Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

“Slow,” Jason admitted, rubbing his eyes. “But we’ve got two for sure from almost a year ago.”

Sandy did not look away from the monitor, and Mitchell followed her gaze. The sound was off, making the image of a naked young woman rocking furiously astride the hips of a much older man, who lay on his back, seem nearly surreal.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, San?” Mitchell asked quietly.

“Kinda busy right now.”

Jason stood. “I could use a break. Let’s call it a night. I need to go home and catch a few hours’ sleep before we go out again.” He glanced toward Mitchell. “I’ll pick you up again, say midnight?”

Silently, Mitchell nodded, her eyes still on Sandy’s glacial countenance. She waited until Jason was gone, then rested her hand on Sandy’s shoulder. “Honey.”

Sandy swiveled on her chair and looked up, her face closed, her eyes shielded. “Did you kiss her?”

Fuck. Mitchell took a breath. “Is there a difference between me kissing her and her kissing me?”

“Not even a little.”

“Is there any room to talk about the job, and how I needed to convince her I was for real?”

Sandy folded her arms beneath her breasts, her jaws clenched tight. Mitchell’s stomach tied itself into a knot. What she hated more than the anger in Sandy’s eyes was the glimmer of hurt she couldn’t hide. That was far, far worse.

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“It didn’t mean anything,” Mitchell whispered. “It was a couple of kisses. That’s all.”

“Did she touch you?”

“Sandy, come on,” Mitchell pleaded.

“Did she?”

“Not in any way that mattered.” Mitchell’s voice was steady, solid.

“Nobody does except you.”

Mitchell waited for the eruption, expecting to be scalded, willing to be, if it would put them right. What she didn’t expect were the tears, and the sight literally brought her to her knees. “Oh fuck.” Kneeling in front of the chair, she put her arms around Sandy and pulled her against her chest. She stroked her back, kissed her forehead, brushed at the tears on her damp cheeks. “Honey, come on. Honey, don’t cry. You’re killing me.”

Sandy twisted the back of Mitchell’s T-shirt in her hands, pressing her face hard to Mitchell’s shoulder, struggling to stop the wash of emotion pouring through her. “You’re mine,” she whispered in a voice so quiet Mitchell struggled to hear. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever had that was mine.”

“Oh jeez,” Mitchell choked, lifting Sandy’s face, swiping her thumbs across Sandy’s cheeks. She kissed her mouth, her eyes, her cheeks. “I’ve never wanted to belong to anybody the way I belong to you. I am yours.”

Sandy was quiet for a long moment, her bruised blue eyes boring into Mitchell’s. Mitchell looked back, letting her search, hiding nothing.

“Yeah?” Sandy asked tremulously.

“Yeah.”

“I know about sex for money, Dell. I know about sex to stay alive.

I know about feeling nothing when somebody touches you.”

“That’s never gonna happen to you again,” Mitchell said Þ ercely.

Sandy smiled and touched Mitchell’s cheek. “And I know you, Dell. You don’t turn off so easy.”

“It’s just a job, honey. I’m just doing what I need to do for the job.

It’s an act.”

“Mitch is no act.”

Mitchell couldn’t argue. It was true. “Mitch knows the difference between sex and love. So do I.”

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“I don’t want you getting hurt. I don’t give a fuck about Frye’s operation, but I don’t want your cover getting blown and you getting hurt again.”

“Sandy, I’m not gonna get—”

“So you can fuck her if you have to,” Sandy said quietly. “I don’t even care if she gets off on it.”

“Oh jeez, honey—”

“But if she makes you come, I’ll kill her.”

Mitchell couldn’t be entirely certain, but she thought Sandy just might be serious. “That won’t happen. I swear.”

Sandy brushed her palm back and forth across Mitchell’s chest.

“You’re so sexy, Dell. I love how hot you are. I love how sexy you make me feel.” She caught Mitchell’s bottom lip in her teeth and tugged, then licked her way inside Mitchell’s mouth and kissed her until Mitchell couldn’t breathe. “I can’t help it if I want you all to myself.”

“You got me, honey,” Mitchell gasped, too stunned by the onslaught of sensation to make much sense of anything. Whenever she expected one thing from Sandy, she got just the opposite, and she couldn’t keep up. That was one of the things that she loved most about her. That, and her raw honesty. “I love you so much…it’s like this constant hunger needing to be fed.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry, rookie.” Sandy moved her hand from the center of Mitchell’s chest to her breast and teased her nipple into erection. “I don’t intend to ever let you go hungry.”

Mitchell knew if they stayed there much longer she’d be too turned on to walk. She was already so swollen and hard she ached. “We gotta get out of here. You’re making me crazy.”

“I know just what you need, baby.” Sandy smiled a slow, satisÞ ed smile and dropped her hand between Mitchell’s thighs, squeezing gently until Mitchell’s eyes blurred and she moaned quietly. “Let’s go home and I’ll show you.”

• 255 •

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Justice Served

CHAPTER THIRTY

Sunday, 11:00 p.m.

Michael stood in the doorway of the spare bedroom and watched Sloan remove a small walnut chest from the top shelf of the closet. The expression on her lover’s face as she keyed the lock was one that Michael did not think she had ever seen before.

Fierce concentration, which was not at all unusual, was underlain with what appeared to be grim determination. That hardness in Sloan’s rigid proÞ le produced a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Sloan looked dangerous, and cold.

Remaining silent, she saw Sloan remove Þ rst a soft, brown leather holster and then an enormous automatic handgun. At least to Michael the gun appeared enormous, because of what it signiÞ ed.

“Sloan?” Michael asked quietly.

Turning, the weapon in her hand, Sloan met Michael’s inquiring gaze. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t see how it can be, if you’re doing something that requires that.”

“It’s just a precaution. I’m going to ride backup with Rebecca later tonight, and I ought to be armed. I won’t be much use to her in an emergency if I’m not.” Sloan smiled and clipped the holster to the back of her belt, then slipped the automatic into it and out of sight.

“I’m licensed to carry it.” She slipped a slim leather folder from her rear pocket and ß ipped it open to display the laminated photo ID badge that Clark had provided her when she’d Þ rst agreed to investigate the Internet pornography ring. “And I’ve got my federal credentials to prove it. Just procedure. Nothing to worry about.”

The logic was faultless, as Sloan’s logic always was, but Michael knew that beneath that unassailable rationality seethed a host of volatile emotions that had yet to be assuaged. She could feel the cold hand of

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Sloan’s icy fury from across the room. “If he is there somewhere, you have to promise me you won’t do anything. Nothing at all.”

There was no need to deÞ ne who he was, because they both knew. Sloan had related some of the smuggling story to Michael, and it seemed only reasonable to her that the man who had nearly killed her in the misdirected murder attempt on Sloan might be one of the bodyguards who ferried the young smuggling victims from destination to destination. And if that were the case, Sloan was likely to come across him in the course of the surveillance or subsequent arrests.

Michael did not want her lover anywhere near that man when she was carrying a gun.

“Not a problem,” Sloan assured smoothly. But the hard edge in her eyes remained.

Shaking her head, Michael crossed the room and settled her arms around Sloan’s neck. She was close enough to kiss her, but she did not. Instead, she studied the depths of Sloan’s violet eyes, assessing their ever-changing emotional landscape. “Even if you were able to get away with taking revenge on whoever’s responsible for putting me in the hospital, you’re not that kind of person at heart. It would take something from you. Destroy something in you.” As Sloan began to protest, Michael shook her head again. “I need all of you. I need you.”

Sloan made a strangled sound in her throat and buried her face in Michael’s hair, holding her close, swaying as she stood with Michael in her arms. “If you knew how it felt when I thought I’d lost you…oh Jesus…”

“You didn’t and you won’t.” Michael thrust her hands into Sloan’s hair and tilted her head back, forcing Sloan to accept the truth in her eyes. “I love you and I will not leave you. You have to promise me the same. You have to take care of yourself.” She touched her Þ ngertips to a spot above Sloan’s breast, over her heart. “Here. Here where I need you so.”

“I promise,” Sloan said, her voice hoarse. “I promised you before, and I’ll keep my promise. I won’t do anything to hurt you.”

“Be sure that you don’t let anyone else hurt you either,” Michael whispered, her Þ ngers still buried in Sloan’s hair. She brought her mouth down on her lover’s, tasting her, taking her time and kissing her thoroughly until she was sure that she was all Sloan could feel. Then, reluctantly, she relinquished Sloan’s mouth. “I love you.”

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Sloan closed her eyes and rested her cheek against Michael’s. The anger had dulled, muted by the much more powerful force of what they shared. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything touch what we have.”

“Nothing ever could, darling,” Michael murmured, and kissed her again. “Take good care of yourself tonight. I’ll see you when you come home.”

v

Sandy answered the knock at the door and opened it wide to admit Rebecca.

“Hiya, Sandy,” Rebecca said, casting a quick glance around the small studio apartment. It was as neat as she remembered it from the one time she had been there before. The small sofa bed, closed and covered with colorful throw pillows, the slightly scratched coffee table in front of it, and the sparkling clean kitchenette off to one side.

“Hi,” Sandy replied with no hint of warmth.

“Mitchell ready?”

Sandy crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head toward the bathroom. “Just about.”

Rebecca walked to the coffee table and deposited the small canvas gym bag she carried in one hand. Squatting, she unzipped it and removed the contents, lining up the equipment she would need in a neat row. She looked up to the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Mitchell—Mitch—approached in tight, faded blue jeans and a torso-hugging black T-shirt. His chest was ß at, his face long and square jawed, his crotch obviously but not ostentatiously full. Had she not known differently, Rebecca would’ve thought him to be a young man of twenty. “The transmitter’s about the size of a deck of playing cards, a little bit thinner. Do you have room for it anywhere?”

“Where’s the best spot?” Mitch inquired, sliding his hands into his front pockets.

“Most guys will wear it down the back of their pants, maybe on their back, or occasionally in their crotch.”

Mitch’s lips twitched, and he unconsciously brushed the bulge beneath his ß y. “No room there.”