clouded her vision at the same time as her stomach turned to cold, hard stone. She stared at photos of Michael. Michael stepping out of the building. Michael at the wheel of her car. Michael talking to several colleagues in the lobby of her building. And one final photo that seared into her brain.

Michael seated at a window table in a restaurant with Kratos Zamora.

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ChAPTER EIghTEEN

Sloan?” Michael reached across the space between them and put her hand on Sloan’s thigh. “What’s wrong?”

Sloan hit the gas and whipped the Porsche around one of the many horse-drawn carriages that shared the roads in Old City, providing tours of the myriad historic sites. She didn’t trust herself to speak. She wasn’t certain what she was going to do when she was actually in the same room as Kratos Zamora. She could still see him leaning slightly across the restaurant table toward Michael, his expression intent, as if he were riveted to every word Michael might say. Michael had been laughing, and she was so damned beautiful. Beautiful and innocent. Innocent of the kinds of games that men like Zamora played. Innocent of the world he lived in and that Sloan had lived in not so long ago. There were no dark places in Michael’s heart, no monsters buried in her past. Michael was everything good and pure in Sloan’s life, and she would kill to prevent anyone from changing that.

“You know how much I hate these things.” She kept a grip on the wheel, afraid Michael would see her hands shaking. Her head pounded with rage.

Michael always knew when Sloan was holding something in, forcing something down, containing her anger. She rubbed her hand up and down Sloan’s thigh. The muscles were hard as iron, and even in the low light of the car, the set of Sloan’s jaw was unmistakable. She was oh so very good at holding on to her control. Except the price for that remarkable control was distance, the one thing Michael could not bear.

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“I’ve only had you for a few minutes tonight,” Michael whispered.

“Please don’t go away so soon.”

The pain in her voice cut through the wall of Sloan’s fury like nothing else could. She dropped her hand from the wheel and covered Michael’s, lacing their fingers together. “I’m sorry. I’m…a little preoccupied with the investigation.” Forcing a smile, she lifted Michael’s hand to her lips. “And I really do hate these fancy parties.”

“For someone who looks so good in a tux, that’s a shame.” Michael withdrew her hand and moved it to the back of Sloan’s neck. She toyed with the wavy black strands that curled over the stiff collar of Sloan’s shirt. “You know I don’t resent your work, don’t you?”

Sloan nodded.

“What’s hard for me is losing you to it.”

“You don’t,” Sloan said hoarsely. She glanced at Michael, then back at the road. “You’re always in my heart. I’m sorry if I—”

“Pull over.”

Wordlessly, Sloan obeyed. As soon as she slid the transmission into Park, the powerful engine still idling, Michael leaned over for a kiss. With a soft groan, Sloan gave herself over to the silky heat of Michael’s mouth. She wished she could take her home, away from the evil and depravity, and let Michael exorcize her fear and anger. But Michael was a woman with her own needs, her own life, and Sloan could not protect her from everything that might hurt her.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Sloan asked when she drew back for a breath.

Michael smiled and skimmed her fingertip over Sloan’s mouth.

“Nothing to forgive. That was me telling you I love you exactly the way you are.”

Sloan lowered her head. If Michael knew everything about her, she might not say that. She whispered, “I love you so much.”

“You love me exactly the right way.” Michael stroked Sloan’s hair.

“Someday, my darling Sloan, I want you to help me do the same.”

“You do,” Sloan exclaimed.

“Only as much as you let me.” Michael smiled a little sadly. “Now we need to go.”

Sloan let out a long breath and put the car in gear. “Let’s do this thing.”

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v

“You can leave your dick in the drawer,” Sandy said, crossing her arms beneath her small breasts. “Because Mitch isn’t going anywhere tonight.”

Dell pulled on her clean T-shirt and stared at Sandy. “What the fuck, San?”

Perched on the edge of the bed, still in her T-shirt and panties, Sandy said, “I heard Sloan say you don’t have any backup tonight. So you can’t work.”

“What else did you hear?” Dell grabbed a clean pair of black jeans from the pile of clothes Sandy had brought from her apartment. She didn’t exactly mean to keep secrets from Sandy, but she hated for her to get worked up about things that might happen. Or might not. And she definitely didn’t want her getting worked up over Irina. Like that was ever gonna happen. “Thanks for bringing clothes for me.”

“Let’s see. You were saying…” Sandy put a finger on her chin as if she were thinking. “Oh, right. You’ve also got a hard-on for Jasmine.”

“I do not!” Dell stuffed her T-shirt into her jeans and bent over to strap on her ankle holster before pulling on her motorcycle boots. “I just said she was hot. Merely an observation.”

“Oh yeah. Like a guy says a girl has great tits, but he’s not really thinking about getting his hands on them or anything.”

“I didn’t say she has great tits. Actually, I think she has a great mouth.” Dell ducked, laughing as Sandy grabbed the pillow from behind her and flung it.

“You blockhead.” Sandy flung the other pillow. “There’s no way Jasmine could ever give you the kind of blow job I can. I don’t care how pretty her mouth looks.”

Dell dropped to her knees in front of Sandy and wrapped her arms around Sandy’s waist. She pulled her to the edge of the bed until she could pillow her face against her breasts, then she nuzzled Sandy’s nipple through the thin cotton T-shirt. “Babe, nobody can do anything to me the way you can.” She tilted her head back and kissed Sandy’s chin. “How come you’re so grumpy?”

“Maybe because my girlfriend is spending every night with a girl who wants to get into her pants.” Sandy tugged a fistful of Dell’s hair,

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and her expression darkened. “Maybe because you’re coming home so wound up I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt out there.”

“Babe.” Dell stroked Sandy’s cheek. “I’m being careful. I promise.

And I’m going to be back early tonight. It’s just a quick check, okay?”

Sandy ran her fingertips over Dell’s eyebrows, then kissed her.

“Do what you have to. Just keep your dick on ice. ’Kay?”

“I will.” Dell stood and grabbed her motorcycle jacket. “I’ll be back really soon.”

Sandy waited until she heard the elevator go down, then headed for the shower. It was Saturday night, and she had things to do too.

v

Rebecca angled through the crowd toward Sloan, who stood next to the bar set up against one wall, cradling a glass of liquor in her hand.

The city’s wealthy and influential occupied most of the linen-covered tables filling the banquet hall. At the front of the room, a dais stood in the center of an elevated stage, flanked by two tables. Catherine and several board members from city and charitable organizations sat at one table. Michael sat at the other, between the mayor and Kratos Zamora, directly on her left. The police commissioner occupied the end seat next to Zamora.

After the obligatory mingling over hors d’oeuvres and drinks, dinner had been served and now the real work of the evening began.

Speakers took the stage in turns praising the mayor’s efforts to support the city’s poor and disenfranchised and strengthen the local economy.

Pleas were made for more donations and pledges of support for the mayor’s reelection campaign.

“Looks like the mayor’s got some important people on his side,”

Rebecca murmured. “Including our friend.”

“We pretty much already knew that,” Sloan said, clenching the glass in her hand as Zamora leaned close and said something that made Michael smile, even as she kept her eyes on the current speaker.

“Did you say anything to Michael about our interest in him?”

Rebecca asked.

“No.”

“His attention to her is just coincidental, then.” Rebecca watched Sloan carefully. From the moment she and Michael had arrived, she’d

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looked ready to explode. Anyone who didn’t know her as well as Rebecca did probably would have missed the signs. Her usual feline grace was absent. She moved instead with the wary precision of a trained martial artist on the verge of launching a killing blow. Coiled muscles and singular focus. And her prey was very obviously Kratos Zamora.

She hadn’t taken her eyes off him the entire evening. If he’d noticed, he gave no indication of it, but Rebecca had seen his bodyguards scanning the crowds. Their eyes continually returned to Sloan.

“His muscle has picked up on you,” Rebecca said.

“Fine.”

“You need to go outside. Take a walk around. Get some air.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You might as well be waving a banner with his name on it, saying

‘I’m after you.’”

Sloan slugged down her scotch. “You think they don’t know.”

“Probably they do. But we don’t need to take out an ad.”

“Fuck them.” Sloan finally took her eyes off Michael and focused on Rebecca. “Doesn’t it bother you? That they flaunt their invincibility?

That they spit on us while cozying up to the mayor and the police commissioner? When we know he’s dirty?”

“It doesn’t matter what we know. It matters what we can prove.”

“No,” Sloan said. “It matters what you can prove.”

“Times have changed. Men like him have become politicians.”

“What does that make men like the commissioner, then? Front men for felons?”

“I haven’t had dealings with the commissioner. He didn’t come up the ranks. It’s an elected position.”

Sloan held out a glass to the bartender for a refill. “And money buys votes.”

“You don’t need that drink,” Rebecca said. “But you need to tell me what lit your fuse.”

Sloan narrowed her eyes, challenging Rebecca. Rebecca was the team leader, but she wasn’t technically Sloan’s boss. Sloan still hadn’t decided whether to tell her about the surprise slide show. She trusted Rebecca, but she didn’t trust anyone else and she didn’t have any idea where the images were coming from. All she knew was that Zamora had gotten close to Michael. And someone was playing with her. She needed to know what they wanted, and why they were willing

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