Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

Watts picked up the shipping manifests and schedules, his smile still in place. “It only takes one.”

Thinking of Michael, Sloan nodded, her Þ ngers already racing over the keyboard. “As long as it’s the right one.”

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Justice Served

Monday, 1:00 p.m., Sloan Security OfÞ ces

Mitchell rested her hands lightly on Sandy’s shoulders and bent down to kiss her cheek. “How’s it going?”

Sandy tilted her head back and sighed. “We’re almost done.”

“We picked up the Þ rst one that Trudy did,” Jason informed her.

“You should take a look at the one right before it.”

“Why?”

Wordlessly, Jason scanned the disk and, Þ nding the Þ le he wanted, played the image. Mitchell hunkered down next to Sandy, resting her hand on her girlfriend’s knee as she stared at the monitor. The setting was generic—a nondescript bedroom, very little in the way of decoration, harsh studio lighting. Two naked women and a man lay tangled together on rumpled sheets. As she watched, Mitchell saw the two women get to their knees and then straddle the man. While facing each other, one lowered herself onto his erect penis and the other settled over his face. Then, they leaned toward one another and kissed. The woman who rocked rhythmically above his mouth was Irina.

“Fuck,” Mitchell said.

“Looks like she came up through the ranks,” Jason remarked.

“Probably supervising the girls looks like a lot better job to her than this did.”

“Is that her?” Sandy asked quietly. She looked at Mitchell. “The one you’re hooked up with?”

Mitchell didn’t see any point in correcting her terminology. “Yeah.

That’s her.”

Sandy narrowed her eyes and studied the images. “Nice body.”

“Turn it off, Jason, will you,” Mitchell said curtly. She took a breath, struggling to clear her head, but the anger kept pushing back.

“Can we use this somehow?”

“I don’t know,” Jason said. “Maybe. It’s more circumstantial evidence to tie the girls at Ziggie’s to the porn ring. By itself, it probably doesn’t mean much. But it’s one more piece of the puzzle.”

“Yeah.” Mitchell stood and tried to shake the tension from her shoulders. “What about the ones Trudy and her friends did? Do they fall out at the times Hogan was investigating those ships?”

“Yep. Right on target.”

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“You think this will be enough for the lieutenant to go to Captain Henry?”

“If Watts and Sloan come up with something for us at Port Authority, I think so.”

A muscle in Mitchell’s jaw jumped. “Good. ’Cause I’m ready to end this.” She turned and stalked the length of the building to the windows that overlooked the river. She braced both hands against the steel frame and stared out, but she wasn’t seeing the water or the ships or the arch of bridge that dwarfed it all. She was remembering the vacant look on the women’s faces as the cameras captured their pantomime of passion. She barely moved when she felt Sandy’s arms come around her from behind. She knew her lover’s touch so well that no words of recognition were necessary.

“What you thinkin’?” Sandy asked, resting her cheek between Mitchell’s shoulder blades.

“I was thinking that I’m no better than that guy in the video.

Just using her—only because I’m doing it in the name of justice, it’s somehow supposed to be better.” Her tone was bitter, her body stiff and unyielding.

“Somehow I don’t see that guy feeling guilty about getting off,”

Sandy said. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the back of Mitchell’s neck, her arms crossed around Mitchell’s middle. “And because he never gave it a thought and you’re standing here feeling bad about giving her what I’m willing to bet she wants, that shoots your argument full of holes, rookie.”

“The lieutenant said this morning that it takes somebody special to be undercover.” Mitchell’s voice wavered. “I don’t think I can do it.”

Sandy angled her hips and spun Mitchell around to face her, then planted her palms ß at against Mitchell’s chest. “Let’s just get clear on what’s really going on, okay? Do you feel bad because you’re lying to Irina or lying to yourself?”

Mitchell frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What do you feel worse about?” Sandy said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “That Irina doesn’t know you’re a cop, or because deep down inside, you really want to fuck her?”

“What I feel bad about,” Mitchell said quietly, “is that deep down inside, I really don’t.”

Sandy cupped her Þ ngers around the edge of Mitchell’s jaw and

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kissed her sweetly on the mouth. “I knew it had to be something twisted like that, because only you could get yourself all worked up over not wanting something.”

Despite herself, Mitchell grinned. “You think you’ve got me all Þ gured out, don’t you.”

Solemnly, Sandy shook her head. “Uh-uh.” She moved her hand over Mitchell’s heart. “The only thing I know for sure is that you’re good. Really good, inside. I love that about you.”

Mitchell swept her up into a hug, lifting her off her feet with the force of the embrace. She kissed her, holding her off the ground, lost inside her. Only Sandy’s Þ st in her hair tugging her head back brought her back to awareness.

“Jesus, baby, cut it out,” Sandy ordered. “We’re supposed to be working here.”

Chest heaving, Mitchell set her down but kept her arms loosely around Sandy’s waist. “I love you. You make everything inside of me feel right.”

Sandy smiled. “Ditto, rookie. Ditto.”

Monday, 5:20 p.m., Police Plaza

“You think we’ll be able to get this by Clark?” Watts asked as he and Rebecca stepped off the elevators.

“Not indeÞ nitely, but maybe just long enough.”

“You think maybe we should wait on telling Henry, then?”

Rebecca shook her head as they approached the Vice Squad room. “We need to put Mitch back in Ziggie’s tonight, or else Irina will wonder why he’s not there. And I don’t think she’s going to wait another night to get him alone somewhere. We have to alert Henry that we may need backup if the bust goes down. We can’t risk Mitch out there by himself.”

“When are you going to let me listen to that tape from last night?”

Watts asked for the tenth time.

“You’re starting to piss me off, Watts,” Rebecca warned.

“If I’d been with you instead of riding hind tit in the second car on

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the surveillance last night, I woulda got to hear Mitch in action instead of Sloan.” His tone turned wistful. “I bet that boy is smooth.”

Rebecca stopped short just outside Henry’s ofÞ ce. “Watts, are you trying to tell me you think you can learn something from Mitchell about the ladies?”

“Have you happened to see the way Sandy looks at her? Like she’s been starving for a month, and Mitchell’s USDA prime.”

“We’re not going there.” Rebecca shook her head and knocked on Captain Henry’s door. “End of conversation.”

“All the same,” Watts muttered as he followed her inside. “I shoulda been listening.”

Then the rumble of Henry’s deep voice commanded their attention as the door swung closed behind them. Showtime.

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Justice Served

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Monday, 6:40 p.m., University Hospital

Well,” Catherine said, slowing as she approached Rebecca, who leaned against a column in the hospital lobby. “This is a nice surprise.”

Rebecca pushed away from the column and kissed Catherine’s cheek. “Done for the day?”

Catherine hooked her arm through Rebecca’s as they both turned toward the lobby exit. “I am. And I don’t have any patients scheduled tonight. How about you?”

“I’ve got work later.” Rebecca went on quickly, “I thought we could grab a bite to eat, unless you want to have something at home?”

“Let’s do something easy, and you can tell me what prompted you to come pick me up.”

“It’s not enough that I missed you and wanted to see you?”

Catherine smiled softly. “Oh, it most certainly is. Anything whatsoever that brings you here unexpectedly is perfect.” She squeezed Rebecca’s arm. “However, with you, there’s always a reason.”

Rebecca let out a sigh. “I don’t know how it happened that you know me better than I know myself.”

On the sidewalk in front of the hospital, Catherine turned to face her lover and kissed her quickly but afÞ rmatively on the lips. “Oh, darling. That’s what happens when you love someone.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job in that department, then.” Rebecca’s voice held real worry. “I have no idea half the time how to show you how much I love you.”

“You don’t have to worry about it, darling. You do it without even knowing it.”

“Lucky for me,” Rebecca muttered.

“But,” Catherine said, making Rebecca’s brow furrow in concern,

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“if you really, really love me, you’ll take me to the diner and we’ll have something sinful like ribs and French fries.”

“Now that,” Rebecca said with surety, “is something I can do.”

Fifteen minutes later they sat with a mound of nachos supreme between them, a beer for Catherine and coffee for Rebecca on the table, making small talk. Catherine munched a chip and studied her lover.

“What’s happening tonight?”

“We’re heading back to Ziggie’s again,” Rebecca said after a few seconds’ hesitation. “There’s a good chance that Mitch will get invited back to the stash house tonight. If he does, we’ll probably take it down.”

“That’s what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it?” Catherine’s heart raced with sudden anxiety. She knew without needing to be told that a place holding illegal immigrants—for all practical purposes, sex slaves—would be heavily guarded by men who would think nothing of shooting police ofÞ cers.

“Yes, but there’s more to the picture than just where the girls are held and who’s running them. Once we move on this house, we’ll have exposed our hand. Everyone involved in the smuggling operation will run for cover, including the dockworkers who were in on the transfer of the girls from the ships.”

“I see. You need to coordinate all those arrests.”

Rebecca sighed. “Unfortunately, we need to coordinate it with the feds. It’s the only way to make sure we get the Port Authority guys rounded up.”

“And that means Clark.”

“Yeah.”

“Does he know yet?”

“No, but Henry has called a command meeting for nine. With Clark.” She sipped her coffee and grimaced. “He didn’t give me any room on this. I’m just waiting for Sloan to give me the names of the inside men at the PA. She’s been pulling stuff together all day down at the docks. I talked to her right before I met you, and she says she’s close.”

Catherine reached across the table and covered Rebecca’s hand with hers. “I know how much it means to you to put an end to the abuse of these young girls. And to catch the man who killed Jeff.”

Rebecca threaded her Þ ngers through Catherine’s. “It’s my job. It’s

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what I’m paid to do.” She blew out a breath. “And yeah, it’s personal this time.” She gave Catherine a long look. “But I won’t let my feelings for Jeff cloud my judgment. I won’t risk Mitchell. She’s my priority tonight.”

Catherine said nothing, waiting.

“And I won’t be a hero,” Rebecca conceded. She lifted Catherine’s hand and skimmed her lips over Catherine’s knuckles. “I won’t let you down. I promise.”

“There, you see?” Catherine said softly. “You do know just what I need.”

Monday, 7:45 p.m., Sloan and Lassiter Residence

The elevator doors slid open soundlessly, and Michael stepped into the loft. She started down the hall toward her ofÞ ce alcove and stopped short when she saw Sloan stretched out on one of the sofas.

It was such an unusual sight that she simply stood and stared. There was no question—Sloan was asleep. Carefully, Michael set down her briefcase and tiptoed into the living area. She knelt by the side of the couch and brushed back the dark hair from Sloan’s forehead. Then she leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips.

“Mmm, nice,” Sloan murmured, eyes still closed, as she stretched, then cupped her Þ ngers behind Michael’s head. She returned the kiss lingeringly before opening her eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Michael said softly. She rested her elbow on the sofa and propped her chin in her palm, stroking Sloan’s cheek with her free hand.

“Why didn’t you call me and let me know you were coming home? I would’ve left the ofÞ ce earlier.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be working yet,” Sloan observed.

“I feel much better, and I didn’t drive. I didn’t even spend that much time on the computer. I just met with the various division heads to make certain our current projects were on schedule.”

“Uh-huh. I know what those meetings are like. It couldn’t have been an easy day.”

Michael rose, indicated for Sloan to sit up, and then settled behind

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her on the sofa, guiding Sloan’s head back into her lap. She ran her Þ ngers through Sloan’s hair and replied, “It was Þ ne, really. I know not to overdo. Believe me, I don’t want to end up back in bed.” She laughed softly. “Well, at least not because I have a headache.”

Sloan grinned and rubbed her cheek against Michael’s breast.

“If I had a little more time, I’d take you up on that not-so-subtle suggestion.”

“Darling, you can be sure I’ll never be subtle about wanting to make love with you.” She brushed her Þ ngers down the center of Sloan’s chest and edged her Þ ngers beneath the waistband of Sloan’s trousers.

Sloan groaned. “I have to work tonight. No teasing.”

Michael grew still. “The surveillance again?”

“Yeah. Plus a meeting at Police Plaza in an hour. I just wanted to see you for a few minutes.” She grinned. “I didn’t intend to fall asleep.”

“No,” Michael murmured, keeping her hand against Sloan’s stomach. “That’s very unusual for you. Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t ask me to do the impossible,” Michael said with a gentle smile. She leaned down and kissed Sloan again. “Did you get what you were after today?”

Sloan’s fatigue dropped away and her eyes brightened. “Oh yeah.

These guys were playing a pretty nifty shell game, moving containers from one spot to another and conveniently forgetting to log in the secondary locations. They bypassed the initial Customs inspection that way. Once the girls were picked up and transported from the docks, they moved the container back to the original location and altered the documentation stored in the computer.”

“And no one noticed the discrepancies?”

Sloan shook her head. “There’s no reason to review those records as long as all of the merchandise contracted for is eventually received.