Неизвестный - 4. Justice In The Shadows

“Mmm, I thought as much.” Catherine snuggled her cheek against Rebecca’s neck. “What’s worrying you about it?”

Rebecca heaved a sigh. “Just about every damn thing you can think of. I’ve got a rag tag team, short on cops and long on civilians—one of whom is a goddamned streetwalker.” And another who’s my lover. “I’ve got Sloan trying to smoke out an informant within the department—someone who might be mob connected, someone who probably tried to kill her once already. Watts’s career, maybe even his pension, is shot to hell if this operation runs afoul of someone with a lot more clout, or connections, than we can handle. I’m putting a rookie undercover, with no prep time and barely any back-up. Civilian back-up at that. Jesus, what a mess. I should be taken out and shot.”

“Don’t even joke.” Catherine stiffened, and for the first time, her voice held an edge. The nightmares had only begun to abate, and there were still nights when she woke in a sweat, images of Rebecca’s life bleeding away through her fingers.

“Sorry.” Rebecca turned her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re the team leader—the commander. Your burden is every bit as great as theirs, and you care.” Catherine kissed her gently. “You’re exactly the right person to lead them.”

Rebecca turned her face to Catherine’s neck and pressed her lips to the soft skin. She followed with her body, rolling over and pulling Catherine beneath her. Resting on her elbows, one thigh between Catherine’s, she gazed into the tender, knowing eyes that never failed to welcome her. It took her by surprise, every time, how quickly the comfort of Catherine’s gentle strength could transform into wanting. Feeling the sensuous rise of Catherine’s hips and the light brush of nipples against her own, Rebecca forgot everything except the heat rising within. When Catherine stroked her breasts, her abdomen, the swell of her hips, she let herself be carried beyond thought on the tides of their singular desire. Surrendering to the pull of Catherine’s mouth and the rush of fingers over her skin, Rebecca closed her eyes as Catherine claimed her, abandoning control as the knowing touch found the places that made her weak, made her gasp, made her cry out with the swift surge of pleasure rising too quickly to crest and break.

“Now there’s only you,” Rebecca murmured, riding the surge of excitement that gathered deep in her stomach and poured down her thighs, drowning her in pleasure. “Ah Catherine, you’re making me come.”

Catherine watched, awestruck, as Rebecca arched above her, braced on trembling arms, shuddering on the brink of orgasm. So terribly defenseless, so terribly precious. “I love you.”

Rebecca’s eyes flickered open, her usually piercing gaze glazed and unfocused. “I need…you. So much.”

“I’m here,” Catherine whispered, sliding her fingers from the pulsating clitoris, moving lower, inside, taking possession of what was hers. “And here.” She thrust deeper, and Rebecca tensed, poised to shatter. “And…here.”

As Catherine caught the skin below Rebecca’s jaw in her teeth, the sharp edge of pain cut through the deep well of pleasure, and Rebecca lost her tenuous grip on control. “Oh God, don’t…go.”

Catherine pulled Rebecca into her arms as she came, cradling her while the breath tore from her on a hoarse cry of fulfillment. “I’m here, I’m here,” she soothed, over and over until Rebecca relaxed in her embrace.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sandy sat hunched on the edge of Mitchell’s bed, and, while Jasmine sorted through the clothes in Mitchell’s closet, studied Mitchell.

What would Mitchell look like as a guy? She wasn’t tall, but a bit above average height and well-built. Her shoulders were nicely developed and her hips and thighs toned and tight. That would help. But more than her body, there was her face. Chin and cheekbones boldly sketched by a few strong lines, large, deep set eyes, a generous mouth. Her dark hair, as close to black as hair could be, was just beyond short, and thick. Combed the right way—yeah, that could work. And of course, she doesn’t have to look like a guy; she has to look like a really good drag king. Yeah, Dell can do that.

“What do you think?” Jasmine asked, addressing Sandy as she turned from the closet with a pale blue silk shirt in one hand and a pair of dark trousers and matching jacket in the other. “Maybe add a tie?”

Sandy studied the very nice suit, then shook her head no. “Too uptown. She’ll fit in better if she just looks like a boy version of herself.”

“What do you mean?” Mitchell asked, uneasy.

“She’s right,” Jasmine said, casting Sandy an appreciative glance. “We can’t just dress you up and expect it to work. You still have to be as naturally you as possible.” She put the clothes back.

“Can I look?” Sandy asked.

“Sure,” Mitchell said, resigned to having little say in the process.

A minute later, Sandy handed Jasmine first a pair of soft, well-worn black leather pants, then a snowy white T-shirt, and finally a pair of scuffed black motorcycle boots with heavy heels and a wide strap across the arch. “Have you got a jacket to go with these pants, Dell?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t suppose you have a bike, too?”

“Yeah.”

Sandy looked at Jasmine. “Well?”

“The guys at the Troc will die of envy.” Jasmine laid the clothes on the nearby dresser and turned to Mitchell, her expression suddenly serious. “The first time or two you’ll need help wrapping your chest. It’s not as simple as it sounds because you don’t want the ace to show under your shirt. Are you okay with me helping you?”

“I…sure.” Mitchell pulled her shirt from her jeans and began to unbutton it. “Let’s just do it.”

“I’m gonna get a beer. You got beer, Dell?” Sandy suddenly realized that she didn’t want to see Mitchell naked. Or rather, she did. A lot. And that was a good reason not to.

“In the fridge. You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Nah. I’ll hang out for a while.” She walked toward the door and said over her shoulder, “Have fun.”

Jasmine opened a small duffle bag she’d carried into the bedroom earlier and extracted a lightweight white cotton ace wrap. Keeping her gaze on Mitchell’s face, she approached with the ace in her hand. “Raise your arms.”

Mitchell complied, and Jasmine quickly and expertly wrapped it around Mitchell’s chest. “Too tight?”

“No.” Mitchell lowered her arms, flexed her shoulders. “Seems okay.”

Jasmine reached for the white T-shirt from the nearby dresser. “Let’s see how it lays. And remember, you’ve got to expand your movements, not make them smaller. Guys take up a lot of space.”

“Like cops.” Mitchell smiled and pulled on the T-shirt. “I’ve had plenty of practice acting like I’m physically bigger than I am.”

“I know. That’s a big reason why I think this will work—you’ve already got the walk. Plus, your face was made for this.” Jasmine took Mitchell’s hand and drew her to the bed. “I made a call to one of the boys as soon as the meeting broke up, and he took me on a quick shopping trip for your drag gear.”

Mitchell rubbed the back of her neck as she stared at the items laid out on her bed. Oh jeez.

“I got a few different ones, because you need to wear one big enough to give you a bit of a bulge—that’s pretty much required for a drag king. But personally, I don’t go for the perpetually hard look. The packing dicks are just for show—they won’t function, but they don’t look like bananas in your pants, either.”

Mitchell picked up the pale pink packing dildo in its clear plastic envelope and squeezed It felt real. “Well, I’m not gonna need it to work.” She kept her face expressionless as she unzipped her jeans and pushed them down.

Abruptly, Jasmine turned and walked to the floor to ceiling windows on the opposite side of the spacious room. Keeping her back to Mitchell, she remarked, “You’ve got an incredible view of the square from here. Of all of downtown, really.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell replied as she pulled the leather pants up and settled herself. “Okay.”

Jasmine turned. Mitchell stood with hips thrust slightly forward, a thumb hooked over the top of her pants, her fingers splayed across the leather, close to but not quite touching the subtle but definite swelling to the right of her fly.

“Well, Mitch,” Jasmine said quietly, “I’m having a gender confusion moment.”

Mitchell laughed a bit shakily. “Good. So am I.”

“Ookaay.” Jasmine took a deep breath, wondering briefly how Sarah would feel about a full out cross-dressing date. Mitchell, just beyond androgynous now, was Eros personified. “Time for the final touches. Bring that chair into the bathroom. I need good light for this.”

A minute later, Mitchell sat down, automatically sliding a hand up the inside of her thigh to cup her crotch, adjusting for the new position.

“Good move,” Jasmine murmured, running her fingers through Mitchell’s thick hair. “Men and drag kings are fond of frequent manual dick checks.” She laughed. “Lest it disappear.”

“Should be fun on the bike,” Mitchell muttered. The unaccustomed pressure between her thighs that escalated intermittently with every small movement was disturbingly arousing. Her entire body was tingling, and she couldn’t wait for Sandy to see her. Oh man. What if she doesn’t like it? Jesus Christ. What if she does?

“Are you and Sandy an item?” Jasmine asked as she altered the arch of Mitchell’s dark brows with several adept strokes of the eyebrow brush.

Mitchell met Jasmine’s gaze in the mirror. “No. Why?”

Jasmine switched to a wider brush and picked up a dark shade of toner. As she accentuated the width of Mitchell’s naturally strong jaw, she said, “She’s hot for you.”

Mitchell twitched. Everywhere. “There’s nothing going on with us.”

“Uh-huh.” Jasmine walked around from behind the chair and held out her hand, then pulled the nouveau drag king to his feet. She checked Mitch’s beard shadow, ran her eyes over the hard muscled chest, let her eyes drop to the prominence of genitalia nestled in soft dark leather. Nice. “Do you want there to be?”

“Want what to be?” Mitch was aware of the languid scrutiny, and unexpectedly, he got hard. If this keeps happening, I’m going to go nuts.

“Something to be going on between you and Miss Cutie-Pie.”

“Yeah.” It felt so good to say.

“Well, then, stud,” Jasmine said, taking Mitch’s hand, “I think you’re about to get your chance.”

When she heard footsteps, Sandy looked up from the couch where she’d been nursing her second beer and rifling through a magazine about vintage cars. Jasmine walked into the living room with her arm around the waist of … Oh fuck, Dell. Look at you. You are so, so hot.

“Sandy, this is Mitch.”

Watts’s voice echoed in Sandy’s memory. You gotta be the person twenty-four seven, because if you lose it for just a minute, you’ll get made. And then…

“Hiya, Sandy.” Mitch hoped his nervousness didn’t show. Sandy hadn’t said a word, and he couldn’t tell if she liked it or not. Maybe she doesn’t go for drag; maybe she doesn’t go for girls any way at all. Christ, maybe she’s straight. Mayb…

Well, if he’s supposed to be my boyfriend, time to prove it. Sandy put the bottle on the coffee table and walked directly to Mitch, not stopping until her breasts nearly touched his chest. Wordlessly, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth.

Mitch’s head spun wildly. He had imagined a lot of reactions when she saw him, but not this. His first thought, before the incredible feel of her mouth drove every thought from his burning brain, was that she was only kissing him because he was a guy. But then he knew that this was not what Sandy did when she was with men. This was something special, just between them. Then he couldn’t think at all because his heart was pounding so loudly and his insides were turning over, and his legs were shaking too badly to do anything but struggle to stay upright. And God can she kiss.

“So, boyfriend,” Sandy said calmly after she broke the kiss, “you promised me pizza.”

Jasmine laughed, shaking her head in delight and admiration for Sandy’s aplomb. “Mitch, love, if that’s the way she asks for pizza, you might want to go for a four-star restaurant next time.”

Jasmine let herself out, her soft laughter drifting back to them.

“Is it okay?” Mitch asked quietly when they were alone. He still hadn’t moved, and neither had Sandy.

“You look great.”

“You okay calling me Mitch?”

Sandy shook her head, exasperated. “You are Mitch. You have to be, or else you’re going to get your ass killed.” She took Mitch’s hand and squeezed. “You told Frye you could do this, and I’m starting to believe it. So do it, rookie.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

Sandy smiled a small, secretive smile. “Because you looked a little nervous, and that’s not how you need to look. You need to look tough and sure, and I figured a kiss would get you on track.” And because you looked so good I just had to.

“I’m not nervous now.” Mitch’s voice was low, husky.

“Then it worked.” Sandy dared a quick peak into Mitch’s eyes. They were that dark, dark blue again. Hazy and hot. She liked knowing that look was for her. But she wasn’t ready for more. “You gonna feed me or not?”

“Yeah.” Mitch’s throat ached with wanting her, but it would have to be on her terms. He pulled out his leather jacket, shrugged into it, and then held open a second, softer brown one. “It’s getting cold at night now.”

Sandy hesitated and then turned to let Mitch slide the coat over her arms. For just a second she leaned back against him. She felt the quicksilver brush of lips against her neck, and she shivered. “Thanks.”

“Come on, girlfriend,” Mitch murmured close to Sandy’s ear. “Let’s go get that pizza.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sloan closed her eyes and rubbed her face wearily. The symbols on the screen had blurred to the point where she knew she’d miss something critical soon. She was alone in the CSU lab, and the quiet colluded with her exhaustion to lull her into torpor.

“One more scan,” she muttered, “then I’ll call it quits for the night.”

She opened the root directory and began to search for the activity log from the time period in question. Data scrolled by, all routine. So routine, in fact, that she almost did miss it. A password query, a series of them, and then a password change—followed by file access.

Sloan jolted upright, her attention totally focused, her mind absolutely clear. Fingers flying over the keyboard, she was quickly immersed in the data stream, functioning on a subconscious level, guided by the intuitive logic leaps that only the master hackers ever attained. She was on the trail of her quarry, and she was close.

Mitch looked around the small dark empty apartment that was just down the hall from Sandy’s. “I’ll be fine here tonight.”

“There’s no furniture.” Sandy tugged his arm toward the door. “What are you gonna do, crash on the floor?”