by Radclyffe
“Looks like the mayor’s got some important people on his side,” Rebecca murmured. “Including our friend.”
“We pretty much already knew that,” Sloan said, clenching the glass in her hand as Zamora leaned close and said something that made Michael smile, even as she kept her eyes on the current speaker.
“Did you say anything to Michael about our interest in him?” Rebecca asked.
“No.”
“His attention to her is just coincidental, then.” Rebecca watched Sloan carefully. From the moment she and Michael had arrived, she’d looked ready to explode. Anyone who didn’t know her as well as Rebecca did probably would have missed the signs. Her usual feline grace was absent. She moved instead with the wary precision of a trained martial artist on the verge of launching a killing blow. Coiled muscles and singular focus. And her prey was very obviously Kratos Zamora. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him the entire evening. If he’d noticed, he gave no indication of it, but Rebecca had seen his bodyguards scanning the crowds. Their eyes continually returned to Sloan.
“His muscle has picked up on you,” Rebecca said.
“Fine.”
“You need to go outside. Take a walk around. Get some air.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You might as well be waving a banner with his name on it, saying ‘I’m after you.’”
Sloan slugged down her scotch. “You think they don’t know.”
“Probably they do. But we don’t need to take out an ad.”
“Fuck them.” Sloan finally took her eyes off Michael and focused on Rebecca. “Doesn’t it bother you? That they flaunt their invincibility? That they spit on us while cozying up to the mayor and the police commissioner? When we know he’s dirty?”
“It doesn’t matter what we know. It matters what we can prove.”
“No,” Sloan said. “It matters what you can prove.”
“Times have changed. Men like him have become politicians.”
“What does that make men like the commissioner, then? Front men for felons?”
“I haven’t had dealings with the commissioner. He didn’t come up the ranks. It’s an elected position.”
Sloan held out a glass to the bartender for a refill. “And money buys votes.”
“You don’t need that drink,” Rebecca said. “But you need to tell me what lit your fuse.”
Sloan narrowed her eyes, challenging Rebecca. Rebecca was the team leader, but she wasn’t technically Sloan’s boss. Sloan still hadn’t decided whether to tell her about the surprise slide show. She trusted Rebecca, but she didn’t trust anyone else and she didn’t have any idea where the images were coming from. All she knew was that Zamora had gotten close to Michael. And someone was playing with her. She needed to know what they wanted, and why they were willing to use Michael to send a message. Until she knew, she wasn’t telling anyone who might further endanger Michael, willingly or unwillingly. Including Rebecca. She cared about the investigation, she cared about justice. But she cared about Michael more.
Rebecca held her gaze, her blue eyes cool and steady. Silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, as the seconds ticked by. Sloan took a shuddering breath and carefully placed her untouched drink on the bar behind her. She needed to convince Rebecca nothing was going on.
“Sorry. He’s sitting next to Michael. It’s driving me crazy.”
“She’s safe here.”
“I want to send her out of town.”
“I don’t blame you. Maybe Catherine will go with her.”
Sloan laughed shakily. “Yeah, right.”
“There’s no reason to think she’s in danger. He’s an influential businessman. She’s the head of a multimillion-dollar corporation. They swim in the same waters. It makes sense that he’s friendly.”
“Yeah,” Sloan said dryly. “Friendly.”
With a hand on Sloan’s back, Rebecca steered her away from the bar and the occasional attendee who came for a refill. She didn’t want to spend too much more time talking to her, not with Zamora’s men watching, and Sloan seemed calmer now. “We’ll compare notes tomorrow as to who else he’s friendly with. I’ve got Watts on camera duty.”
Sloan rubbed her eyes. “Look. Sorry. I’m okay. I hate these goddamned things anyhow.”
“Me too. But we can tell Clark and the captain we’ve done our duty.” Rebecca squeezed Sloan’s shoulder. “And we’ve got a good look at his muscle. That might come in handy.”
“Yeah,” Sloan said, planning to search the security tapes at Michael’s office building for those same faces. “It might.”
*
Talia waited until the tall, sharp-eyed blonde moved away from Sloan. That would be the detective Kratos had told her about. Frye. A very capable-looking woman. Very intense. Very focused. Very cool. Talia preferred her women hotter, although she knew the ones who seemed cool on the surface very often boiled over if you knew how to stoke their fires. She wondered what it would take to fire up the detective. She didn’t have to wonder about Sloan. It was written all over her face every time she looked at the woman next to Kratos. The woman Kratos had met for an impromptu business discussion the day before.
Talia picked up a glass of Burgundy from a passing waiter and gravitated toward Sloan. “I hate these things, don’t you?”
Sloan glanced at her and smiled politely. “I don’t think we’re supposed to admit that.”
“I’ll keep it a secret if you will.” Talia sipped her wine. It was better than average for affairs of this type. And Sloan was far more attractive in person than in her photos. Her body appeared to be solid muscle, and her eyes were the most startling shade of indigo-violet. With her dark hair and square jaw she exuded raw sexuality. Talia registered a spike of pleasure and struggled against the urge to touch her, but she let her interest show in her voice. “I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”
“That’s a rare skill.” Sloan watched the stage as Zamora moved to the lectern. She stiffened as his left hand drifted over Michael’s shoulder in passing.
“He’s quite charismatic, isn’t he?” Talia observed, leaning lightly against Sloan’s arm. She wanted to set her off. Women like her could be thrillingly unpredictable when ignited.
“Not my type,” Sloan said through gritted teeth.
“No,” Talia said with a laugh. Her breast brushed Sloan’s arm and her nipple tightened so quickly she almost gasped. “I don’t imagine he is.”
“Friend of yours?” Sloan asked.
“Not precisely.” Talia smiled as the woman onstage looked over at Sloan, then took Talia in with a curious expression. Curiosity. Not jealousy. That was interesting. “But she’s a friend of yours.”
Sloan finally focused on Talia, her expression moving from distant politeness to intense scrutiny. “More than a friend. But you knew that, didn’t you?”
Talia sipped her wine to hide her smile. Oh, this woman was very good. Very very good and very very exciting. She would have to be careful. “I made a calculated deduction. You’ve been watching her all night.”
“Does that mean you’ve been watching me all night?”
“Oh my. Am I that obvious?”
“No. Not at all.”
Talia looked toward the stage, breaking eye contact. She wasn’t usually concerned with what others could read in her expression, but she feared Sloan might see more than she intended. She was painfully aroused and she did not want Sloan to realize she had an advantage.
“He seems quite taken with her,” Talia said, then continued as if she didn’t hear the sharp breath Sloan sucked in. “But then, that’s understandable. She’s quite beautiful.”
“You can give him a message for me,” Sloan said. “Tell him it would be dangerous for him to even think about her, let alone touch her again.”
“If I knew him that well, I would surely give him your message.” Talia slid her fingers around Sloan’s forearm. “But I do know him well enough to know that he always gets
what he wants.”
“Not this time.”
Her fingers shifted to Sloan’s hip, and down. She slipped her card deep into the left front pocket of Sloan’s tuxedo pants, her fingers gliding inward, stopping just short of the point of flagrant groping. “If he gets to be a nuisance, call me. Maybe I can help.” When she withdrew her hand, she let her fingers drift upward over Sloan’s abdomen. “Of course, you can call me anytime.”
“I didn’t get your name,” Sloan said.
Talia reluctantly stepped back, finished her wine, and set her glass aside. “It’s Talia. You have my number. I’ll look forward to your call.”
*
“Is she all right?” Catherine slipped her arm through Rebecca’s and tilted her head toward Sloan.
“I don’t know.” Rebecca frowned, studying Sloan from across the room. The crowd was breaking up, a few people lingering in small clusters, trying for one last connection, one last vote, one last dollar. Sloan was headed straight through the throng for Michael. “She’s strung pretty tight. I thought she was just worried about Michael’s health.”
“But now you’re not sure?”
Rebecca shook her head. “I can’t read her, which means she doesn’t want me to.” She clasped Catherine’s hand. “What do you think?”
“I think everyone is under a great deal of pressure. I saw Sloan at the hospital when Michael was injured. She was very badly shaken. She’s understandably frightened and trying not to be.” Catherine sighed. “She’s not all that different than you. She doesn’t know she doesn’t have to be strong all the time.”
“Every cop is like that. And she’s a cop, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.”
“I know.” Catherine turned aside for a few seconds to say good night to the deputy mayor, then she placed a hand on Rebecca’s arm. “Are you coming home with me?”
“I think we’re done here for the night.” Rebecca watched Zamora move toward the exit, followed by his entourage of bodyguards masquerading as business associates. He stopped every few feet to speak with some highly placed official. The deputy mayor. The district attorney. The head of one of the local political parties. “We’ve seen what we came to see.”
“Then I’m going to take advantage of the few hours when you’re not working and I’m actually awake. Let’s go.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Does that include taking advantage of me?”
Catherine laughed. “Most definitely, my darling.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dell was always relieved to find that Irina hadn’t taken off. But then, where would she go?
“Sorry I didn’t think of this sooner,” Dell said, setting a large cardboard box down by the foot of the mattress. She noticed a neat stack of magazines and newspapers nearby. Some in English, some in Russian. She knelt down and started opening the box. “You read English?”
“Yes.”
“I guess that’s a dumb question. You speak English.” Dell shook her head. “Sorry.”
“It is all right.” Irina walked to the refrigerator. “There is beer. Do you want one?”
Dell glanced over her shoulder, surprised when she saw Irina holding up a bottle of the brand she drank. Irina wore navy slacks that hugged her legs like skin and a pink V-neck tee with little sequins along the neck. The shirt ended an inch or so above her waistband. Jewelry of some kind winked in a navel piercing. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She usually didn’t. Her breasts were a lot bigger than Sandy’s. Dell looked away. “Beer would be great. Thanks. Did you have enough to eat?”
“I am fine here.” Irina placed the bottle on the floor next to Dell and curled up on the mattress nearby. She popped her head on her elbow and watched Dell work. “You brought a television?”
“I thought you might be bored.”
“We are not going out tonight?”
“I thought after last night we should lay low for a little bit.” Dell sat back on her heels. “Did anything happen today? Did anyone call? This guy Olik, he has your cell number, right?”
“Yes, although before he would not call me. He would call Yuri. When he wanted the girls for something special.”
Dell tried not to let her disgust show. “When he wanted them for what? You took care of scheduling them at the club—to dance, right?”
Irina reached for Dell’s beer and took a swallow, then put it back on the floor. “A van would come and bring the girls to Ziggie’s and home again after. They were always guarded. That was usual. But sometimes he would want them for parties. Or to make a movie.”
“What did you tell them? How did you get them to do this?”
“I told them the truth,” Irina said. “That if they did not obey they would never have a chance to be free.”
“So why hasn’t he called you?” Dell carried the television across the room, placed it on the kitchen counter, and plugged it in. “Why hasn’t he come after you?”
“With men like this, it is all about games in the mind,” Irina said. “He will not want me to think I am important. He will want me back, but he will make sure I understand it is because I belong to him, like his car or his dogs. Maybe he thinks I am going hungry, maybe he thinks I will be frightened alone. Maybe he wonders about my new boyfriend.”
“You think he knows about us?” Dell leaned against the counter and crossed her ankles, her arms braced on either side.
Irina smiled. “He does after last night. I have fucked boys for the job, but I have never had a boyfriend before. He will be suspicious.”
“The bartender has seen us together before. He knows I was trying to get with you.”
“Yes.” Irina seemed to focus on Dell’s crotch. “They know I was playing with Mitch.”
“That’s good, then,” Dell said, acutely aware of not packing. She felt naked even with her clothes on.
“Very good.” Irina’s gaze drifted back up to Dell’s face. “When will we go out again?”
“Tomorrow or the next night. Unless something happens before then.” Dell thought it was time to bring up the other items they had to deal with. “We want you to talk to someone—a doctor—about these men, about how you lived. What they did. Where you went with them.”
Irina’s expression went blank. “A prison doctor?”
“No. Just a doctor to talk to. A therapist.”
“No drugs.”
“No,” Dell said quickly. “No. Only talking. About the girls. About you. About things that have happened. It might help us figure out where to look for them, and for the other girls. And your sister.”
“Where is this doctor? I won’t go to the police.”
“I’ll take you to see her. At her office, okay?”
“Her?”
Dell nodded. “It’s okay. You can trust her. I promise.”
Irina studied her for a long time. “You will be there?”
“If you want.”
“When?”
“Monday.”
“Will I see you before then?”
“Sure,” Dell said. “I’ll come by tomorrow sometime.”
“Then I will talk to your doctor.”
*
“Hello?” Sandy took a cell phone call as she climbed out of a cab at the corner of Vine and Delaware Avenue. She handed the driver ten dollars and motioned with her fingers for him to give her back three.
“Lily said you were looking for some extra action,” a female voice said.
“Darla?” Sandy thought she recognized the soft Southern accent of a black girl about her age. She didn’t know her very well, only that she had a story like all their stories. A home she didn’t want to talk about, a family that didn’t miss her, and the new family she’d made with other girls like her, living in squats or four to a room in crowded walk-up apartments. But they were making it. And they were proud of that.
“Sandy? Yeah, it’s me. I wasn’t sure I had the right number at first.”
“Where are you, honey? The Blue D?” Sandy skirted through traffi
c and crossed to the far side of Delaware and hurried north.
“Nuh-uh. The Iron Fist.”
“Alone?” The Fist was a biker bar, and the clientele was into heavy-duty action. Sandy tried to stay away from there, even when she’d been working regular. She disliked sweating men mauling her and demanding she do things they’d be embarrassed to ask their regular girlfriends for. Somehow, giving blow jobs to some anxious accountant whose wife was too uptight to put her mouth on his cock was a lot different than having a drunken pig piss on her.
“A trick dropped me off in the parking lot,” Darla said. “I just ran in to use the phone, and I bumped into one of the guys as they were leaving. They said there’s a party tonight and they’d pick me up on the corner of Spring Garden and Second in ten minutes. Wanna come?”
“Which guys are these again?” Sandy asked, crossing back over Delaware. She was only a few blocks from Spring Garden. She wondered if she could reach Dell, and if Dell would even have time to get here before the guys showed up.
“I don’t know their names,” Darla said. “Foreign guys. Russians, I guess. They’ve got money. They promised me five large just to hang around this party.”
“Hang around?”
Darla laughed. “Well. You know. I figure that means put out a little bit.”
“Who else you got lined up?”
“No one yet. You’re the only one I could reach.”
Sandy couldn’t let Darla go alone. She could be walking into something she couldn’t handle. Even if Sandy didn’t want to get information for Frye, she couldn’t let any girl, even one she didn’t know that well, do something like this alone. Shit, Dell was going to be pissed. “I’m five minutes away. Don’t go without me.”
“Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll tell them someone extra special is on the way.”
*
Dell tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder while she looked under the sink for a place to stash her empty. “You sound short of breath or something. Where are you?” She got a sudden cramp in her stomach followed by a very bad feeling. “San?”