Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

“I love you.”

“Even knowing…what I am?”

“What are you, Sandy?” Mitchell’s lips were almost touching Sandy’s. She stroked Sandy’s hips very gently with just the tips of her Þ ngers.

“You know, Dell. I trade sex for money.”

“When was the last time?”

“You don’t want to know these things.”

“Yes,” Mitchell said quietly, but Þ rmly. “I do.”

“A week or so ago. A couple of car jobs down on Arch.”

Mitchell never stopped her gentle caresses. “Before you signed on with Frye as her CI?”

Sandy nodded. “She told me it was part of the deal…that I don’t hook.”

“And that’s the reason you stopped?”

This time, Sandy shook her head in the negative. “It wasn’t for Frye.”

“Why then?”

“I don’t know,” Sandy whispered. “After that psycho murdered Anne Marie, I quit everything except the quick stuff. Too much can happen when you’re alone in a room with a guy.”

Mitchell blinked. “That was months ago.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you’re done with it?”

“Are you asking?”

“Not yet.” Mitchell moved her hand from Sandy’s hips to her belly and continued her soft caresses. “But I can’t think about anyone else touching you.”

“Don’t think about it. Please.” Sandy traced her Þ ngers over the arch of Mitchell’s cheekbone and down along the angle of her jaw.

She very gently rested her Þ ngers against Mitchell’s mouth. “No one touches me except you.”

“Someday,” Mitchell whispered, “I’m going to have to ask.”

“Dell,” Sandy said softly. “I won’t lie to you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

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“Then don’t ask about what you don’t want to know, okay?”

“For now.” Mitchell kissed Sandy gently. “Can I look at you some more now?”

Sandy’s laugh was shaky. “No sex.”

“No promises.”

“Dell,” Sandy whispered, covering the hand that stroked her abdomen with her own. Looking into Mitchell’s eyes, she guided Mitchell’s hand lower between her thighs. “You see?”

“Oh, baby, you are so beautiful.” Mitchell had a hard time getting air into her lungs, and the fever in her belly burned bright. “You have to let me make you come.”

“You think…I’ll say…no?” Sandy’s hips undulated gently to the sweet, slow rhythm of Mitchell’s Þ ngers sliding over her ready ß esh.

Her lids ß ickered, and her eyes lost focus. With a small cry, she rested her forehead against Dell’s, shivering all over. In a voice barely a whisper, she said, “Do it harder, baby.”

“Not yet,” Mitchell choked, Þ ghting not to hurry. “I love the way you feel. I want it to last forever. Don’t come yet.”

Sandy’s hand tightened on Mitchell’s forearm, her Þ ngers spasming erratically as her hips surged into Mitchell’s palm. “Can’t.

Can’t stop.”

Mitchell held her breath, intent on capturing every sigh as Sandy climbed toward her climax. She stroked harder, faster, knowing it was too late to do anything but bring Sandy the release her body screamed for. At the Þ rst rolling tremor, she Þ lled her, and the sudden pressure drove her over.

“Oh, Dell,” Sandy sobbed. “Good…so good…so good.”

Mitchell stayed inside her long after the contractions ended and Sandy curled against her, moaning quietly. Even so intimately joined, Mitchell ached to be closer. “I love you.”

“If I touch you,” Sandy said, her voice lazy with pleasure, “will you promise not to move?”

Mitchell laughed. “Sure.”

“I mean it, rookie. If you so much as twitch, I’ll stop. I’m not going to risk hurting your leg just so you can get off.”

“I’m a cop. I have perfect control.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s see about that.”

Mitchell held out longer than she thought she could, and when she

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Þ nally broke under the tender torture of Sandy’s hands, Sandy held her tightly and kept her safe. Just as Mitchell knew she would.

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CHAPTER SIX

Oops, sorry.” Sandy stumbled to a stop just inside the kitchen alcove, staring at the woman across the room and wondering how to disappear. The loft was so quiet she’d thought she and Dell were the only ones there. Glad I put clothes on.

Michael turned from the stove with a half smile and an inquiring expression. “Hi. I’m Michael.”

“Oh, so you’re Sloan’s…” Sandy hesitated, because girlfriend didn’t seem to suit the classy woman who managed to look Cosmo-beautiful even barefoot and wearing nothing but a black silk robe.

“Yes, I’m Sloan’s, all right,” Michael answered with a laugh. “And I guess you’re Sandy?”

“Yeah. Look, I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just—”

“I was about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

Tea. Although what she’d been in the mood for was a beer, Sandy nodded. Trying not to be too obvious, she studied Michael in the dim glow of the overhead track lights. The woman looked very pale and unsteady on her feet. Sandy knew what had happened to her, but until that moment, she’d never appreciated how serious the injury had been.

“You should probably sit down. I can do the tea, if you tell me where the stuff is.”

“I’ve been trying to become more self-sufÞ cient,” Michael said, smiling wanly.

“Why?” Sandy asked as she padded over to the stove, suddenly conscious of how she must look. She’d pulled on Mitchell’s jeans and T-shirt, and both hung loosely from her smaller frame. Barefoot, too, she was a head shorter than Michael.

“I hate being sick, and I’m tired of Sloan taking care of me.”

Michael leaned against the marble counter. “The tea is in that box over there.”

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“Sloan probably doesn’t mind,” Sandy said, as she studied the rows of tea bags neatly lined up in the slotted wooden case. She didn’t recognize any of the names.

“I mind. And she’s got enough things to worry about without me adding to it.”

Catching the obvious note of frustration in the other woman’s voice, Sandy glanced over her shoulder at Michael. “It hasn’t been all that long, right? Since you got out of the hospital?”

“About a week.” Michael pushed a hand through her shoulder-length blond hair. “God, it feels like forever. I just can’t seem to…think clearly.”

“That happens when you’ve been knocked around. It’ll get better.”

Michael’s eyes moved to the pink scar on Sandy’s forehead. “It’s not fun, though, until it does, is it?”

“Nope. So…are some of these, like…special?” She tilted her chin toward the box. “Peppermint? Sleepy Time?”

“I’m not much on the ß avored ones, myself. Would you rather have something else? There’s soda or…” She hesitated, starting to assess Sandy’s age before realizing that was foolish. Whatever the girl’s chronological age, it had no bearing on who she was. “…beer or wine.”

“Tea’s Þ ne.” Sandy dangled two bags by their strings, swinging them gently. “How about English Breakfast? That sounds pretty straight.”

“Perfect.” Michael Þ nally relented and sat at the breakfast bar while Sandy assembled the tea. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Sandy replied as she settled on an adjacent stool. “This place is really neat. It’s just like Sloan’s place downstairs—all open except for the partitions.”

“Are you working with Sloan?” Michael frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m still not remembering everything. You’re not a police ofÞ cer too, are you?”

Sandy snorted. “Oh man, no way.”

“Computer security?”

“I, uh…help Frye out sometimes.”

“Oh. How’s OfÞ cer Mitchell doing?”

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“Too much,” Sandy complained. “She can’t wait to get back to work.”

“That seems to be some kind of occupational requirement.”

Michael smiled as if at some secret thought. “I’m glad you two decided to stay here until her leg heals a bit and she’s getting around more easily.”

“That was really nice of you. Thanks.” Sandy sipped her tea, surprised to Þ nd that she liked it. “At least this way, Dell can work with Jason till she’s better. That really matters to her…being part of the team.”

“It’s quite a crew, isn’t it,” Michael said with obvious fondness.

“Sometimes I know that Sloan would rather be on her own, but I feel better that she’s working with the others. I like to think they keep each other safe.”

“Yeah.” Sandy thought of Frye, and of how that night in the warehouse, with the guy between her legs—pinning her down—she’d trusted that Frye would come. Somehow in the last few weeks, she’d learned to count on Dell and Frye and the others, and when it wasn’t scaring her, it felt good. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

v

“Hey, honey,” Mitchell said lazily. “Whatcha got for me?”

“Tea,” Sandy replied, setting the mug on the bedside table. She switched on the lamp and examined the plastic prescription vials.

“Jeez, strong stuff.” She opened one, shook out a pill, and extended it to Mitchell. “Here, take this.”

“Tea? How ’bout a beer?”

Sandy shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Not with this stuff—it’ll knock you on your ass.” She pursed her lips. “Although maybe that’s not so bad.”

Mitchell laughed and reached for the tea. “I’ll take it tonight, just for you. But that’s it. I can’t think when I’m on this.”

“Aw, you’re so good.” Sandy leaned down and kissed her. “Maybe you’ll get a reward later.”

“Going somewhere?” Mitchell demanded. She caught Sandy’s hand and prevented her from moving away. “It’s late, San. Come back to bed.”

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“I told you I wasn’t going to be hanging around here all the time,”

Sandy replied, extracting her Þ ngers from Mitchell’s grip. “I have a life, y’know. I have things to do.”

Mitchell pushed herself up in the bed and shoved the tea and the pill onto the bedside table. “What things? What can’t wait until tomorrow morning?”

“I need clothes.” Sandy indicated the borrowed jeans and T-shirt she still wore.

“So you can get them in the morning. You’re not gonna wear anything to bed, are you?” Mitchell grinned.

“Jeez, what is it with you? Didn’t we just take care of things for you?” Despite her words, Sandy’s tone had softened. She brushed her Þ ngers through Mitchell’s hair. “No more for you tonight. You need to get some rest.”

“Okay. So come to bed, and I will.”

Sandy backed up a step. “I’ll be back later, Dell.”

“What are you doing, Sandy?” Mitchell’s eyes were dark, her voice urgent. “Are you working? Is that it? Because if you need money—”

“If I do, I’m not taking it from you,” Sandy snapped. “Not now, not ever. So just forget it.”

“Wait!” Mitchell called as Sandy spun around and started from the room. She ß ung the covers off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The pain hit instantly. “Fuck. ”

Inside a heartbeat, Sandy was back at her side. “Idiot. You’re such a fucking idiot.” Gently, she helped Mitchell lift her legs back to the bed and lie down. “What are you trying to do? Break something open?”

“You’re making me crazy,” Mitchell groaned. A wave of nausea followed the pain, and she closed her eyes, Þ ghting the urge to vomit.

You’re making me crazy.

Sandy stared, Frye’s words echoing in her mind. If you want her to be safe, then don’t make her crazy. She has to go out the door every day knowing that you’ll be there when she comes back. If you can’t give her that, then let her go now.

“Here,” Sandy said softly, offering the tea and the pain medication again. “You need this. Take it, Dell.”

Weakly, Mitchell complied, then closed her eyes again. When she felt the gentle weight of Sandy’s body settle on the mattress next to

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her, she lifted her arm and made room for Sandy against her side. She leaned her cheek against her lover’s. “You mad?”

“No. Just…” Sandy feathered a kiss over the edge of Mitchell’s jaw. “You gotta give me a little space, Dell. I’m not used to answering to anyone.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck,” Sandy muttered, inching closer. With a sigh, she nuzzled her face against Mitchell’s neck. “It’s okay. It’s even…sorta nice, when I think about it.”

Mitchell stroked Sandy’s bare arm, then kissed her. “I’m not used to being with anyone either. I just love you so much…”

“Don’t start with that now,” Sandy warned, her voice husky. “I gotta go. I’m not fooling.”

“Okay.”

“I’m coming back, Dell. I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Sandy smoothed her hand down the center of Mitchell’s chest and rose up enough to kiss her Þ rmly on the mouth.

Mitchell closed her Þ ngers around the back of Sandy’s neck, holding her into the kiss long enough to taste her, deep inside. Then she let her go. “See you soon.”

v

Catherine awakened to the sound of quiet movement in the dark.

Far from being frightening, the experience was becoming not only welcome, but soothing. It meant that Rebecca was home, safe. The clock by the bedside read 3:38. Not many months ago, Rebecca would have patrolled the streets until the sun came up.

“You’re early,” Catherine murmured as she lifted the sheets and slid over to make room.

Sighing, Rebecca settled next to her and drew her close. “Sorry. I tried to be quiet.”

“You were, but you don’t need to be. I like to wake up when you come home.” Catherine curved her leg over Rebecca’s thighs, and the touch of her lover’s skin stirred her as always. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah.” Rebecca slid her hand under Catherine’s hair and alternated between stroking the back of her neck and weaving the

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thick, soft strands through her Þ ngers. “I spent most of the last six hours watching George Beecher hit on women in fern bars.”

Catherine laughed. “I don’t think they call them that anymore, darling.”

“Well, whatever they call the places where swinging singles go to hook up, that’s where I was. Jesus, what a life.”

“He’s still one of your two prime candidates as the Mob’s inside man in the department?” Even as she asked, Catherine shook her head.

“I can’t believe I’m even saying this. It seems impossible.” Then she remembered the night that she’d raced from Sloan’s building to Þ nd Michael lying in the street unconscious and knew that it was all far too real. “God, an assistant district attorney.”

“Better than a cop,” Rebecca pronounced.

“Yes.”

“I trust Sloan’s information. We have to run with the names she’s given us until we come up with something more solid.”

“So you’re going to…what? Follow him around every night?”