Неизвестный - 4. Justice In The Shadows

It was a victory, and it felt good. She knew, though, that such triumphs were short-lived, and the beast would rise again. That’s what police work was—a series of battles in a war that was never won. She had learned to take satisfaction in each small conquest, but there were days when she wearied. She squared her shoulders. “But we’re not done yet. We’ve got days of interrogations in front of us, because the distributors are all hard-core professionals, and they’re not going to roll easily, if at all. Plus, we still don’t have a handle on where the girls are coming from.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asked.

“This operation was too big and too well organized to rely on casual street-pick ups like last night. I’m willing to bet there are still girls out there being exploited by the guys who set up this deal, if not for other videos, then for good old-fashioned cash money.”

“Yeah,” Watts agreed. “And we still need to plug our leak.”

Rebecca just nodded. “Sloan? Anything on that?”

Sloan hesitated then blew out a breath. “I’ve got two very good possibles as the identity of our inside ‘man.’” She stood, too restless to sit. “Margaret Campbell, age twenty-nine, joined the DA’s office three years ago. Single, one child.”

“Divorced?” Watts asked, suddenly serious.

Sloan shook her head. “Never married.”

“A woman,” Rebecca mused. “In the middle of a porn operation?”

“She doesn’t have to be part of the porn network itself,” Sloan pointed out. “She just needs to be tied to whoever is behind the pornography racket.”

“And is she?”

“Counselor Campbell used to dance in a strip club in Manhattan. Since it was during the time she was a law student at NYU, I’d guess she did it to pay the rent.”

“So,” Watts said, “you figure what…she got into trouble while working the wrong side of the street and owes someone now?”

“Could be.” Sloan leaned against the counter and jammed her hands into her pockets. “Zamora or someone in his organization could be squeezing her.”

“Anything else that doesn’t look kosher?” Rebecca asked. She’d worked with Campbell a few times. Tough and competent. But she didn’t know her. And she’d learned not to trust anyone she didn’t know. “Like big cases she lost that might have been mobbed up?”

“None that I found, but I haven’t exhausted the search.”

“And the other one?” Rebecca asked.

“The other ADA—George Beecher.” Sloan rolled her shoulders and swallowed the rest of her champagne. “On the surface, he doesn’t fit our profiler at all. Thirty-two, been with the DA’s office four years. Ivy leaguer, comes from old money, owns a condo on the waterfront—which he can afford.”

“So why do you like him?” Rebecca asked.

“When he was twenty, Counselor Beecher was charged with raping a coed at a fraternity party.”

Watts straightened abruptly. “Charged—but no conviction?”

“Charges dropped. Could be the victim recanted, could be she was paid off, could be she just didn’t want to go through the indignity and humiliation of a trial.” Sloan’s features hardened. “Justice is not necessarily kind.”

“So what now?” Rebecca asked.

Sloan looked at Jason. “Time estimate?”

“Depends on if we get lucky. A few days, could be a few weeks.”

She turned to Rebecca. “We have to…access…the home and work computers of both subjects, look at phone records—including mobiles, dig out every bit of electronic data available, and do it without whoever launched that worm in the first place noticing.”

Rebecca rose and walked to the windows, surveying the familiar view. She was surprised at how hard it was to say what she had to say next. The group behind her was silent. At last she turned.

“All we’ve got are suspicions and conjecture and gut feelings, but no hard evidence. And our bust tonight has made my Captain very happy. We salvaged something out of that federal fubar. He’s made the brass happy because the numbers look great. City Hall is happy because we made the national news. Everybody’s happy—end of story.”

“But the case isn’t finished,” Watts complained.

“That’s the way we see it—but to the powers that be, it’s all wrapped up with a nice little bow.”

“Well,” Sloan said calmly. “We all know how politics work. It was a pleasure working with you, Sergeant. You, too, Watts.”

Rebecca regarded Sloan thoughtfully, then said to Jason and Watts, “You want to give us a minute?”

Watts picked up the champagne bottle and gestured to Jason. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.” He cocked his head as Jason rose. “Although I kinda wish you were wearing that little red number.”

Jason’s perfect eyebrow arched. “And you think Sloan is scary?”

As the two men left, Rebecca walked over to Sloan. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“Would you, if it had been Catherine?”

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a cop.”

“Your point is?”

“Don’t go rogue on this, Sloan.”

“Then figure out how to sell it to your Captain, Sergeant.”

“I thought I heard you come in,” Catherine said, sitting on the arm of the overstuffed chair and threading her arm around Rebecca’s shoulders. “Are you going to come to bed? It’s late, darling, and you’re exhausted.”

Rebecca leaned her head against Catherine’s shoulder, rubbing her cheek over the soft silk of the ivory camisole. “I’m still keyed up, I guess.”

“You looked very calm on TV,” Catherine murmured, rubbing the tense muscles at the base of her lover’s neck. “In fact, you looked fabulous.”

“God, you feel good.” Rebecca closed her eyes, lulled by the gentle hands and the sweet seductive fragrance of Catherine’s skin.

“So do you.” Catherine reminded herself that Rebecca had been working for nearly two days straight, but her body didn’t seem to be listening. She slid her fingers beneath the collar of her lover’s shirt and stroked the skin above her left breast.

Rebecca groaned, feeling the familiar ache settle between her thighs. “I need to shower.”

“And then you need to sleep.” Catherine’s voice was breathy with desire.

“I will,” Rebecca promised, pulling Catherine into her lap. As she kissed her, she slipped her fingers beneath the sheer material and cupped Catherine’s breast. She moaned in appreciation as the nipple hardened instantly against her palm. “Later.”

Catherine wrapped her arms around Rebecca’s shoulders and fisted the hair at the back of her neck, losing herself in the pleasure of Rebecca’s mouth. When she felt Rebecca’s hand drift lower, across her abdomen and under the edge of her silk pajama bottoms, she stopped the questing hand with her own. Gasping, she warned, “If you start, you’ll have to finish. You know I can’t hold back when you do that.”

“I was planning on finishing,” Rebecca growled, brushing her fingers over the inside of Catherine’s thigh. “Ah god, you’re wet.”

“Then go shower and come to bed,” Catherine said urgently. She pushed away and stood on trembling legs. “Because I want you to finish with me.”

Rebecca’s eyes darkened, and she rose quickly, all thoughts of fatigue, of frustration, of powerlessness gone. Now, there was only Catherine.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Rebecca. Rebecca, darling, it’s time to get up.”

Groaning, Rebecca turned onto her back, opened her eyes, and blinked against the light, which seemed awfully bright even though the lamp on the dresser was turned down low. It took her a second to focus on Catherine, who stood beside the bed in a two-piece, deep plum colored silk suit, the jacket of which she wore buttoned over apparently very little.

“Nice.”

“What?” Catherine asked, perplexed.

“The jacket.”

Catherine glanced down and blushed, noting where Rebecca’s gaze was fixed. “This is my going-to-work suit. It is not supposed to be seductive.”

“Sorry, but it is.”

“To you, maybe,” Catherine noted with a laugh.

“Not maybe—definitely. Any chance you could come back to bed?”

“None.” Catherine leaned over and kissed her, then stepped back out of touching range. She didn’t trust her lover, or herself. “Besides, I thought I’d taken care of that particular urge of yours not too long ago.”

“You did, spectacularly, but that was last night. Today’s a brand new day.” Rebecca sat up against the pillows, carelessly unconcerned about her nakedness as the sheet fell away. “What time is it?”

“Seven.” Catherine’s eyes flickered over the scar so very close to Rebecca’s heart and her own heart missed a beat. God, it was so close.

“How come you’re up and I’m not?”

Catherine forced a smile. “Because I need to leave for work, and you needed to sleep.”

Rebecca patted a spot on the bed next to her. “Stay for just a minute.”

“Mmm—okay, but you’re not allowed to touch.” Catherine sat on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs, her skirt sliding to mid thigh.

“I’m not very good with authority figures.” To prove her point, Rebecca leaned forward and kissed the cleft between Catherine’s breasts. “Or…” Rebecca ran her finger under the hem of the skirt, “orders.”

Deftly, Catherine captured Rebecca’s fingers and moved them. “I’m in doctor mode and therefore immune to your charms.”

“So this is what happens to romance when you live together, huh?” Rebecca’s eyes were dancing.

“We’re not living together,” Catherine said softly, her eyes searching Rebecca’s face.

“I seem to remember you asking.” Rebecca’s blue eyes were serious now.

“I did. Yes.” Catherine traced her fingers along Rebecca’s jaw and down her neck. “And I sincerely doubt that seeing you like this more often would dampen my ardor.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rebecca’s voice was husky.

“I can assure you, my love, that fifty years from now I’ll look at you and want you just as much as ever.”

“Those seem like pretty good terms to me.”

“I want you to be sure.” Catherine’s voice was gentle, her smile wistful.

Rebecca leaned forward, her hands framing Catherine’s face, her thumbs brushing the elegant cheeks. Her mouth was very near to Catherine’s when she murmured, “I’m certain that I could never love anyone more and that I will never stop loving you.”

Catherine slips curved into a smile against Rebecca’s mouth. “Those seem like the perfect terms to me.”

“Well, well, well,” Captain Henry said with undisguised delight. “The detective of the hour. Sit down, Sergeant…or should I be the first to say, Lieutenant?”

“Sir?” Rebecca sat in the familiar chair and crossed her trousered legs.

“You’re not going to be able to refuse the promotion this time, Frye. I’ve already had a call from the Chief who said he speaks for the Commissioner, and they both want your promotion made effective immediately. The department needs good officers, and you’ve earned this.”

The department wants to be able to point to a few women of rank, come election time. Rebecca chose her words carefully. She wasn’t entirely certain she wanted a promotion, especially not if it meant she’d be riding a desk at One Police Plaza. But perhaps she could play this to her advantage.

“I’m a street cop, Captain. I don’t want to sit in an office and push paper.” She held his gaze. “There’s still work to be done on the case my team’s been investigating.”