Justice for All

by Radclyffe

  “I can’t think why you would need to know that,” he said with casual confidence.

  “I imagine if you gave it a little time, you would.” Rebecca smiled. “Since it was only a few days ago, I suspect you remember. So perhaps you would just indulge me so that I won’t have to take up any more of your time. I’m sure you’re busy.”

  Bishop Thomas’s eyes became glacial. “Do I need to consult an attorney, Lieutenant?”

  “I don’t know.” Rebecca withdrew the photo from her inside pocket. She’d had Jason print it on photo paper, highlighting the date and time stamp. She slid it across the desk to him. “What do you think?”

  He looked at the photo for a long moment without picking it up. Then he pushed it back to her, obviously knowing that other copies existed and that keeping that one would not protect him. Rebecca was impressed with his control. He was faced with potentially ruinous exposure, and if they could find the girls in the photograph and prove their ages, he could be prosecuted for rape and would undoubtedly go to prison. Still, by all outward appearances, he was unruffled.

  “The fact that you’re here and haven’t gone to my superiors or,” he laughed humorlessly, “simply arrested me, tells me there’s something that you want.”

  “There are a lot of things that I want,” Rebecca said softly. “I would be happy just to see you in prison, and if that’s all I can get out of this, that will be enough.”

  “But?” He steepled his fingers under his chin, as if waiting patiently for her to confess so that he could absolve her of her sins.

  For a few seconds, Rebecca wondered if he really believed he was above the law. “Arresting you would make my day. But I’d rather make my week or even a whole month. I want the men who organized this little soirée.” She held up her hand before he could speak. “And you know who they are. If you want to plead ignorance, you certainly may. But then I’m going to walk you out of this building in handcuffs and let the lawyers fight it out. And I guarantee you’ll spend time in a cell while they do.”

  The bishop nodded. “I don’t suppose you’d care that I have some very important friends who might be unhappy if you did that.”

  “Not a bit.”

  “No, I didn’t think so. What do you want?”

  “I want to know how it works. Who you call when you want… What? A date?”

  He winced. “A companion.”

  Rebecca thought of the young girl with her hand on the man’s penis, and the fact that he could sit across from her as if it hadn’t happened. She had to struggle not to cuff him on the spot. “I want to know who you call. Who gives instructions as to where to go. Who do you pay? I want to know how it works.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I want you to request an evening’s companionship.”

  *

  “You’re overstepping on this, Lieutenant,” ADA Eva Dunbar snapped when Rebecca laid out the plan for her.

  After she’d left the Bishop Thomas, Rebecca had called the thirty-five-year-old African-American prosecutor and asked her to meet in a coffee bar near City Hall. She’d chosen Dunbar because she’d worked with her a few times before and knew she had a sense of the big picture. Dunbar wasn’t about a quick and easy win if there was a bigger prize to be had, even if there was some risk involved.

  “If you’re not interested, I’m sure the feds will be.”

  Eva Dunbar wore a deep red Armani suit with a thin black shell and heels. She and Rebecca were nearly the same height, but Dunbar’s body was fuller than Rebecca’s. When she leaned across the table, her dark eyes sparked with irritation. “I’m not a rookie, Rebecca.”

  “I know,” Rebecca said with a slight smile. “That’s why I picked you.”

  “If you trusted the feds, you would’ve gone to them first.”

  “You might be right.” Rebecca shrugged. “But I favor the home team. So I thought you’d want a shot.”

  “What I want,” Dunbar said, “is to make my own deals. What did you promise him for his cooperation?”

  “Not a thing. Only that his cooperation would be given serious consideration.”

  “I want to nail his ass to his own cross,” Dunbar said vehemently.

  “Perhaps you could keep that sentiment to yourself until I get the one I’m after.”

  Dunbar leaned back in her seat. “You really think you’re going to get Zamora?”

  “I think I’m going to get someone high enough up the ladder to give him to me.”

  “Wouldn’t that be pretty.”

  When Dunbar smiled, Rebecca had the sense of a powerful predator savoring the coming kill. “So do we have a deal?”

  “You’ll still owe me for not coming to me first with this.”

  “Consider me in your debt.”

  *

  “Hey, babe,” Dell called, walking into the bedroom at Sloan and Michael’s. “Your sexy cop is home.”

  “Good. Because I want to shower and I need you to wash my hair.”

  Dell frowned. “Are you sure you feel up to it?”

  “I’m sure if you don’t give me a hand, you’re going to be one dead sexy cop.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’m on it.” Dell kicked off her boots and shed her shirt and jeans in record time. Naked, she walked to the bed and pulled down the covers. Holding out her hand, she said, “Ready?”

  Sandy surveyed her, taking her time, looking over Dell’s wiry muscular frame, her small neat breasts, her tight ass. She licked her lips. “Man, do I want a piece of you.”

  Watching Sandy’s tongue skate across her soft, full lips, Dell got hot all over and her clit went wild. “You just gave me a full-on hard-on, babe.”

  “Yeah?” Sandy smiled in satisfaction. “That’s nice.”

  Dell groaned and ran the flat of her hand down her stomach, brushing lightly through the crisp hair at the apex of her thighs. “It would be except you’re in no shape to take care of it.”

  “So?” Sandy patted the bed next to her. “You’ve got a hand. Get your butt down here and kiss me while you do the job.”

  “You sure?” Dell was already having trouble catching her breath.

  “Move, rookie.” Sandy eased back on the pillows and turned onto her good side. When Dell stretched out beside her, she skimmed her fingers over Dell’s chest, lightly brushing her nipples. “Come here, baby.”

  Dell almost forgot about the pressure in her clit because Sandy’s tongue teasing inside her mouth, playing over her lips, sucking and nibbling, felt so good she got lost in the kissing. When Sandy scratched her nails down the center of Dell’s belly, her clit jerked and she remembered it in a big way. Dell groaned and cupped her crotch in the palm of her hand.

  “Need to come, baby?” Sandy whispered, flicking the tip of her tongue rapidly over Dell’s.

  “Yeah,” Dell gasped roughly. “You get me so hot.”

  “Let me watch you jerk off.” Sandy covered Dell’s hand and pushed her fingers down on her clit. “Keep your eyes open while you do it.”

  Sandy started kissing her again and Dell didn’t have to think about the rest of it. She just stroked and squeezed, drifting in the blue of Sandy’s eyes until the tension deep in her belly started to uncoil and lick at the edges of her consciousness like flames flaring from embers.

  “I’m gonna come, babe,” Dell murmured against Sandy’s mouth. “You feel so good.”

  “I love you, Dell,” Sandy said, sweeping her hand down Dell’s back to massage her ass. “Oh yeah. That’s it, baby.”

  Dell whimpered, clenching her ass as she pumped into Sandy’s hand, coming in long, hard pulses while Sandy kissed her. Finally she closed her eyes and let her head fall onto Sandy’s breast. “You kill me.”

  “Good.” Sandy slapped her butt. “Don’t fall asleep, rookie. I want my shower.”

  “Man, I can’t move.” Dell flopped over onto her back, grinning. “It never feels that good when I do it by myself.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes. “You’re such a d
og. Get up.”

  Dell had a better idea. “I could, you know, make you come really easy so you wouldn’t move too much.”

  “Oh yeah? Since when.” Sandy eased her legs to the floor and grabbed Dell’s arm to steady herself as she stood. “I’m horny, but I’d rather wait until I don’t have to worry about breaking anything when I come.” She looped her arm around Dell’s waist. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

  “Okay, babe.” Dell led her into the adjoining bathroom. “Sit down while I get the shower ready.” When the water felt warm enough, she helped Sandy up and joined her in the shower. “Stand still. I’ll do everything.”

  “Deal.”

  Dell squirted shampoo into her palm and lathered Sandy’s hair.

  “Did everything go okay today?” Sandy asked.

  “Yeah. Irina told us that you got a shot of her sister at that deal the other night.” Dell cupped Sandy’s chin and looked into her eyes. “You did a really good job, San.”

  “About that,” Sandy said quietly.

  “Look, I know you want to help. I get that. But—”

  “I talked to Frye today, Dell.”

  Dell tensed. “Yeah?”

  Sandy punched her shoulder. “Don’t get all bristly right away.”

  “You told her you want to go back out again.”

  “Well, yeah,” Sandy said as if Dell were being dumb. “But I talked to her about something else too.”

  Dell frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not gonna go to work for Michael.” Sandy cradled Dell’s face and kissed her. “I’m going to be a cop.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sloan pulled her Harley Super Glide into an empty parking space across from Talia Ballenger’s address on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. She swung her leg over the big machine, clipped her helmet onto the back, and slid her hands into the pockets of her black motorcycle jacket while she sauntered across the street. Casually dodging the cars as she cut across six lanes of traffic streaming along either side of the Parkway, she checked out the building, recognizing it as one of the most exclusive in the city, gated and guarded, with a waiting list that was more for form than function. No one got one of the luxurious apartments unless someone died and willed it to them, or they knew some very important people in very high places.

  A security guard behind the desk in the lobby was dressed in an elaborate uniform that was supposed to make him look like a doorman. It didn’t. He regarded her as if she were lost. “May I help you, madam?”

  Sloan smiled. “I’m here to see Ms. Ballenger. The penthouse, right?”

  “Are you expected?” he said with just a little more warmth.

  Sloan tilted her head from side to side. “Expected. In a manner of speaking. Yes.”

  His brows knit as if he didn’t understand the language. “Madam?”

  Sighing, Sloan leaned her elbow on the ornate, carved wood counter. “Call her up and tell her it’s Sloan.”

  “Of course. She usually lets me know if she’s expecting a visitor,” he said apologetically. Apparently, it wasn’t so unusual for Talia to receive female visitors. Even ones who didn’t look like they belonged in her social circle.

  “I’m sure she’s been busy.”

  His face flushed, but he said nothing. After pushing a number on a portable phone, he muttered a few words, then set the handset down briskly. Coming around the side of the counter, he removed a small key from his belt. “Right this way, please.”

  Sloan followed and waited while he keyed the private elevator. “Hers is the only residence on the top floor. Have a nice evening.”

  “Thanks. I’m planning on it.” As the doors slid closed, she saw him flush once again.

  The ride up was swift and silent, and when the doors glided open she stepped out into a foyer as large and well appointed as some people’s living rooms. Thick wool carpets, a crystal chandelier, paintings on three walls above dark wood wainscoting, and a solid wood door worthy of an English mansion. A buzzer was discreetly inset into the wide, carved molding, but before Sloan had a chance to push it, the door opened.

  “This is a nice surprise,” Talia said in a voice like warm honey. She wore a dressing gown—not quite a robe, but not a dress, either. The maroon silk dipped sharply into the cleavage between her obviously unfettered breasts, and the belt tied loosely at her waist was more an invitation to be opened than anything else. Her legs were bare below the knee-length hem, her feet ensconced in backless sandals.

  Sloan leaned her shoulder against the open door. “I assumed I was invited. You did give me your card.”

  “Yes, but my address wasn’t on it.” Talia stepped aside so Sloan could enter. “I just opened a bottle of Romanée-Conti. Won’t you join me.”

  “Not the ’78, I hope,” Sloan said, referencing one of the costliest red Burgundy vintages ever produced by the fabled vineyard.

  Talia smiled slowly and surveyed Sloan from head to toe. “Why not? I’m sure you’re worth it.”

  “I appreciate your confidence in me.” Sloan followed her through the high-ceilinged living room, noting a dining room off to one side beyond a set of double French doors, and a hallway that she presumed led to the bedrooms.

  They passed through an archway into a formal library where a fire burned in a marble fireplace. A laptop occupied the center of a huge desk positioned in front of floor-to-ceiling windows with a million-dollar view of the city. Several books rested on an antique cigarette table next to one of the chairs facing the fireplace. An open bottle of wine and a single glass sat on a silver tray on a low table between the two empty chairs.

  “Please.” Talia gestured toward one of the chairs. She retrieved another wineglass from a sideboard near the fireplace and poured two glasses of wine. Handing one to Sloan, who had remained standing, she said, “Let me take your jacket.”

  Sloan placed the wine on the low table and shrugged out of her jacket, aware that Talia was watching her intently. She wore a black T-shirt with her jeans. She tossed the jacket on the floor next to her chair and sat down, retrieving her wineglass. “No need to bother hanging it up.”

  Talia settled into the opposite chair, one leg tucked beneath her. Her gown clung to her thighs, opening enough to show a triangle of tanned flesh from her knee to the top of her leg. Sloan glanced down briefly, then looked up into her eyes, waiting.

  “How did you find me?” Talia asked, cradling the wineglass in her palm.

  “Phonebook?”

  Talia laughed. “I don’t think so.” She sipped her wine and regarded Sloan over the top of the glass. “Unlisted.”

  “Of course.” Sloan grinned. “This is an excellent red.”

  “A modern classic.” Talia leaned forward to replace her wineglass on the table between them. The folds of her gown shimmered, affording a tantalizing glimpse of the inner curve of her breast. When she settled back, she ran her fingers casually from the base of her throat down the center of her chest and back up again. “I believe it’s your move.”

  Sloan positioned her wineglass next to Talia’s and bent down to reach into the inner pocket of her jacket. She withdrew an envelope and passed it wordlessly to Talia. Their fingers touched briefly as Talia accepted it. Talia’s long, tapered fingers were warm and soft. The only sound in the room as Talia looked through the prints, one after the other, was the crackling of the wood in the fireplace. At length, she replaced the photos in the envelope and handed it back.

  “You’re better than I expected,” Talia said.

  “You weren’t easy to track,” Sloan replied. “Cost me a few sleepless nights.”

  Talia smiled wryly. “I suppose that’s some comfort.” She gestured toward the envelope that Sloan had dropped onto her jacket. “She’s very beautiful.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Zamora is quite taken with her.”

  “If he touches her, I’ll kill him.”

  Talia regarded Sloan intently. “Is that why you came? So that I could give
him a message?”

  “No. If he doesn’t already know that, he’s a fool. And I don’t think he is.”

  “Then why expose yourself to me?”

  Sloan chuckled. “Have I? You already know who I am.” Her smile disappeared and her voice dropped. “And you know what matters to me. What else is there?”

  “Yes, but now I know that you know who I am. So you’ve lost the advantage.”

  Sloan spread her legs, draped her arms over the sides of the antique chair, and watched the fire eat away at the substance of the wood. “On the surface it looks like a stalemate.” She glanced over at Talia. “But I have one more move to make.”

  “What would that be?” Talia refilled their wineglasses. “You can’t prove I sent those images. I often have visitors. My computer is readily accessible.”

  “I doubt any of them have the skill to infiltrate a highly protected computer network at Port Authority, intercept and reroute dozens of shipping containers, and alter the security programs set to track them.” Sloan was impressed with Talia’s nerves. Her expression didn’t waver. She gave no sign of being shocked or anxious. “But you do. And given time, I’ll be able to prove it.”

  Talia crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “An ambitious undertaking.”

  “Do you want to bet against me?”

  The silence stretched for several minutes until Talia sighed. “No. I don’t think so.”

  Secretly, Sloan was relieved. Talia was good. Very good. And the odds were probably sixty-forty that Sloan would actually be able to prove her complicity in the human trafficking operation at the port. She had wagered that like her, Talia would bet the odds. And when losing meant decades in a federal prison, a smart woman would not risk coming up short.

  “I should tell you,” Talia said, “that I am not in his employ. I’m a freelancer. I don’t have any information of value.”

  Sloan and Rebecca had discussed the merits of arresting Talia and trying to force her into testifying against Kratos Zamora. They’d agreed that the evidence supporting her involvement in anything illegal was thin, and cyberevidence was often the least convincing to a jury because they didn’t understand it. Any good attorney would know that and advise Talia not to deal.