Justice for All

by Radclyffe

  Realizing his fists were clenched at his sides, he made a conscious effort to relax and put his personal feelings aside. He didn’t know precisely when the lieutenant would greenlight the takedown, but when it happened, he needed to be completely focused.

  When Irina finished distributing the girls, a few men were still without escorts, and one of them appeared to be having a heated conversation with Olik, who lounged on a stool at the wet bar on the far side of the room. The thin, agitated man stalked off and Olik pulled out his cell phone and made a call. The Russians didn’t have enough girls of their own to cover the party, and Mitch knew what that meant. When a knock sounded at the door and the guard next to him exchanged words in Russian with someone outside in the hall, Mitch steeled himself for what was coming.

  The guard pulled the door open and a man walked through with three more girls. Sandy didn’t look at Mitch, and he gave her a cursory glance and then looked away. Even when Sandy and one of her girlfriends headed straight for the thin man who sat fidgeting on the love seat across the room, Mitch just stared straight ahead. He didn’t flinch when the man said something to Sandy and pressed her hand over the bulge in his crotch. Sandy laughed and pulled her hand away before reaching for the girl beside her and deep-throating her. Mitch didn’t mind the kiss as long as the guy wasn’t touching her anymore. Sandy had a job to do, and so did he. The best way to keep her safe was to get between her and the Russians when the fireworks started. He would preserve his cover, but if he got the chance, he’d kick that slimy bastard’s balls into his throat.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Everyone should be settled in by now,” Rebecca said a few minutes after they watched Sandy climb out of a black SUV and go into the hotel with two men and a couple of other girls. She checked Watts and Sloan. “Ready?”

  “Fucking A,” Watts growled, releasing the strap on his holster before reaching for the door handle.

  “Looking forward to it,” Sloan said easily.

  “I’ll alert Clark to move on Zamora. Watts, radio when you rendezvous with the tactical team at the service elevators. We’ll take the lobby and clear the stairwell. Wait on the door until we get there if you can.”

  “Roger, Loo.” Watts slid out of the car and hurried away with a spring in his step.

  Rebecca speed dialed Clark, snapped, “We’re moving,” and disconnected.

  “The Russians will be armed,” Rebecca reminded Sloan. “You stay at the rear and out of the line of fire.”

  “How about I just watch your back and we don’t worry about where I’m standing.”

  “Fair enough. But Jesus, keep your head down.” Rebecca grinned as she opened her car door. “I don’t need Michael after me for getting you bruised.”

  Laughing, Sloan climbed out and joined Rebecca as they headed toward the front entrance. “I’m sorry Jason is missing this one.”

  “We need him back at headquarters monitoring Zamora, just in case he gets wind of this and starts dumping data.” Rebecca slowed as her radio crackled and Watts relayed that the strike team was in position. “I copy. Give us thirty seconds. Then go.”

  Rebecca and Sloan sprinted into the lobby, jogged around guests and bellmen, and hurtled into the stairwell.

  *

  Dell heard a muffled shout through the door and knocked the Russian guard next to her off balance as the door crashed open. Everyone in the room shouted at once as officers in riot gear stormed into the room. Girls cowered on the floor, men scattered while trying to zip and cover, and the Russians reached for weapons. Dell took advantage of the pandemonium and the momentary cover provided by the strike team to elbow the guard in the temple. The guy dropped like a stone.

  Dell immediately checked for Sandy and saw her drag the girl with her behind the sofa. Across the room, Watts manhandled the other guard up against the wet bar and slammed his head down amidst the bottles and glasses. The lieutenant shoved the priest to the floor next to the sofa and cuffed him. The remaining johns jostled like spooked cattle, trying to get out the door past the police who were busy restraining them.

  The situation seemed contained until Dell caught a glimpse of Olik yanking Irina by the arm toward the hallway that led to the rear of the penthouse. She wasn’t certain of the layout, but she thought there might be another exit.

  Shouldering her way through the melee, she raced down the hall. When she pushed through a partially open door, she found herself in another large sitting room with a wide foyer to her left and sofas and chairs grouped around an empty fireplace off to her right. In the foyer, Olik, one hand twisted in Irina’s hair, jerked open the door to the hall. Dell couldn’t let him take her. She yanked her backup piece from her ankle holster and leveled it at Olik’s head. “Olik. Let her go!”

  Seconds stretched into eternity as Olik thrust Irina in front of him and raised his automatic.

  “Irina! Get down!” Dell shouted, desperately angling for a clear shot.

  Then Irina lunged at Olik and the air erupted in gunfire.

  *

  Rebecca dropped into a crouch in the doorway and scanned the sitting room. Mitchell knelt nearby, blood covering one side of her face and her gun hand wavering. Irina was sprawled in the center of the foyer, a widening patch of crimson soaking her blouse.

  “Hallway,” Mitchell gasped, staggering to her feet. “I’ll cover you.”

  Sloan stormed by and yelled, “See to the girl! I’m with Frye.”

  Rebecca leapt for the door. “Go low.”

  “Got it,” Sloan called.

  They burst into the hall side by side. Rebecca pivoted against the wall and Sloan skidded to her knees on the far side, weapon extended. Olik was twenty feet away, almost at the stairwell doors.

  “Police,” Rebecca shouted. “Drop the weapon!”

  Olik half turned in their direction and fired blindly while diving for the stairwell. Sloan and Rebecca opened fire.

  *

  “Dell!” Sandy threw herself down next to Dell. “Dell. Oh, Jesus.”

  “I’m okay,” Dell said, wiping her forearm across the side of her face. “Just nicked me. God, Irina.”

  Gunfire clattered in the hall outside.

  “Go,” Sandy yelled, flinging herself toward Irina. “I’ll take care of her.”

  Dell rushed across the room and ducked into the hall. Sandy pulled up Irina’s blouse and pressed the heel of her hand to the ragged two-inch hole below her left collarbone. Flecks of blood streaked Irina’s lips, and her breath rattled with each shallow inhalation.

  Irina’s eyes fluttered open. “Mitch?”

  “He’s okay,” Sandy muttered, pressing harder as the flow of blood picked up. “Don’t talk, okay? Just lie still. You’ll be okay.”

  “Mika,” Irina whispered. “My sister. Someone take care…”

  “Listen,” Sandy snapped, leaning over so Irina could see her face. “Shut up. You’re making the bleeding worse. You’ll be fine. You can take care of your sister yourself. You got it?”

  Irina smiled weakly. “Mitch’s girl.”

  “You bet your ass. Now hush.” Sandy’s heart dropped when Irina’s eyes rolled back and she went very still. When she heard pounding footsteps behind her, she prayed it wasn’t one of the Russians.

  “Fuck,” Watts yelled. “Fuck. Fuck.”

  “Do something, will you?” Sandy screamed at him.

  He already had his radio out and was shouting for EMTs. Then he disappeared into the hallway, too, leaving Sandy alone in the sudden stillness.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Rebecca stepped over the pool of blood where Irina’s body had lain. The bitter tang of blood and cordite hung in the air and coated her throat with frustration and fury. Uniformed officers strung yellow crime scene tape over the doorways, and a police photographer and the crime scene crew, talking in hushed whispers, processed the now empty rooms.

  “I’ll meet you at the car,” Rebecca said to Sloan, stopping outside the bedroom door where she had
posted one of the state police.

  “You need help with this?” Sloan asked.

  “No, but do me a favor? Call Catherine for me. Tell her…” Rebecca grimaced. “Tell her I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  “No problem.”

  The other johns had already been loaded into police vans and shipped off for booking. Her duty was to deliver the priest to a waiting squad car so he could be whisked away in anonymity. She nodded to the officer on the door. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

  The Most Reverend Joseph Thomas sat on the side of the bed, glaring at her, his hands cuffed behind his back. His unbuckled belt hung over his open fly, but he’d apparently had time to get his dick back in his pants. Too bad.

  “Take these things off my wrists,” he demanded. “They’re very uncomfortable.”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that until you’ve been transferred. Then you can complain to whoever will listen about anything that’s bothering you.” She grabbed him by the elbow. “Let’s go.”

  She escorted her special prisoner down the hallway to the service elevator and then through a long, deserted basement tunnel to the delivery entrance.

  “I certainly hope this isn’t going to take the rest of the night,” he complained.

  “Not much longer now.” Rebecca pushed the door open and, tightening her grip, pulled him out onto the loading dock.

  Immediately, the harsh glare of television spotlights lasered in on them. A dozen voices shouted and as many arms thrust microphones toward the priest. When he tried to duck away, Rebecca forced him around toward the camera lenses.

  “Is it true those girls were sex slaves?”

  “How much did you pay them?”

  “Were they all teenagers?”

  “Does the church know of your involvement?”

  “How long have you been using prostitutes?”

  “Father…”

  “Father…”

  “Father…”

  Satisfied, Rebecca dragged him through the crowd and pushed him into the rear seat of a waiting patrol car.

  “You! You miserable bitch! You did this!” he screamed, his handsome face distorted with outrage and disbelief.

  Rebecca braced her arm on top of the car and leaned in until they were eye to eye. “No, you did this. But you’re finished now.”

  *

  Ninety miles away, Kratos Zamora reached over his wife in bed and picked up the phone. He listened for half a minute and said, “Call me back on the other line.” Then he rose, careful not to wake her, and slipped out of the bedroom.

  Once in his office, he took a Cuban cigar from the humidor on his desk, clipped the end, and lit it with a gold-plated lighter. Savoring the fragrant smoke, he waited for the call to come through on the disposable, and untraceable, cell.

  “Where are they taking Gregor?” he asked. “Federal? Who do we have there?”

  After he got the details he needed, he said, “I’ll be in touch.”

  He disconnected and smoked in silence for a few moments. Then he called Talia Ballenger. When she didn’t answer, he hung up, removed the cable connection from his personal computer, and pressed several keys to initiate the program that would wipe the hard drive clean. After he finished his cigar, he pushed the intercom to the guard’s quarters.

  “Vincent. Come around to the office, would you please.”

  He got up and poured himself a drink, mapping out his strategy for damage control. He had learned long ago that the most powerful weapon was often the unexpected.

  *

  “Dell,” Sandy said in a low soothing voice, rubbing the back of Dell’s neck. “Baby, you gotta try to relax.”

  “I fucked up,” Dell muttered for the tenth time, staring between her boots at the scuffed waiting room floor. “I should’ve known what he was going to do. I should’ve gone for Olik the second they came through the door. Man, I let him take her.”

  “You didn’t let him do anything.” Sandy resisted the urge to shake her because she knew her head must be hurting. The two-inch gouge on her cheek wasn’t serious, but a bullet wound was a bullet wound, and it had to hurt. At least Sandy had been able to force her into letting one of the nurses in the emergency room clean it out and put some butterfly bandages on it. “You went after them. You stopped him from escaping with her. You know he would’ve killed her if he suspected she was involved. And you couldn’t know she was going to go for his gun.”

  “After all this, what if she dies?” Dell searched Sandy’s eyes, desperately seeking reassurance. “It’s so fucking unfair.”

  Sandy smiled softly, loving that Dell still believed that life ought to be fair. “Baby. That girl is tough. She’s not going to die. Besides, you and Watts got her flown here, didn’t you? That was the best thing you could have done. ’Cause you know Ali kicks ass in the OR.”

  “That I do,” Ali said, walking up to join them. “Your friend lost a lot of blood and I had to remove a little bit of her left upper lobe, but she’s got plenty of lung tissue left. In fact, she’s doing so well, we’ll probably pull the breathing tube tonight.”

  Dell grabbed Sandy’s hand. “She’ll be okay?”

  “You know the drill. Anything could happen, but yes. I think she’ll be fine.”

  “Can I see her?” Dell asked.

  “She’s pretty out of it. And she won’t be able to talk to you.”

  “That’s okay. Just for a minute?” Dell looked at Sandy. “Okay, babe?”

  “Sure, rookie. You go see her.”

  Sandy waited until Dell left with Ali, then she called Michael. “Hey. Sloan get home?…No, we’re okay. We’ll be here for a little while longer.” She laughed, leaned back, and closed her eyes. “Nope. Haven’t changed my mind. I’ll need my GED to get into the academy, though. Now that’s scary. You will? You’ll help?”

  She waited a few seconds until her voice was steady. “Yeah, I get it. That’s what friends do.”

  *

  “Hey,” Dell said softly, taking Irina’s cool hand in hers. “I know you’re probably sleeping…”

  Irina’s eyes opened and slowly focused on hers.

  Dell swallowed hard. “I’ll be back tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you that Mika is okay. She’s in a safe house.”

  Irina squeezed her fingers with surprising force.

  “She’ll be there until you get out. I’ll check on her. So don’t worry, okay?”

  Irina’s lids fluttered and she seemed to make a huge effort to keep them open. Dell saw the question in them.

  “Olik is still in the operating room. He’s shot up pretty good. He might make it, but even if he does, he’ll be in prison for a long long time. He’s not going to hurt you anymore.” Dell leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep now. You’re free.”

  *

  Catherine watched the report of the arrests on television and then fell asleep in the living room while reading through resident admission applications. She woke at the sound of the key in the front door and set the folders aside to make room on the sofa. When Rebecca settled next to her, Catherine took her hand and leaned over to kiss her.

  “You looked good on camera.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Just as long as he did.”

  “Are you going to get in trouble for that? You were the one who tipped them off, weren’t you?”

  “The department is happy about the positive coverage, so for the moment, nobody’s asking any questions.”

  “Good. Because you did the right thing.” Catherine curled up in Rebecca’s arms and rested her head on her shoulder. “I love you.”

  Rebecca rubbed her cheek against Catherine’s hair. “I love you too.”

  “What about the rest of it?”

  “Well, the politics still have to play out, but the Russian girls are with Immigration—they’ll be okay after all the red tape is sorted. Clark has Gregor Zamora, and you never know what the feds might get out of him. We’re still processing the Russians, but if we’re
lucky, we’ll get more names. And I dragged Flanagan out of bed to run a ballistics test for me.”

  Hearing the tension in Rebecca’s voice, Catherine tilted her head back to study her face. Her usual sharp profile was even more rigid than usual. “What? What did you find?”

  “Olik’s gun is a match for the one that killed Jimmy and Jeff.”

  Catherine caught her breath. “God, Rebecca. You got Jeff’s killer.”

  Rebecca held Catherine tightly. “When I drive over to Shelley Cruz’s tomorrow and tell her I caught her husband’s killer, do you think it’s going to make her pain any less?”

  “I do,” Catherine said firmly. “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But at some point she’ll be ready to face the rest of her life, and she’ll be able to do that because she will know that justice has been done.”

  “It doesn’t seem like enough sometimes.”

  “It’s all that we have.” Catherine placed her hand over Rebecca’s heart. “That and what we hold in here for each other.”

  Rebecca kissed her. “Then I have everything I need.”

  Epilogue

  One Week Later

  “Hey, kid.” Watts clapped Dell on the shoulder as he reached for a doughnut from the box Sloan dropped into the center of the conference table. “I hear your squeeze is gonna be packing heat before long.”

  Dell stared at him. “Gimme a minute while I translate caveman-speak.”

  Watts laughed. “Sandy. The academy. Cop. Gun. Jesus, there’ll be no stopping her then.”

  “Oh yeah,” Dell said. “Like there ever was.”

  “True,” Watts said around a mouthful of jelly. He leaned back, a happy smile on his face. “Man, it feels good to be on top once in a while.”