In Pursuit of Justice

by Radclyffe

  “No,” Rebecca said quietly as she pulled her wallet from her back pocket. “Not yet.” She laid four twenties on the table. “Ask around. Be careful, though.”

  “Yeah, right. Thanks.” Her tone was not grateful. “Listen,” she said quickly as Rebecca slid across the seat and stood up.

  “What?”

  “A friend of mine is in a jam. An undercover guy busted her tonight—not before she finished the hand job, I might add, although of course he denies that—and I know she doesn’t have the bail. She’s been picked up before. She could go away for this.”

  “What’s her name?” Rebecca asked, glancing at her watch. “If the paperwork’s not processed yet, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Rita. Rita Balducci.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Can’t wait,” Sandy grumbled, watching the cop walk quickly through the narrow aisle between the rickety tables and out into the night. A part of her felt better knowing Frye was back on the streets.

  *

  “Oh, God, I need a shower. I need two showers.” Jason McBride pushed away from the computer terminal and rubbed his face with both hands. “I always heard it, but I never really knew how many sickos there were out there.”

  Sloan swiveled in her chair and faced him from the console where she had been working. The clock on the far wall said 4:42 a.m. The last time she could remember checking it had been 8:30 the previous evening. Jason’s hair was uncharacteristically disheveled, and his shirt was actually untucked. Intentionally. That was highly unusual for her fastidious friend. It was the hollow-eyed expression on his face that caught her attention, though. It wasn’t fatigue—they’d worked forty hours or more without stopping when they’d had major system failures to repair or massive viral infestations to cleanse. This was something else.

  “I guess you’ve been successful?”

  He winced. “If you can call almost having sex with a dozen perverts successful, then yes—wildly so.”

  “Who are you tonight?”

  “QtGrl13. She was a big hit.”

  “Where have you been trolling?”

  “The Hot4U message boards. As soon as I showed up and announced that I was a new girl in town, I had three offers to move off to a private room to get acquainted. I was in and out of the chat rooms all night after that.”

  “Anything look promising?”

  He shrugged, then sighed. “Too soon to tell. The patter is pretty sophisticated for the most part, except for the high school boys who are the same the world over whether it’s cyberspace or the junior prom. They just want to get laid, and they’re not too subtle about it. But I have a feeling that the real pedophiles are being very careful not to expose themselves. They’re probably pretending to be kids until they feel safe enough in a relationship to cop to their real age. There were one or two who sounded as if they might be angling for more than a quickie, but I’ll have to go back on again a few more times to see. If I move too fast, it will spook them.”

  “All right. As soon as you have a possible, let me know and we’ll start a back-door trace. And we need to narrow down geographic locations. There are literally thousands of people using these boards, and we have to search for a local hit.”

  “Got it.”

  “Try to bring the conversations around to pics, especially current ones or anything with videos.”

  “I’m doing that when I go on as BigMac10; that’s where I’ve just been—swimming with the scum who are looking to trade files. I’m posing as a guy who’s interested in twelve- or thirteen-year-old girls. But I haven’t been real specific yet. These guys aren’t stupid, and the people we’re looking for are going to be very savvy. I can’t just ask to see some guy’s etchings.”

  He sighed and stood. “I’m going home. Sarah got in from that alternative medicine conference in Santa Fe tonight…last night…whatever. Somehow, being with her always makes me feel normal.”

  “Yeah, she has that effect on me, too,” Sloan replied, thinking of her best friend, current training partner, and—light-years ago—one-time colleague. They’d both been stationed in Southeast Asia when they’d been young and still believed that their government had the best intentions of its people at heart.

  “That’s a stretch for you,” he said good-naturedly.

  Sloan just laughed. “Say hi for me, and tell her she owes me a workout.”

  “Will do. You should quit for the night, too. Michael home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then go.”

  Sloan glanced at the screen, considering the credit card clearinghouses she still needed to trace, then thought of the woman upstairs asleep. The case was already getting ugly, and it was likely to get even uglier before it was done. She stood and stretched. “Excellent advice. I’m gone.”

  She locked the office doors and set the security alarms as Jason descended in the silent elevator, then walked the length of the dimly lit hall to the rear stairwell and climbed the one flight to her fourth-floor loft apartment. As quietly as possible, she keyed in the lock codes and slid the large double doors apart, closing and bolting them behind her. Making her way through the darkened space by memory, she shed her clothes along the way and crossed to the bathroom on the far side of the partitioned sleeping area. She left the light off so as not to awaken Michael, but as she reached into the shower to turn on the water, there was a soft sound behind her. Turning, she was startled as a warm, naked body pressed into her arms.

  Nuzzling Sloan’s neck, Michael murmured sleepily, “Is it morning?”

  “Not yet.” She kissed her gently. “Go back to bed. I’ll be in as soon as I shower.”

  “Mmm. Want company?”

  “Now that is by far the best offer I’ve had all night.”

  “Oh?” Michael asked, sounding much more awake. “And have you had many offers this evening?”

  “None worth mentioning,” Sloan reassured her. Unfortunately, she had a feeling that that circumstance was about to change, given their current undertaking. Pushing aside thoughts of predators and innocent victims, she drew her lover into the shower and let the warm water and Michael’s embrace wash the unwelcome images from her mind.

  *

  When the alarm went off, Michael made a quick grab for it in an attempt to silence the insistent buzzing before it awakened Sloan.

  “What time is it?” came a husky whisper from the darkness.

  “6:15.”

  “You have a meeting this morning, don’t you?” Sloan asked, clearing her throat and trying to dispel the cobwebs from her brain.

  “Yes. Development and Marketing are meeting to discuss agendas.”

  Sloan rolled over and watched Michael sit up in bed, appreciating the way the sheets cascaded down her lover’s body, leaving her breasts bare. Suddenly, she forgot the fact that she’d only had an hour of sleep. They hadn’t been able to have dinner together the evening before, because by the time Michael had returned from a late meeting with a new client, Sloan and Jason had been deep into another night on the job. Internet traffic was high between 4:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m., when kids were home from school. That’s when adults looking for a contact would be trolling. With effort, she pushed aside those thoughts.

  Running a hand down Michael’s arm, she said, “I missed you last night.”

  “Me, too.” Michael sighed. “I hate to leave so early, but I need to be there to referee. You know those two groups can never agree as to whose timetable should take priority. And of course, both division directors are total hotheads, and usually one or the other or both of them threatens to quit after every meeting. I figured I’d save myself some time by being there to put out any fires.”

  “They’ll play nice if you’re there. And you could always threaten to can them before they have a chance to quit.”

  “Maybe. If they weren’t so good in their areas, I’d do it.” Michael laughed and leaned down to kiss her. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Mmm. I will,” Sloan murmure
d languorously, her arms encircling Michael’s waist. Pulling the other woman down into her arms, she added, “In just a few minutes.”

  Surprised, Michael emitted a short peal of laughter that turned to a muffled moan as her body met Sloan’s, and her skin hummed with the familiar pulse of desire. Her brain said go to work, but her body called the next shot, and before she knew it, she was straddling Sloan’s thigh and devouring her lover’s mouth, suddenly ravenous for the taste of her. While she was lost in the kiss, Sloan lifted her hips, rolled Michael over, and then settled possessively upon her. The hum became a roar.

  Unwillingly, Michael pulled her mouth away from the kiss, gasping, “No time.”

  “I’ll be quick,” Sloan growled, her lips against Michael’s neck, her hand brushing the length of Michael’s side to her hips.

  “Liar. You’re never quick.” But she wasn’t moving away.

  Sloan pushed herself up and in one fluid motion slid down the bed until her breasts nestled between Michael’s thighs and her cheek was pressed to Michael’s stomach. Nipping at the sensitive skin around her lover’s navel, she trailed her fingers lightly up the inside of Michael’s left thigh, then danced them back and forth over the tender places between her legs.

  “Tease me like that for very long and it will be quick,” Michael warned, arching her hips under Sloan’s clever fingers.

  “I know.”

  Still, Sloan took her time, drawing her fingertips along the sensitive folds, dipping into welcoming heat, then pressing the length of Michael’s clitoris only to move away quickly, eliciting sighs and faint cries from her lover. Only when Michael’s long delicate fingers fluttered over her cheek in mute appeal did she lower her head and take her gently between her lips. At Michael’s sharp cry, she pulled her in more deeply, her tongue stroking counterpoint to the pulse that hammered through swollen tissues. Careful not to increase the pressure enough to snap the threads of Michael’s control, Sloan kept her quivering on the edge for long moments. Not until Michael began to thrust erratically against her, impossibly hard now and clearly on the verge of exploding, did she relent and increase the cadence of her strokes.

  Instantly, she was rewarded by the rigid stillness in Michael’s legs that signaled she was close, followed by a wrenching gasp and a quiet sob of surrender. Sloan closed her eyes, savoring every tremor that spiraled beneath her lips and moved outward through her lover’s body. Then she lay quietly, one hand extended, her fingers intertwined with Michael’s, completely satisfied.

  Sloan was almost asleep again as Michael whispered in her ear, “I’ve set the alarm. Be careful today. I love you.”

  *

  Catherine turned off the alarm twenty minutes before it was set to ring. She’d been awake for a long time, listening to the silence in the still house punctuated occasionally by the distant sound of a car door opening, an engine starting, and someone leaving for an early day. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep after Rebecca had left the night before, too. It was impossible not to wonder where she was going, to whom she would be talking, and with whom she would be spending the last dark hours of the night. She had hoped that Rebecca would return when her work was done, to come quietly through the door to rest at her side. Once she had even awakened, heart beating fast with anxious anticipation, thinking she had heard her—only to realize it had been the wind blowing branches against her window that had called to her.

  Wearily, she swung her legs from beneath the covers and stood, reaching for her robe as she straightened. She was tired, not from lack of sleep, although that endeavor had certainly been fitful, but from something deeper that tugged at her heart. As if standing at a distance, dispassionately watching a scene played out on stage, she studied the feeling, finally recognizing it as a combination of loneliness and fear. The loneliness did not surprise her. She missed Rebecca, which was only natural. The fear would take some time to understand, but part of it was simple enough. She was afraid because her love for the other woman made her vulnerable—susceptible not only to her own fate but also to Rebecca’s. Their paths had crossed, their lives had intersected, and now their futures were entwined. It was entirely possible that the road ahead would be paved with disappointment and sorrow, but she could not help but travel onward. Leaving Rebecca was unthinkable.

  How many times had she counseled others that there were no guarantees in life and that only through living was there any chance of fulfillment? Smiling to herself, she made her way toward the shower, thinking how easy it was to give advice and how hard, sometimes, to heed it.

  Chapter Ten

  Rebecca parked illegally in a bus stop and left her flashers on. She jogged up the block, glancing at her watch and searching for Catherine’s car. She didn’t see it, but she told herself that Catherine had returned late the previous night and probably hadn’t been able to find a place on her own block. Her breath was a little tight, and she was aware of a faint stabbing pain deep in her chest that pulsed with each footfall. Chalking it up to a still-healing wound, she ignored it. Nevertheless, as she pressed Catherine’s doorbell, she had to work to suppress the sound of her own breath wheezing in and out. What I really don’t need now is to give Catherine something else to worry about.

  After a minute, she pressed the doorbell again, but even as she did, she knew that she had missed her. When they’d parted the previous evening, they had been careful with one another, trying not to ignite the fires of anger that still smoldered dangerously. She hadn’t thought to ask Catherine what her morning schedule was. Another fuck-up, Frye.

  Turning away, she walked more slowly now down the marble stairs to the sidewalk and toward her car. There was a place inside of her that still hurt, and it had nothing to do with her injuries. It was that part of her that always felt empty when they were apart, and now she knew it was going to ache all day. Cursing softly, she slid into her Vette, gunned the engine, and roared away into the morning.

  *

  Rebecca’s temper hadn’t improved any by the time she reached the station house, and it wasn’t soothed by the thought of her 7:30 a.m. appointment. Rand Whitaker opened the door to his office precisely on time.

  “Come on in, Sergeant,” he said with a welcoming smile.

  Rebecca followed him, carrying a cardboard cup of coffee she had picked up from the vending room on her way to his office. She settled into the straight-backed chair and balanced the cup on her knee.

  “So you’ve been back on the job a few days now, isn’t that right?” He jotted the date and time on a yellow legal pad as he sipped from his own mug of coffee.

  “Not precisely,” Rebecca corrected in an even tone. The one place you didn’t want to appear disgruntled was in this room. “My normal assignment is working active Special Cmes cases—detective work. For the time being, I’ve been assigned as an intermediary between the police department and a federal agency that’s running a multijurisdictional task force.”

  “That sounds like a desk job.”

  “More or less,” she conceded, not seeing the necessity of offering anything further. The less he knew, the less he could report to someone else.

  “You okay with that?”

  “It’s not what I’m trained to do, and it wouldn’t be my choice of assignments. I’m assuming it will be temporary, and as soon as you sign off on my evaluation, I expect my captain to pull me off and put me back on regular duty.” Hopefully, he’d get the hint and do what everyone knew he was going to do anyhow, which was certify her fit for duty. Christ, I’m the one who got shot. You’d think that would earn me some slack.

  He eased back in his chair, nodding as if he agreed with what she was thinking. “I’m curious, Sergeant. Why didn’t you wait for backup that night with Blake? Wouldn’t that have been standard operating procedure?”

  “As I told you before, I felt that the hostage was in imminent danger and that any delay would put her at risk.”

  “Your partner stated in his report that she had not been harmed
up to that point. What made you think the situation was so serious?”

  “Detective Watts stated in his report that Dr. Rawlings had apparently not been sexually assaulted up to that point, but he confirmed that she was physically restrained and in immediate peril.” Jesus, doesn’t he know that I would have read Watts’s report by now? I know what he said in it. Whitaker is clearly no detective.

  “The reason I’m asking is that if someone were to look at this from the outside, your actions could be construed as taking the law into your own hands. You saved the hostage—true, but you also executed the perpetrator.”

  Rebecca almost smiled. Now he was trying to provoke her into saying more than she intended to reveal. Another interrogation technique that he wasn’t employing very well.

  “Dr. Whitaker, I did not execute the suspect. I used appropriate force to subdue a violent criminal who gave every indication that he was about to inflict severe bodily harm on a civilian and who gave verbal confirmation that he intended to kill her as well as me.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase, Detective Sergeant.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Given the same situation, would you do the same thing again?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca answered without hesitation. Her eyes met his, and whatever he saw in her steel gaze made him blink.

  “Would you risk your life for any hostage, or only one you were personally involved with?” he asked softly.

  She leaned forward, never taking her eyes from his, and her voice was flint. “Meaning what?”

  “You knew the hostage personally, didn’t you?”

  “I met her during the course of the investigation, yes.”

  He gave no sign that she hadn’t precisely answered his question, but merely continued. “Did the fact that you…knew her…influence your reaction to the situation?”

  “No.” She didn’t see any need to tell him that she’d been almost out of her mind with fear and anger only a short time before she’d finally found Blake and Catherine. No need because her mind had been crystal clear when she’d stepped into the room with them. She’d been in perfect control.