Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

Michael leaned back enough to look into Sloan’s eyes. There was turmoil in their depths. “What is it?”

Sloan rested her forehead against Michael’s. “Nothing. I love you.”

“What did you do this morning?” When no answer was

forthcoming, Michael stroked the back of Sloan’s neck and kissed her gently. “Sloan?”

“Just a brieÞ ng with Rebecca and some of the hotshots in the department.”

“Problems?”

Sloan shook her head.

“Progress, then?”

“Some.” Sloan stiffened as she thought about what she had learned.

“I know who hurt you. At least who set it up.”

Michael gasped. “How?”

“I tracked him through the computer system at Police Plaza.”

“You know his name?”

“Yes.”

“A police ofÞ cer?”

“An ADA. He’s probably Mob connected—I don’t know how just yet.”

“Has he been arrested?”

“No.” The bitterness in Sloan’s voice lay heavy in the air.

Michael cupped her Þ ngers along the sharp angle of Sloan’s jaw, sensitive to the tight muscles quivering beneath the smooth, pale skin.

Now she understood why Sloan had come home in the middle of the day, in the middle of a big case. Something she would ordinarily never do. She was in pain. “You know what I’d like?”

“What?” Sloan’s voice was husky, her hands terribly gentle as they rested in the soft curve above Michael’s hips.

“I’d like to go to a movie, and then out somewhere for dinner, and then come home and spend the rest of the night in your arms.” Her

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Þ ngers trembled faintly as she traced their tips over Sloan’s mouth.

“Can we do that?”

Sloan buried her hands in Michael’s soft golden hair before lowering her mouth to Michael’s. After she’d Þ lled her mind with the touch and taste of her lover, she whispered, “Yes. Always for you, yes.”

v

Catherine stepped from her car and turned at the sound of her name. Smiling, she leaned a hip against the fender and watched Rebecca coming toward her, a pizza box balanced in one hand. Under the streetlights, Rebecca’s blond hair glinted. Her blazer swung open, revealing the long line of her chest and hips. Catherine’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt the familiar tingling that always accompanied the Þ rst sight of her lover.

“How did you know I’d be home now?” Catherine asked as Rebecca drew near.

“I’m a detective.” At the sight of Catherine’s raised brow, Rebecca grinned. “I called Joyce, and she told me when you’d be Þ nished.”

“Mmm. Good thinking.” Catherine wrapped her arm around Rebecca’s waist as they strolled down the sidewalk side by side. “You need to start wearing an overcoat, darling.”

Rebecca kissed Catherine’s cheek. “Why? Is it going to snow?”

“It feels cold enough to.”

“I’m Þ ne.”

“Is there some rule about police ofÞ cers not wearing coats?”

“I don’t like them. Too conÞ ning.”

You think it will get in the way of you reaching your gun, don’t you?

Catherine had noticed that whenever they walked together, Rebecca took the street side, as if shielding her. She was also very aware that no matter where they were, Rebecca constantly scanned the surroundings, looking for something or someone out of place. It wasn’t a question of Rebecca always working, it was simply that Rebecca was always a cop.

And in that regard, there was no middle ground. “If you won’t wear an overcoat, then you need to switch to wool blazers. The silk is not heavy enough for this time of year.”

Rebecca laughed. “If that will make you happy, I will. Except

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they’re still in storage from last winter. It might be a week or so before I have time to retrieve them.”

“Give me the tickets, and I’ll pick them up for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Rebecca said as they climbed the stairs to Catherine’s brownstone.

“I want to. That’s all a part of our being together.”

Inside, Catherine shed her coat and briefcase as Rebecca took the pizza into the kitchen. A moment later, Catherine joined her. She made an appreciative sound as Rebecca opened a bottle of cabernet and Þ lled a glass for her.

“This is wonderful,” Catherine sighed after her Þ rst sip of the dark wine.

With a contented groan, Rebecca leaned her hips against the counter, arms outstretched on either side, her Þ ngers curled around the edge, enjoying Catherine’s pleasure. “Better than wonderful.”

Appreciating the way the Þ ne, pale linen stretched across Rebecca’s chest, Catherine nodded. “It’s the Þ rst night you’ve been home for dinner all week. We should celebrate.”

Rebecca patted the pizza box. “That’s what I thought too.”

Catherine took another swallow of wine and set the glass on the small butcher block next to the stove. Then she stepped up to Rebecca and placed her hands on the counter inside of Rebecca’s, trapping her lover between her arms. “I wasn’t thinking about food.”

With Catherine pressed along her length, Rebecca remained motionless, content for Catherine to lead. “Not hungry?”

“Well,” Catherine murmured as she slid her hands over Rebecca’s back, “I am, but I was thinking of pizza for the second course.”

“I like cold pizza.” Rebecca tilted her head back, offering her throat. She growled softly as Catherine’s teeth caught at her skin. When she raised her hands from the counter to embrace her lover, Catherine grasped her wrists.

“No. Keep them right where they were.” Firmly, Catherine guided Rebecca’s hands back to the curved edge of the counter. Then, as she kept Rebecca pinned with the force of her pelvis between Rebecca’s thighs, she kissed her. Slowly at Þ rst, the tip of her tongue tracing the juncture of lips and moist inner recesses. Then a little harder, a little deeper, until their tongues danced in teasing counterpoint. While she

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savored Rebecca’s mouth, she slipped her hand between them and unbuttoned Rebecca’s shirt.

“Catherine,” Rebecca whispered at the Þ rst touch of Þ ngertips against her breast. With her hands clenched around the edge of the counter, she braced her arms for support. The muscles in her legs trembled as Catherine kissed her, one warm palm kneading her breast, a thumb ß icking at her nipple.

“Mmm,” Catherine moaned as she broke the kiss and dragged her Þ ngernails down the center of Rebecca’s abdomen to her belt. As she deftly slid the leather free of the clasp, she whispered, “So much better than pizza.”

“You make me feel so good,” Rebecca gasped. “You make me forget…everything, except us.” Her head swam as Catherine’s Þ ngers dipped inside her trousers and found her ready. “When you touch me…”

The exquisite pressure left her breathless.

“What?” Catherine’s voice was deep, husky with desire as she kissed the corner of Rebecca’s mouth, her jaw, her neck—one hand inside Rebecca’s shirt, caressing her breasts, the other stroking rhythmically between her legs. “What happens, darling? What?”

Rebecca’s vision wavered as her stomach tightened, her thighs turning to jelly. Her breath came in short pants, and a sound somewhere between a plea and a prayer tore from her throat. “You make me whole.”

“We make… oh God…” Caught unawares by a sudden surge of heat that raced along the inside of her legs and up her spine, Catherine shuddered. Eyes nearly closed, she rested her forehead against Rebecca’s and slipped inside her, never breaking the rhythm of her strokes, only moving deeper, taking more of her. Taking all of her. As she felt Rebecca spasm around her Þ ngers, she whispered, “We make each other whole.”

Long moments later, when Rebecca could speak, she whispered,

“I love when you do that to me.”

Sated by her lover’s pleasure, Catherine nestled her head on Rebecca’s shoulder, arms loosely clasping her waist. Eyes closed, she drifted without thought, only knowing that she was happy. “Mmm. Do what?”

“Just take me, like I’m yours.”

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Catherine raised her head, her eyes still hazy with arousal. “You are mine.”

Rebecca grinned weakly, Þ nding it difÞ cult to control her body, which still felt boneless. “Yeah. I know. But when you have your way with me, I really know.”

“Stick around, detective,” Catherine murmured, nipping at Rebecca’s chin. “It gets better.”

“I don’t see how it could,” Rebecca replied, suddenly serious. She Þ lled her hands with Catherine’s hair, holding her head as she took her mouth with Þ erce intensity. She kissed her, suddenly desperate for the taste of her. When she felt Catherine tremble against her body, she moved her mouth to Catherine’s ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Catherine wanted to ask for her promise, but instead, she found Rebecca’s hand and guided her lover’s sensitive Þ ngers underneath the edge of her skirt, along the path her pleasure had streamed earlier, and to the center of her desire. Pressing Rebecca’s Þ ngers through the slick heat, into the waiting heart of her, she had no need for words.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sandy stood by the bedside, watching Mitchell sleep. An open book lay on her chest, the edges of the pages crumpled against her bare breast. Lamplight shone in her face, and she didn’t budge even when Sandy leaned down and kissed her lightly. Moving carefully, Sandy stripped and lifted the sheet to slide in next to the slumbering woman. As she reached to turn off the light, Mitchell stirred.

“Hey, honey,” Mitchell murmured, turning on her side, knocking the book to the ß oor in the process.

“Hi, baby.” Sandy snuggled close, edging her thigh between Mitchell’s. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm, in a minute.” With a contented sigh, Mitchell nuzzled Sandy’s neck, inhaling her scent. “Missed you.”

“You and Jason were so into your spy stuff when I left, I wasn’t even sure you heard me say goodbye.”

Mitchell chuckled and wrapped an arm around Sandy’s waist. “I heard you.” She kissed the tender spot below Sandy’s ear. “Everything okay?”

Sandy rubbed her palm back and forth across Mitchell’s chest, Þ nally trailing her Þ ngers over the inner curve of one small, Þ rm breast.

“Yeah.”

“You’re home earlier than usual. S’good.”

“Uh-huh.” Sandy debated sharing the news that she’d run into a girl at the Blue Diamond who’d seen Trudy in the club the night before, asking some of her old friends for a place to crash. After a few more stops in a few more strip joints, Sandy had Þ nally scored a phone number to get a message to Trudy. It wasn’t Trudy’s telephone number, of course. It was a link in a phone-message tree that the street girls often used to thwart their pimps when they were planning to cut out on them or if they just wanted privacy. Rather than risk having their cell phones

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conÞ scated and their messages intercepted, they passed messages from one to the other through a convoluted set of phone relays. Eventually a message would reach its intended recipient, and a callback number or time for a meeting would wend its way back up the tree to whoever had initiated the contact.

Sandy had gotten a return message—with the time and place for a meeting with Trudy the following night. She wasn’t certain their getting together would come to anything, because she didn’t know if the girl had any more information about the video porn ring than she’d already revealed. Still, it was a place to start, and Sandy could at least try to talk Trudy into contacting her if she learned anything new or if she had another offer to do a porn shoot. No way was one police raid going to shut down that kind of business for good. Anything selling sex was impossible to kill.