Неизвестный - 4. Justice In The Shadows

“Sandy,” Rebecca called, catching up to them at the elevators. “Let’s take a ride.”

“Sure,” the young woman replied with a sigh, moving her arm away from Mitchell’s hand. “It’s your dime, Frye.”

Outside, Sandy and Rebecca walked in the other direction to the Corvette. Mitchell stood on the sidewalk, shoulders hunched in the chill night air, watching them go.

“You did well up there,” Rebecca said as she drove south on Front street, the lights of the Ben Franklin Bridge glowing blue as it towered into the dark night sky just above them. Rebecca studied Sandy’s face in the light of the passing headlights. Not for the first time she realized how pretty she was. “You know that guy, don’t you?”

Sandy sighed. “I’m not sure, but I think he used to be a bouncer at Ziggies.”

Rebecca drew a sharp breath, and her pulse rate jumped. Ziggies was a sex club at 11th and Arch that featured nude dancers, and it was mob connected. A guy reputed to be one of Zamora’s front men owned it. Finally, a connection. “Did you ever dance there?”

“Who me?” Sandy snorted. “Not hardly. You need tits out to Arizona to shag in there. And you have to blow every bartender in the place.” She hesitated, unused to sharing information with the police, even Frye. But that afternoon, the detective had shown up at her apartment unexpectedly and made her an offer with a formal price tag attached. More information, more help, for more money. “But I know someone who did work there.”

“Can you put me with her?”

“I’ll see if I can find her.” Sandy pointed to a bar up the block. “You can let me out there.”

“Uh-uh. I’m taking you home.”

“It’s not even midnight!”

“When I stopped by earlier and you agreed to go official with me, you turned in your streetwalking creds.”

“I’m not gonna trick.” Sandy sounded affronted. “But I need to be out and seen, otherwise people will get suspicious. And suspicious people don’t talk. You know that.”

Rebecca had the inexplicable desire to tell her no, but she knew Sandy had to maintain her street contacts or she’d be useless as an informant. Rebecca pulled to the curb and extracted five twenties, almost all that she had, from her wallet. “Here. Your first paycheck.”

Sandy looked at the bills and smiled wryly. “Five hand jobs. Won’t pay the rent.”

“I’ll see that there’s more. And your hands are clean.”

“Yeah. Ain’t that a thrill.”

“One more thing.”

“Frye, you’re hurting me sitting out here.”

Rebecca had already checked and knew that no one was watching them. “A police officer can be suspended, even fired, for fraternizing with a prostitute.”

Dell. Sandy grew still. “Fraternizing—you mean, even if they’re just…like friends?”

“Sometimes ‘friends’ looks like something else.” Rebecca’s voice was soft, almost gentle. “Hard to prove otherwise.”

“I don’t have any cop friends.” Sandy pushed open the door, turned her back, and headed for the bar.

Rebecca watched the thin young blond walk away, knowing that she was putting the girl in danger by employing her as an informant. But the streets would be no kinder to Sandy if she was forced to stay alive by selling her body. At least this way, she might have a chance. A devil’s bargain, perhaps, but one Rebecca would have to live with.

CHAPTER SIX

Sloan walked quickly through the silent hospital halls, the events and conversations of the last few hours almost forgotten. When she reached the door of Michael’s room in the ICU and looked in, she saw only the empty bed with the pristine white sheets neatly made. Her stomach turned over, and her head grew light. Michael!

“I’m so sorry,” a nurse said as she quickly approached.

Sloan closed her eyes, the roaring in her head making it difficult to make out the words. oh god, oh god…what am I going to do?

“I tried to call you—”

Numbly, Sloan stared at the small, dark-haired woman with the kind eyes.

“…upstairs a half-hour of ago.”

“What?” Sloan couldn’t seem to catch hold of the words that were floating past her. “What did you say?”

“We needed the bed, and she’s doing so much better she was transferred to a regular room. Room 519.”

“Thank you.” Sloan’s voice, hoarse with fatigue, cracked.

Sloan couldn’t tolerate the wait for the elevator, but shouldered through the fire door and into the stairwell, taking the stairs from the second floor to the fifth at a run. In Michael’s room, the lights had been turned down low. From the darkness came a soft sound, the answer to her prayers.

“Sloan?”

“Hey,” Sloan whispered as she approached the bed, her vision blurred with tears. She grasped the hand that Michael lifted, clinging to the warmth. Then she leaned over and brushed her lips across Michael’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Weak. I’m a little confused. I can’t remember what happened.” Michael’s eyes traveled over Sloan’s face. “There was an accident, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, baby,” Sloan said, her voice choked. “I’m not hurt. You don’t have to worry about anything. You just need to work on getting well.”

“You looked tired.” Michael’s eyelids drooped and she forced them open. Smiling tremulously, she said, “In fact, you look terrible. Go home.”

Sloan laughed gently and pulled a chair close with one hand. “Just close your eyes and get some sleep.”

“Yes,” Michael murmured. Then she twitched suddenly and her eyes flew open. “It was a car, wasn’t it? A car hit me.”

There edge of fear in Michael’s voice brought a rush of fury like none Sloan had ever known. “You rest now, baby. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

She stroked Michael’s cheek as she slipped into sleep. Tonight she would stay, but in the morning, she would seek retribution.

It was just after midnight when Rebecca let herself into the garden apartment in West Philadelphia. She found Catherine in the bedroom, propped up in bed, nude, with a book. “You’re still awake.”

“Hi.” Catherine placed the book face down on the covers by her side. “You’re early.”

“Am I?” Rebecca raised an eyebrow as she stripped off her jacket followed by her shoulder holster. She walked to the far side of the bed and placed her weapon in the top drawer of the bedside table, then leaned across the bed and kissed Catherine. “I’m going to take a quick shower. I’ll just be a sec.”

“Hurry back.”

The slight hint of invitation in Catherine’s voice was enough to make Rebecca’s blood surge. Within minutes she walked back into the bedroom, naked, toweling off as she approached the bed. She stopped abruptly when she observed the intense expression on Catherine’s face and lowered the towel. “I get excited just watching you look at me.”

Catherine pushed the sheet aside, and rose to her knees, moving closer to the edge of the bed and threading her arms around Rebecca’s waist. She drew one small tight nipple into her mouth, reveling at the swift gasp from her lover.

Closing her eyes, Rebecca rested her palms on Catherine’s shoulder for balance. “Please…do it harder.”

Moaning with satisfaction, Catherine sucked harder, drawing the tight rosette back and forth between her teeth. When Rebecca uttered a small cry, an answering rush of arousal flooded her thighs. Gasping, Catherine pulled Rebecca down beside her on the bed. Drawing her hand up the inside of Rebecca’s quivering thigh, Catherine found her wet and open and moved inside her. “I need things from you.”

“What…do you need?” Rebecca arched off the bed. With her right hand she grasped Catherine’s wrist, forcing her hand deeper still.

“I need…” Catherine leaned over Rebecca’s body as she pressed even further. “…this passion, this life…”

Rebecca’s words were strangled. “Take it.”

“Yes.” Catherine stroked to the rhythm of Rebecca’s heartbeat pulsating around her fingers. “Oh, yes.”

With tremendous effort, Rebecca turned her head and focused on Catherine’s face. “Take me.”

With a cry of her own, Catherine brushed her thumb rhythmically across Rebecca’s clitoris and catapulted her into orgasm.

“God God, yes yes…” Rebecca moaned, writhing beneath the onslaught of release. Breathless, panting, she finally tugged weakly at Catherine’s wrist, stilling her motion. “I’m done…I can’t…no more.”

Catherine rested her forehead against Rebecca’s shoulder, smiling. When she felt Rebecca’s hands glide down her back to cup her hips, she said, “Relax for a minute. Enjoy it.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m enjoying it.” Rebecca strength was slowly returning, and with it, her own urgency to claim her lover. Lifting her hips, she pushed upward and turned Catherine beneath her. In another instant, she was kneeling on the floor, her hands under Catherine’s thighs, drawing Catherine to her mouth. Slowly, carefully, Rebecca explored with her lips and her tongue, soothing and teasing and tormenting until Catherine twisted against the sheets, her legs pressed to Rebecca’s shoulders.

“I’m ready…so ready. Please.” Catherine’s voice was a whisper, her breath broken with need. “There. Oh, Rebecca, there.”

Rebecca slid her palms beneath Catherine’s hips and drew the last drops of Catherine’s desire between her lips. Catherine came in Rebecca’s mouth as Rebecca inexorably called the passion forth from her soul.

“Ah, God.” Rebecca lay on her back with Catherine’s head on her shoulder, the sheets pulled up to their waists as they luxuriated in the aftermath of lovemaking. “I could get used to coming home to that.”

“That could be arranged.” Catherine’s voice was light, almost drowsy, as she brushed her fingertips lightly over Rebecca’s breast.

“Are you proposing marriage?”

Catherine grew still. Before Rebecca, her life had been orderly and predictable and satisfying. Then Rebecca had come into her life on a whirlwind of passion in the midst of terror, and she had changed everything. Now, Rebecca felt as necessary as air and water and food. “Yes,” Catherine said softly but quite clearly. “I am.”

Rebecca tightened her grip on the woman in her embrace, but said nothing.

When the silence grew too heavy, Catherine asked, “Does that frighten you?”

“Yes.” Rebecca closed her eyes, waiting for Catherine to draw away.

“Why?” Catherine moved closer, drawing her thigh across Rebecca’s, curling her arm across Rebecca’s chest.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into.” There was sorrow in Rebecca’s tone. “The job…it…takes something from us. I’m afraid there isn’t enough left for you.”

“Oh no, you’re wrong.” Catherine’s voice was tender and sure. Gently, she slid onto Rebecca’s body and braced herself on her elbows, her hands in Rebecca’s hair. “I love you for what’s in your heart.”

Rebecca shuddered, needing so badly to believe. “There are things I’ve done…things I do…” She sighed again. “You remember Sandy?”

“Yes,” Catherine replied, pleased that her voice was steady. Sandy. The young woman you were with when your lung collapsed. The woman who looked like she was half in love with you. Is she the woman you see at night when you leave here?

“I did something with her you might find less than honorable.”

“What?” Catherine asked carefully.

“The details aren’t really important.”

“In this particular instance, the details matter.”

“You don’t think…me and Sandy?” Rebecca laughed. “Christ, no.”

Catherine blushed. “She’s very attractive, and she obviously cares about you.”

“Catherine, I love you.” Rebecca kissed her, lightly at first, then with a sudden surge of passion. “There is no one else. Not Sandy. No one.”

“I’m not used to feeling jealous,” Catherine confided with a touch of embarrassment.

“I kind of like it. But you don’t have to worry.” Rebecca shrugged. “Anyhow, I signed Sandy up as a confidential informant today.”

“And you thought I’d object?”

“Getting information to me is always risky, and now she’s going to be doing it a lot more regularly.”

“Yes,” Catherine murmured drowsily, “but the fact that you worry about it is what’s important.”

Rebecca drew the sheet up over them and yawned. “It’s late. We should get to sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I’m fading a bit.”

“Mmm.” Rebecca kissed her and closed her eyes. “Me, too.”

As Catherine began to drift off, she realized that Rebecca had managed to avoid the subject of their living together very neatly.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Michael turned carefully at the sound of her door opening. The pain in her head was constant, alternating between a low-level ache hovering at the top of her spine to an all-out cannon barrage that beat against the back of her eyeballs until it hurt to keep her eyelids open.

“Good morning,” Ali Torveau said as she approached the bed. “You don’t remember me, but I’m Dr. Torveau, the trauma surgeon who’s been taking care of you since you came into the hospital.”

“I have a few blanks in my memory of the last couple of days. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” As the surgeon spoke, she withdrew her stethoscope from the right-hand pocket of her white lab coat and leaned over the bed to listen to Michael’s injured lungs. “How does your chest feel?”

“It hurts a little when I take a deep breath. Not too bad though.”

“What about your head?”

Michael grimaced. “That’s not doing quite as well. Major headache.”

“It’s almost always temporary, but I can’t tell you how long it will last. It could be a few days; it could be a few weeks.”

“When can I go home?”

“You haven’t even been out of bed yet,” Ali responded with a small laugh. “Let’s take things one day at a time.”

Michael glanced toward the closed bathroom door behind which running water was faintly audible. “I can rest at home as well as here. And Sloan isn’t getting any sleep at all.”

“This has been hard on both of you, I know,” Ali said sympathetically. “How about if I talk to her—”

“Talk to who about what?” Freshly showered, Sloan walked directly to the bed, leaned down, and kissed Michael’s forehead. “Good morning.”

Michael smiled, the headache diminishing for an instant. “We were talking about me going home.”

“So soon?” Sloan spun around to stare at the trauma surgeon, her eyes glowing with excitement.

“Whoa.” Ali held up her hands, but she was smiling, too. “Let’s see what this morning’s CAT scan shows. If that looks good…we’ll see.”

“Good enough.” Sloan couldn’t keep the pleasure from her voice. As the surgeon started for the door, she called softly, “And thanks.”

When they were alone, Michael reached for Sloan’s hand. “I love you.”

The words hit Sloan like a hammer blow. Her knees felt suddenly weak, and the next thing she was aware of was gasping for breath as tears poured down her cheeks. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you were hurt. I love you so much.”