Неизвестный - 4. Justice In The Shadows

As he snorted and picked up the money, Sandy hefted the bottle and turned in Mitch’s direction. Their eyes met, and Sandy nodded, then turned and walked away.

“What do you think?” Watts asked.

“I think there’s going to be a meet right now,” Rebecca said sharply. “Christ almighty. We’ve got three people in there, and we’re deaf and blind out here. There’s no way we’re going to know what’s going on.”

“She should have waited, god damn it.” Furious, Watts regarded the windowless door of the sex club. “We were supposed to get her the wire tomorrow.”

“She gets the call, she goes. Sandy knows the game.” Rebecca’s stomach writhed with apprehension, but her voice was cool, her face expressionless. “Jasmine and Mitch will keep an eye on her while she’s inside.”

“Right—a flaming fruit civilian and a rookie whose head is harder than her dick.”

“They’ll stand up,” Rebecca murmured, recognizing Watts’s insults for what they were. Concern. Gaze nailed to the door, she willed Sandy to walk back through it. Come on, sweetheart. Bring him out to us.

“You want I should call for backup?”

“For what? Right now all we’ve got is a CI looking for information.” Rebecca shook her head, then, with more confidence than she felt, said, “We’ll tail them when they leave—find his studio.”

“This don’t smell right.”

I know.

A few minutes later, Mitch watched from the bar as a muscular, dark-haired man in a surprisingly expensive looking suit entered from the rear of the semi-dark room. The newcomer stopped at the far corner of the stage where two women continued to gyrate and casually, but thoroughly, surveyed the room. After his perusal of the bar’s occupants, the man walked to Sandy’s table and sat down.

It was the guy from the video. There was no way for Mitch to get close enough to hear the conversation. All he could do was watch helplessly as the man leaned forward and put his fingers beneath Sandy’s chin, then turned her head from one side to the other. Acid burned a hole in Mitch’s stomach, and when the stranger ran a thick index finger down the side of Sandy’s neck and then between her breasts, Mitch’s vision blurred with a combination of rage and sick terror.

Do the job. He forced himself to walk casually back to his seat. As he sat, he slid an arm around Jasmine’s shoulders. “You see them?”

“Yes.” Jasmine snuggled beneath Mitch’s arm, keeping her voice low. Mitch’s body vibrated with tension. “Take it easy. Nothing’s going to happen in here.”

“I’m not worried about in here.”

“Rebecca’s outside.”

Mitch stiffened as Sandy, Trudy, and the man rose. “They’re going to go out the back door. Fuck. Frye won’t see them leave.”

“Mitch,” Jasmine warned as Mitch stood. “What—”

“I’ll take my bike down the alley and come around on the street behind the bar. I should be able to pick them up from there. Tell Frye.”

“Wait for back-up…”

But Mitch was already half-way to the door, and he was not turning back. He was not going to let Sandy disappear into the night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The young cop swung a leg over the motorcycle, started the engine with one swift, hard leg kick, and wheeled the motorcycle down the alley next to the building that housed the bar. In less than five seconds, she had disappeared from sight.

Watts turned in his seat with some difficulty, released the lock on the rear door, and Jasmine tumbled in, saying breathlessly, “Thanks. They’re on their way…out the …rear exit.”

God damn it. Rebecca gritted her teeth, knowing that they’d been caught unprepared. “What the hell is Mitchell doing?”

“Following them,” Jasmine reported grimly.

“Jesus Christ.” Slowing, Rebecca edged the vehicle into what was little more than a wide alley. Most of the buildings that backed up to it were dark.

“There!” Jasmine pointed through the windshield as she leaned forward over the front seat. “At the other end of the alley—I think I saw taillights.”

At almost four in the morning, there was very little traffic in North Philadelphia. Since she hadn’t seen the target vehicle, she was forced to follow the motorcycle, hoping that Mitchell could manage to keep the suspect in sight. She followed the motorcycle as closely as she dared, using the few cars that were on the road for cover.

“Jesus H. Christ on a crutch,” Watts muttered. “I hope to hell that rookie doesn’t give himself…herself…ah, fuck…the tail away. If these guys think they’ve been made, they’ll do those girls and dump them somewhere.”

Watts was right, and Rebecca said nothing, her jaws clamped tight and her unblinking eyes fixed hard on the road in front of her. As they turned onto a dark street of mostly abandoned buildings and empty lots, Mitchell surprised her by accelerating fast and disappearing, the red taillight of the motorcycle fading like a candle extinguished in the wind.

“Let’s hope that was a signal,” Rebecca murmured as she pulled to the curb behind a broken-down car that sat tireless on rusted rims. She looked in all directions and saw no sign of life. There were half a dozen vehicles parked along both sides of the street, but no one on foot and no lights in any of the buildings.

Five minutes passed.

No one spoke.

Rebecca tilted her head, concentrating on a faint rumble in the distance. She glanced into the rearview mirror. There were no streetlights and little moon, and the street behind her was shrouded in shadows. As she watched, a ghostlike form emerged.

Watts glanced over his shoulder. “Son of a bitch.”

Driving without lights, Mitchell slid the big motorcycle in behind the surveillance sedan and cut the engine. Keeping low, she came alongside the vehicle and tapped on Watts’s door.

“Where are they?” Watts asked as he opened the door to find Mitchell crouched beside the car.

“Fourth building down from the end of the street on the right. Warehouse of some kind.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said briskly. “Watts, call for two black and whites for backup. We’ll take one unit in with us and put another on the vehicle in the alley.”

“You want to take him now,” Watts asked flatly.

“We have him ID’d from the video. We know he’s in there with at least one minor and violating local, state, and federal laws. I’d say we have probable cause.” She glanced at Mitchell whose eyes were riveted on her face. “Besides, if we don’t move on this, Sandy and Trudy are going to have to go through with the video.”

Watts’s face hardened. “Then let’s bust up his party.”

Against Watts’s objections, Rebecca went through the door first. She took in the big room in one sweeping glance. The studio set up right in the middle and brightly lit. Same bed, same backdrop, same pathetic props. Same star, except this time the woman he had his hands on was Sandy, and Rebecca wanted to drop him in his tracks. Her blood was burning, but her mind was crystal clear.

She shouted police and never stopped running until she had her weapon in his face and her knee in his crotch. Then she flipped him onto his stomach and slapped on the restraints.

“The other guy’s headed out the back,” one of the uniforms yelled and ran after him.

“Watts, cover this guy.” Rebecca got quickly to her feet and glanced at Sandy. You okay?

Sandy nodded, her face pale but her eyes clear. She smiled weakly. Glad ya made it.

“And keep your eye on these two,” Rebecca ordered for the suspect’s benefit as she headed after the uniforms to join in the pursuit.

Sandy wanted to ask where Dell was, but she wasn’t supposed to know these cops. She wasn’t supposed to be anything other than a hooker making some quick money in a skin flick. But the question was in her eyes as she looked at Watts.

The alley was dark and the bricks against Mitchell’s back were rough and cold. When the side door banged open and a large dark figure hurtled through, she saw was the patrol officers tackle the guy.

He was big and strong and he didn’t go easy. Both uniforms were on him, and still he writhed and twisted and kicked. The alley reverberated with shouts and grunts and curses. Mitchell came at a run from her spot just inside the mouth of the alley where Frye had positioned her.

She was three feet away from the thrashing snarl of arms and legs when she saw the glint of steel as the suspect pulled the blade from his boot. He swung it in a flashing arc toward the back of the female officer who had him pinned and Mitchell dove.

“Knife!” She shouted while still in mid-air.

The knife caught her in the left thigh before the second officer grabbed the suspect’s arm and efficiently snapped it. For the first few seconds it didn’t hurt at all, and then the pain rose up like a wave of red fire and took her breath away. She rolled away, grabbed for the shank buried in her thigh, and reflexively pulled it out. It took all her willpower to clamp down on the scream that threatened to erupt from her. Oh fuck, fuck. God. It hurts.

From somewhere close she heard shouts and then a steady deep voice that seemed to penetrate the pandemonium with calm strength.

“Stay put, Mitchell,” Rebecca said sharply as she bent down. “Let me get a look.”

“I’m…okay, sergeant,” Mitchell gasped, coughing. “Sandy…is she okay? Did he—”

“She’s fine. He never touched her.” At least that’s the story unless she tells you different.

“Tell her…I’m all right.”

“You can tell her yourself in a little while.” Rebecca looked at the pool of blood beneath Mitchell’s leg and her stomach roiled. There looked to be a lot of it. She pulled off her jacket and wrapped the sleeve tightly around Mitchell’s thigh, then pulled out her cell phone and called for an ambulance. Kneeling, she put one hand on Mitchell’s head, and with the other she applied steady pressure over the leaking wound in the younger woman’s thigh. Mitchell’s skin was clammy. “You just take it easy.”

Catherine jerked awake at the first ring of the phone, her heart pounding. Her eyes flew to the clock. 5:44.

She knew instantly that she was alone, and she knew with absolute certainty what the call was about. Oh my god. No!

“Dr. Rawlings.”

“Catherine, I’m fine,” Rebecca said immediately.

The relief was swift and sweet, but short-lived. “What is it?”

“Mitchell’s on the way to University. Knife wound. I can’t leave the scene…”

“I’m on my way,” Catherine said at once as she pushed back the covers and rose. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Fine. I’ll be there soon.” Another pause. “Catherine, take good care of Mitchell.”

“Like she was my own.”

“I love you. I gotta run.”

The phone went dead.

I love you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Interesting team you’ve got here, Frye,” Dee Flanagan said as she stood just inside the warehouse door, hands on hips, surveying what was now her crime scene. Her blue-jacketed CSU techs were busy photographing the studio, diagramming the layout, and collecting and cataloging evidence. To her left, an astonishingly sexy woman in clothes that should rightfully only be worn between the hours of midnight and five a.m. sat conferring with Sloan before a bank of video monitors, computer screens, and other electronic equipment.

“Unconventional, perhaps, but unparalleled.” Because she trusted Flanagan as she trusted almost no one else in the department, with the exception of Watts, and because she needed to see for herself that Mitchell was all right, Rebecca added, “As soon as Sloan is satisfied that the electronic data is secure, you can take anything out of here that you need to.”

Again, Flanagan nodded, her eyes everywhere at once, ensuring that everything was being handled appropriately. “Looks like you made a big score tonight, Frye. Nice going.”

It was true, but it wasn’t everything that she wanted. They had a piece of the puzzle, and they were likely to get media-worthy arrests from it. But she didn’t yet have the source of the leak within the department, and she didn’t have Jeff Cruz and Jimmy Hogan’s killer. She didn’t have Michael’s assailant. They’d made a start, but the job was far from finished. “What I’ve got is an officer in the hospital.” Rebecca sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Hell.”

“Go take care of business, Detective.” Flanagan patted Rebecca’s back and walked off to chastise a tech for failing to blue light the sheets on the bed for bodily fluids before bagging them.

“Look, I don’t need to be examined by any gynecologist. The guy didn’t leave anything on or in me,” Sandy said hotly. “And believe me, I’d know.”

“It’s just routine.” Watts pulled the unmarked surveillance sedan into the turnaround in front of the emergency department at University hospital.

Sandy eyed him suspiciously. He hadn’t looked at her once since they’d gotten into the car, and he hadn’t insulted her, made any lewd comments, or been the least bit suggestive. Something was wrong. There was only one thing she could think of that he would keep from her. Her stomach cramped. “Where’s Dell?”

“The operation is still ongoing,” Watts replied stiffly.

“I want to talk to her right now. Get her on the phone.” The longer he stalled, the more frightened she became. Oh, baby, what’s happened? Where are you?

“Fuck me.” Watts rubbed his face with both hands, wondering what he’d done to deserve this ass-end of the detail. “Okay, just take it easy, okay? She got a little dinged up, and she’s in the ER being looked—hey!”

He stared after Sandy’s retreating back as she raced toward the emergency room entrance.

Catherine stepped outside the curtain just in time to witness Sandy rush headlong down the corridor. She reached out and caught Sandy’s arm. “Are you hurt?”

Sandy shook her head vehemently. “Is Dell here?”

“Right inside,” Catherine replied with a tilt of her head toward the curtain.

“Is she—” Sandy’s voice broke. “Can I see her?”

“I don’t see why not.” Catherine took Sandy’s hand and with the other reached to pull the curtain aside. “She’s going to be fine.”

“Sure,” Sandy said flatly. Like anyone would tell me the truth.

It was worse than she expected.

Mitchell lay on a stretcher, eyes closed, with intravenous lines running into both arms. And she was white. Not pale. White. Sandy’s heart sank. Slowly, she walked to the head of the stretcher and touched her fingers to Mitchell’s cheek. “Dell? Baby?”

Mitchell’s lids flickered open, her pupils wide and unfocused. She blinked, her vision cleared, and she focused on Sandy’s face. “It’s okay.”

“You hurting?” Sandy’s lip trembled and she caught it in her teeth. She stroked her hand over Mitchell’s hair.

“Not so much. They gave me stuff.”

The tears came. Sandy couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t been able to stop the tears. But it was all too big, too much to hold inside. Letting Dell into her life, loving her, the terrible fear of losing her.