Неизвестный - 4. Justice In The Shadows

“Actually, detective,” Jasmine said, “she doesn’t have to look like a man. She only has to give the impression of one. It’s in the walk, the attitude, the tone of voice.”

“Oh, for fu—”

“Let’s assume,” Rebecca interjected, sensing that Watts was about to blow a fuse, “that Mitchell can pass…”

“I can.” Mitchell met Rebecca’s gaze. “Isn’t it what we do all the time, Sergeant? Play the game?”

Rebecca studied the unflinching, deep blue eyes. So you know already? Playing the game—yes, that’s what we do. Pretending that the things we see don’t affect us, that the fear isn’t real, that the violence doesn’t touch us. That we aren’t bleeding inside.

“Assuming that Mitchell is accepted by your friends at the Troc, how soon can we get her into Ziggies?”

“There’s a big show at the club this weekend,” Jasmine replied. “A group of us usually go out after to celebrate, while we’re still…dressed.”

Watts snorted. “To a topless bar?”

Jasmine stiffened, and, for the first time, she looked angry. “Our choices are limited, detective.”

“Where do you live, Mitchell?” Rebecca asked.

“Independence Place.” Mitchell named one of the expensive high-rises just south of Walnut at 6th Street, bordering Washington Square Park.

Rebecca shook her head. “No good. We’ll need to find you an apartment a little more downscale than that.”

“There’s a place open in my building,” Sandy said quietly.

Before Rebecca could object, Jasmine said, “That might be good. It wouldn’t hurt for Mitchell to have a girlfriend, either. Another piece of the picture.”

Mitchell blushed and Watts snorted.

“Okay,” Rebecca said, lightly slapping her palms on the tabletop. “Let’s go with this plan for now. Jasmine, you’re in charge of getting Mitchell…geared up.”

“What’s your address, stud?” Jasmine asked. When Mitchell gave it to her, she added, “I’ll be over in an hour. Why don’t you bring Sandy, too. She can be our first audience.”

Rebecca turned to Sandy. “What’s the situation at your building? Is there a building superintendent who handles renting the apartments?”

“That’s a fancy word for the guy since he doesn’t do shit around the place, but yeah.”

“Bring Mitchell around. Tell him sh…he’s a friend of yours who needs a place right away. Cash. I’ll take care of getting the money to you tonight.”

Mitchell looked even unhappier.

“Sure.” Sandy shrugged indifferently.

“And I still need you to find one of those girls that told you about making the sex videos a few months ago. There’s a good chance that they’ve been to the film site.”

“I told you before, I won’t name names.”

“I don’t want their names. I just want to talk to them.”

“Okay,” Sandy said reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. You still got the phone?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Use it. Mitchell, you’re dismissed. Sandy…” She hesitated, but had to admit that Jasmine’s plan for Mitchell’s new persona to have a girlfriend made sense. “Go with her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mitchell said as she stood. Sandy merely sniffed.

Rebecca turned her attention to Sloan. “You’ve got the interdepartmental computer traces.”

“Right. I’m going back tonight. Less traffic on the network. Fewer people to notice me.”

As Rebecca watched her team disperse, she tried hard not to second-guess her decisions. Putting them in danger was much harder than facing it herself.

Sloan peaked around the corner into the bedroom. Michael, her blond hair freshly washed, lay in bed in one of Sloan’s old cotton shirts that had once been blue but was now faded nearly to white. “Everybody gone?”

“Hello, love. Yes, I’m quite alone.” Michael smiled and stretched out of hand. “I missed you.”

“Me, too.” Sloan crossed the room and settled onto the corner of the bed.

“How you doing?”

“Sarah told me a little bit about what happened.”

Sloan’s heart lurched in her chest, and her stomach was instantly queasy. “What do you mean?”

“About the accident.”

“Damn it,” Sloan burst out, one hand fisting the covers. “It’s too soon—”

“It’s not her fault. I asked her.”

“What happened Saturday night?

Sarah continued gently toweling Michael’s hair. “What can you remember?”

“Not much.” Michael, a thick terrycloth towel wrapped around her naked body, leaned back against Sarah for support. “I know there was an accident, and Sloan told me I was hit by a car. She said the driver didn’t stop.”

“Then you know almost as much as we know.” Sarah carefully worked a wide-toothed comb through the long tresses, stopping intermittently to remove the small islands of clotted blood that clung assiduously to the silken strands.

“I know there’s more.” Michael closed her eyes, the headache exhausting, just by virtue of its constant presence.

“Sloan will tell you.”

Michael started to shake her head, then stopped when the pain escalated. “No. She can’t. It kills her to talk about it. I can’t stand to see the pain in her eyes.”

“God, I know.” Sarah’s sighed. “Sloan is incapable of hiding her feelings, despite how hard she tries. If it hurts me to see her hurting, it must be awful for you.”

“Yes. Agony.” Michael reached for Sarah’s hand and held it tightly. “So for both of us, could you help me understand what’s happened?”

“You will remember, given enough time.”

“It’s not the memories I need as much as knowing what’s coming. There’s a meeting downstairs right now, isn’t there?”

“Sloan is an idiot if she thinks she can keep anything from you,” Sarah said, her voice husky with tenderness.

“She thinks she’s protecting me,” Michael replied, instantly coming to Sloan’s defense. “I love her for that. For that and so many other reasons.”

“You know she lives for you, don’t you?” Sarah leaned down and kissed the top of Michael’s head. “She would never intentionally keep something from you, except to prevent you from being hurt.”

“Sarah,” Michael said softly, “you needn’t tell me how she loves me. She’s the heart of my heart.”

“Of course, she is. I’ve always known that.”

“Then, please, tell me what’s happening.”

“Do you remember that Jason and Sloan were involved in an investigation with the local police and the Justice Department?”

Michael was silent a long moment. “Something…about the Internet…a pornography ring, right?”

“Yes. Something…ah, God…something went wrong. Someone found out what Sloan and the rest of them were investigating.”

The silence stretched longer this time. When Michael spoke, her voice trembled. “So the accident…wasn’t an accident.”

“Here, put this on,” Sarah directed, holding up the shirt she had pulled from Sloan’s closet. She helped Michael stand and finished drying her off. Her expression was carefully blank as she gently patted the soft cotton over the large bruises on Michael’s ribs and back. “I should put something on that abrasion on your hip. Wait a minute.” Quickly, blinking back tears, she turned to the medicine cabinet and fumbled about until she found a large tube of antibiotic ointment. Despite her care, Michael winced as Sarah spread the soothing ointment on the raw surface were the skin had been stripped away by her body’s impact with the harsh surface of the street. “Sorry.”

“No. That’s all right.” Michael rested one hand on Sarah’s shoulder for balance. “But they couldn’t have meant to hurt me, could they? I didn’t know anything.”

When Sarah met Michael’s eyes, her distress was clearly evident.

Tears overflowed onto Michael’s cheeks. “Sloan. Of course they wanted Sloan. Oh, God.”

“Hey,” Sloan said anxiously, moving nearer on the bed. She brushed her fingers over Michael’s cheeks, catching the tears on her fingertips. “Hey, hey baby. It’s all right. It’s all right.”

“Is someone still trying to hurt you?”

“No! No.” Sloan settled on the bed next to Michael and wrapped her arm around her lover’s shoulder. “Everything is fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“You’re sure?” Michael’s pressed close, swallowing a moan when her tender ribs protested. It felt too good to be in Sloan’s arms to move away, even to ease the pain.

“Absolutely.” Sloan consciously eased her grip, because all she wanted to do was hold Michael more tightly.

Michael rested her cheek against Sloan’s chest, listing to the rapid rush of breath and the wild pounding of her heart. She had always loved the heat of Sloan’s body and the quick rise of her passion, but never more than now. Just knowing that someone had wanted to harm her made Michael desperate to keep her safe. “I can’t imagine life without you.”

“You’ll never have to.” Sloan trembled as she tenderly kissed Michael’s lips. She kissed her again—gently, carefully—her passion restrained but her devotion unbridled.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You hungry?” Mitchell asked, breaking the silence. Sandy had been quiet since they’d left Sloan’s. “Should we get a pizza or something?”

“How about we go somewhere after Jasmine does her thing with you? You’ll need the practice.”

Does her thing. Mitchell blushed. “Yeah, right. That.” What if I can’t do it? Jeez, what if Sandy laughs?

“You’re crazy for doing this.”

“It’s my job.” Mitchell stared straight ahead, her pace quickening.

“It is not.” Sandy grasped Mitchell’s wrist and tugged until Mitchell looked at her. “You’re supposed to be walking a beat, not club crawling and…picking up sluts.”

“Picking up…oh, come on! You know that what I do while I’m undercover doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the job.”

“Does that include fucking one of them, too?” Sandy jutted her jaw and wondered where the hell that had come from. Like I care who she fucks.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Mitchell raked a hand through her hair in frustration. “I’m not going to be fucking anybody. Jesus.”

Neither of them said anything else until they were inside the high-ceilinged lobby. The elevator arrived and, when they stepped in, they were alone.

“You mad?” Sandy asked.

“No.”

“Sure?” Sandy leaned with one shoulder against the wall, her hip cocked, a strip of bare skin showing above the waistband of her tight slacks.

“Yeah,” Mitchell said hoarsely, her attention riveted to that pale smooth inch of flesh. She wanted to see if it was really as soft as it appeared. She felt hot and a little dizzy.

Mercifully, the elevator glided to a stop. “This is it.”

Suddenly shy, Sandy hesitated. “You sure about this? You know, if people see you with me—”

Impatiently, almost angrily, Mitchell took Sandy’s hand and pulled her from the elevator. “What do you think, that you have a big sign that says hooker around your neck? Let them think whatever they want to think.”

“What about your job? That could be a problem, right?”

Mitchell’s head snapped around. She stared hard at Sandy. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody.”

Frye said…I’m Frye’s now… Mitchell jammed her key into the lock and twisted viciously. She pushed the door open and waited for Sandy to enter before walking into her apartment and flicking on the light switch to her right. “What did Frye say to you?”

Sandy couldn’t miss the current of desperate pain in Mitchell’s voice. “Listen…Frye was just looking out for you, okay?”

“I don’t need her to look out for me, especially not where you’re concerned. What did she say?” Mitchell took a step forward, and when Sandy flinched, Mitchell jerked back, instantly feeling sick to her stomach. “God, Sandy, do you think I’d hurt you?”

“No.” Sandy shook her head. Tentatively, she placed her palm flat against Mitchell’s chest, just above her heart. “No, I…I don’t think that.”

Mitchell stood very still, afraid if she moved Sandy would take her hand away. The heat from Sandy’s small hand burned her skin through the fabric of her shirt. She couldn’t feel anything else except those few square inches of flesh, and in that one single spot, she felt terribly alive.

“I won’t,” Mitchell whispered. “Never. I swear.”

Tremulously, Sandy smiled. Mitchell’s heart thudded against her palm. She couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like that insistent pounding—wild and strong and strangely gentle. Like Dell. “Don’t ask me things, and I won’t have to lie.”

Mitchell took a cautious step forward. Sandy didn’t move her hand, but slid it higher up Mitchell’s chest, until her fingers touched the skin of her throat.

“That’s not how it works.” Mitchell’s voice was husky, her body taut with tension.

“How what works?” Sandy asked, unable to look away from Mitchell’s face. Your eyes get so dark when you’re excit…oh god.

Sandy stumbled back and dropped her hand. Mitchell leaned toward her, breathing fast, but she did not follow.

They smiled at one another.

“You okay?” Sandy finally asked.

Mitchell nodded. “Yeah, you?”

“Sure.”

The doorbell rang.

Mitchell drew a deep breath. “Show time.”

Catherine pushed up on one elbow and brushed the hair from her face with her free hand. “What is it?”

“Christ, I’m sorry.” Rebecca sat up quickly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her voice was muffled as she said, “Look, it’s not you, okay?”

“I could point out that I’m the only one in bed with you, so it most likely is me—but I’m too old to waste my time on false pride.” Gently, Catherine rested her hand against Rebecca’s bare back. The skin was slick with the heat of their passion, the muscles tight with tension. “And fortunately, we’ve been together long enough that I believe you. So, if it’s not me, what is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” the detective ran a hand through her hair. This is how it starts. First she’ll be confused, then she’ll be hurt, and eventually she’ll be angry. This is when it all starts to come apart. “It’s nothing. I guess I’m just tired. Sorry.”

“Rebecca,” Catherine said as she sat up and slid a leg around each side of Rebecca’s body, wrapping her arms around Rebecca’s waist from behind at the same time. She rested her chin on top of her lover’s shoulder. “We’ve made love when you were so exhausted you could barely move a muscle. We’ve made love when you were still recovering from a gunshot wound. Lord, we’ve made love in places and at times when sane people couldn’t conceive of being turned on. This is not about being tired.”

Without looking around, Rebecca found Catherine’s hand where it lay on her stomach and held it. Catherine’s breasts were against her back, a soft warm comfort. Maybe, maybe this time it really would be all right. “It’s the case.”