Неизвестный - 4. Justice In The Shadows

“Ah, hell,” Jason muttered, looking to Sarah for guidance.

Michael’s voice cut through the air. “Tell me. What?”

“She was working on finding the leak in the department—maybe she found it.”

“Someone tried to kill her and almost killed me instead. Don’t you realize what she’ll do? God, she’ll be crazy.” Michael’s voice was cold and eerily flat. “Find her, Jason. You find her right now and bring her home.”

Six a.m. Quitting time.

Sandy trudged up the dark narrow stairwell to the third floor on autopilot. She unlocked her apartment door, stepped inside, and stared at the woman sitting on the side of her bed. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Sandy found her voice.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to say I was sorry for being an asshole.”

“Okay. You said it.”

Mitchell curled her fingers over her knees to hide the shakes. She was so fucking tired. “I didn’t have any right to come down on you for leaving last night. I was…I was a little crazy.”

“You were a lot crazy if you think Frye and I have anything going on.”

“I know. I just…” Mitchell drew a long breath. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

When Mitchell started to rise, Sandy put a hand on her thigh, stopping her. “I’m sorry for leaving you in a state. I didn’t want to.”

Mitchell blushed. “Not your fault.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sandy bumped Mitchell’s shoulder with hers. “I thought it was.”

“I was so hot for you,” Mitchell whispered, glancing at Sandy with a half turn of her head. “I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what the fuck I was saying.”

“Was hot for me?”

“Am.” Mitchell took Sandy’s hand, caressed it gently. “Have been for quite a while.”

“Same here.” Sandy leaned her head on Mitchell’s shoulder. “You wanna stay?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Silently, they both rose, undressing slowly, watching each other in the breaking dawn light. Sandy lifted the covers and slid under, then held them open for Mitchell. The bed was narrow, and they turned to face one another, their bodies lightly touching. Mitchell rested her hand softly on Sandy’s hip. Sandy nestled her face close to Mitchell’s on the pillow.

“Is it okay if we just…” Sandy shivered. She’d never been this way with anyone. “Is just sleeping okay for now?”

“It’s fine.” Mitchell’s body was doing the all-over tingle thing again, and she was wet. But that was okay. It was good, great. Perfect. “You’re really beautiful, you know.”

“Dell,” Sandy said gently. “You are such a blockhead.”

Carefully, Mitchell inched forward and kissed Sandy, a tender whisper of lips brushing lightly. “I know. But you’re still beautiful.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Catherine lifted the phone mid-way through the second ring. “Hello?…Yes, she’s right here.” She extended the receiver to Rebecca. “It’s Jason.”

“Sorry, Rebecca…we can’t seem to find Sloan.”

Rebecca sat up, instantly alert. “I’ll be right over.”

Jason, unshaven in wrinkled clothes, looked up hopefully as Rebecca walked into the central office area just after eight a.m. “Anything?”

“Nothing.” Rebecca had never seen him with a hair out of place, even when he’d been lying on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back, Mitchell’s knee between his shoulder blades.

“I should have realized she’d go after whoever hurt Michael on her own. Michael is…everything to her.”

Rebecca understood that. That’s what she would do if anyone hurt Catherine. “It’s my fault. Not yours.”

“I know her bes—”

He cocked his head, listening to the sound of the elevator descending to the first floor, then the slow steady whir of the gears reversing. Together, he and Rebecca watched as the double-wide doors slid soundlessly open.

Sloan’s eyes were rimmed with dark shadows, her cheeks gaunt, her clothes beyond creased. Her shoulders sagged, and her step was unsteady.

“You hurt?” Rebecca asked sharply.

Sloan shook her head and sat heavily into the nearest chair. “I got him.”

Jesus, god. Rebecca’s body turned to ice. “Who?”

“Captain John William Henry.”

Rebecca’s face never changed expression but her stomach heaved. With effort, she kept her voice even. “What did you do?”

Sloan looked at her, her eyes slightly unfocused. “I sat across the street with my gun in my lap, locked and loaded, all night. Knew he’d be out early.”

Jason jumped to his feet. “Sloan, don’t say anything else! I’m calling Jack Goldberg.”

Sloan sat up straighter. “I don’t need an attorney.”

“Are you willing to talk to me without an attorney, Sloan?” Rebecca was quiet, nonthreatening, and she hadn’t moved an inch since Sloan arrived.

“No, she isn’t,” Jason said adamantly.

“I didn’t do anything.” Sloan leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. “He came out, he got in his car, he drove away.”

“That’s it?” Rebecca asked.

Sloan nodded.

“You carrying now?”

Again Sloan nodded.

Rebecca walked to her and extended her hand. “Give me you weapon.”

After a long moment, Sloan complied.

“Jason,” Rebecca said, ejecting the clip and putting it along with the automatic in her pocket, “take her upstairs and see that she stays there.”

“You can’t do that. This guy is mine.” Sloan jumped up, her eyes suddenly bright.

“Get her out of here, Jason.” Rebecca’s voice was flat and hard. “Now.”

Rebecca remained motionless until Jason and Sloan disappeared into the elevator. Captain Henry. And Sloan almost took him out. Christ, how many more ways can I screw up this case.

Mitchell was awakened by a persistent pulse of pleasure centered in her left breast. Raising her head, she focused on the blond head bent over her chest and watched Sandy suck her nipple between her lips.

“Ahh, jeez Sandy.” Mitchell’s head dropped back and she closed her eyes again. “What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sandy whispered, stretched out on top of Mitchell, one thigh between hers. “And I couldn’t stand to just look any longer.”

Eyes still closed, Mitchell trailed her fingers along Sandy’s side, brushing the curve of her bare breast. “Feels good. So good.”

“Mmm.”

Sandy shifted, nestling her own breast in Mitchell’s palm. Her voice was soft as she said, “You can touch me now.”

Ever so carefully Mitchell ran her fingertips over the gentle swell of silken skin, thumbing lightly back and forth across the erect nipple. Sandy made a small mewling sound.

“Okay?” Mitchell asked, opening her eyes and pushing up against the pillows.

Sandy nodded, lids half closed, as she rocked slowly against Mitchell’s leg. “You can do it…harder.”

“You sure?” Mitchell asked, squeezing rhythmically, harder each time.

“It…oh…Dell…I can feel it…all the way down.”

Mitchell groaned and captured the other breast in her hand. Sandy arched upward on extended arms, pressing her breasts harder into Mitchell palms. As Mitchell rolled and tugged her nipples, Sandy began to shiver, her hips moving insistently against Mitchell’s thigh.

“Stop,” Sandy gasped abruptly. “Dell, stop.”

Immediately, Mitchell stilled, her entire body rigid. Her voice was hoarse with tension and arousal. “What? Sandy, what? Did I hurt you?”

Sandy lowered herself against Mitchell’s body and pressed her face to Mitchell’s neck. She was trembling.

Mitchell caressed her back, rocking her gently in her arms. “Hey. Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Sandy mumbled, her fingers tracing the curve of Mitchell’s jaw. She kissed the side of Mitchell’s neck, then the corner of her mouth.

Mitchell worked to stay focused through the mists of arousal. “Sandy? Come on. Help me out here.”

“I’ve never come with anyone touching me before.”

Mitchell’s eyes darkened; her breath stuttered to a stop. She eased onto her side, keeping Sandy in her arms. Their heads rested close together on the pillow, their breasts and thighs lightly touching. “Do you want to?”

“I almost did, and then…” Sandy turned her face away.

Mitchell tapped a finger on Sandy’s chin. “And then?”

“I got scared.”

“Ah, babe.” Mitchell kissed Sandy gently. “I want what you want. You tell me.”

“I want to touch you.” Sandy drew a finger down the center of Mitchell’s body, resting her fingers in the dark triangle at the base of her abdomen. “I want to make you come.”

Mitchell moaned softly. “I want to touch you, too. So much.”

“I want you to,” Sandy whispered. She found Mitchell’s hand and pressed it between her own thighs. Her eyes flickered closed, then opened, the pupils wide and dark. “I don’t know if I can.”

Mitchell felt the heat, felt the hard shape of her desire, felt her tremble. “Anything you say…I’ll just stroke you a little, okay?”

“Yes. Yes.” Sandy slipped her fingers between Mitchell’s legs, squeezed lightly, and smiled when Mitchell gasped. When Mitchell mirrored the motion, she moaned. “Nice. Dell…that’s so nice.”

“Yeah.” Mitchell struggled not to come immediately.

“Dell,” Sandy breathed. Touching Mitchell made her so excited, she could barely discern what aroused her the most—Mitchell’s pleasure or her own. “Oh…you just got so hard.”

“I’m gonna come,” Mitchell gasped. She pressed her forehead to Sandy’s, groaning softly as she spasmed in Sandy’s palm, shuddering with the swift and merciful release of the tension in her depths. “Sandy. Sandy.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sandy watched in awe as Mitchell closed her eyes and arched her back, so beautiful. The sharp rise of her own orgasm took her by surprise and she cried out, every muscle clenching as it struck.

“Incredible,” Mitchell whispered. Her throat closed around sudden tears, and she swallowed hard. “You are so beautiful.”

“Yeah?” She still had her hand between Mitchell’s thighs. She pressed the base of the swollen clitoris, then stroked.

“Uh-huh.” Mitchell jerked, moaning softly.

“You’re doing that again.”

“What?” Mitchell’s voice was hoarse, her stomach tight.

“Getting really hard.”

“That’s cause…you’re making me come again. Ah…god.”

Sandy leaned up on an elbow, grinning. “Yeah?”

“Ye…” Mitchell choked on the word, coming too hard to do anything but fight for air. When the last ripple of orgasm faded, she fell back, gasping. “Thank you.”

Sandy’s smile of self-congratulation changed to an expression of astonishment. “Dell, Jesus. You’re nuts.”

Mitchell tried to focus and finally fixed on Sandy’s face. “Why?”

“Because…I wanted to be with you.” Sandy leaned near and kissed her. Long and deep and hard. “You got a girlfriend, rookie?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“I’m holding out for Mitch’s girl.”

Sandy laughed. “I don’t know, Dell. Mitch is fucking hot.”

“Uh-huh. I noticed you thought so.”

“Yeah, I did.” Sandy rolled over and straddled Mitchell’s hips, rubbing herself against the base of Mitchell’s belly. She was still wet and the fleeting friction against her erect clitoris made her groan. “But then, so are you. Big time.”

Mitchell reached for Sandy’s breasts, gently cupping them as she arched her hips, making Sandy bite her lower lip and close her eyes. “So I’ve got a chance?”

“We’ll see, rookie,” Sandy whispered. “We’ll see.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Michael rested her palm against Sloan’s chest and smiled faintly. “You look awful. Take a shower and go to bed.”

A few minutes later, Sloan, naked and still damp, emerged from the bathroom.

“Come to bed.” Michael loosed her robe and slid under the sheets, stretching an arm out across the pillow.

Sloan lay down next to her, rested her cheek on Michael’s shoulder, and sighed. It had seemed so clear when she’d arrived outside Catian’s Henry’s house what she needed to do, but as time passed, she’d become confused and uncertain. She knew Michael wouldn’t want her to take matters into her own hands; Frye would know immediately it was her doing if anything happened to the guy; and, as she turned the automatic over and over in her hands, she had come to doubt that she could pull the trigger. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You didn’t worry me so much,” Michael replied, threading her fingers into Sloan’s thick, dark hair. “You scared me.”

“I’m really beat, baby,” Sloan murmured. “I fucked up last night. I…I’m not thinking right. I haven’t been right since you got hurt.”

“I know, love.” Michael kissed Sloan’s forehead. “Everything is going to be all right. I’m going to be all right. So are you.”

Sloan didn’t reply. She was already asleep.

Michael closed her eyes. They were together, and it was a start.

Mitchell stepped off the elevator at Sloan Security and hurried down the hallway toward the sound of voices. She was late. Way late. She thought about Sandy as she’d last seen her, lying naked, asleep in the midst of the tangled sheets. Feeling almost high, Mitchell grinned, knowing that she wouldn’t have changed anything about the last few hours.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mitchell said, her eyes on Rebecca.

Watts gave her a hard stare. “Late night out with the boys, Officer?”

“No, sir, I—”

“Did you get settled into the apartment?” Rebecca asked briskly.

“Yes, ma’am, I di—”

“Good. Sit down. We were in the middle of a briefing.”

Mitchell sat, her gaze forward. What the hell has happened? And where is Sloan?

“Sloan thinks she’s nailed our leak. I want to be sure, because we’re going to have to concentrate all our resources on building a case against him if she’s right.” With a black marker, she wrote Suspects at the top of the blank board and underlined it. “Let’s go through them, one by one.”

Next she wrote Police Dept to the far left of the board. Beneath it, she wrote Captain Henry—Special Crimes, Adams—Civilian Clerk-SC, Trish Marks—Homicide, Charlie Horton—Homicide.

She moved over an inch and wrote City Hall. “Watts? Want to fill in the players?”

Watts pulled a tattered leather bound notebook from the inside of his brown suit jacket, flipped it open, and read dispassionately. “Two ADAs handled the warrant for the bust at LongJohn’s. That would be Margaret Campbell and…uh…George Beecher. The judge was Sally Marchamp.”

As he spoke, Rebecca added the names. With one more shift to her right, she headed the last column under Suspects with Civilians. Beneath that, she wrote Whitaker and Rawlings. When she turned, she met her lover’s gaze. Much as she’d expected, Catherine regarded her calmly, but there was a quizzical expression in her eyes.

Rebecca surveyed the room. “Who can we absolutely eliminate?”