by Radclyffe
“Anything?” Rebecca whispered softly.
“I don’t know them,” Sandy replied hollowly. Watching the young girls do what she herself did on a nightly basis was harder than she had expected it to be. It was even worse knowing that Dell was watching. Sandy tried not to wonder if Dell was imagining her doing those things, using her hands and her mouth on some stranger. She had felt many things about her life on the streets, from anger to emotional numbness, but she had never before been embarrassed. She clung to her rage most of all, because it was the one thing that kept her strong. Fuck. Why do I care what anyone thinks? Even her.
“Okay,” Rebecca whispered, hearing the discomfort in Sandy’s voice. She touched the young blond’s hand, once, very lightly, then drew away. “You’re doing fine.” Over her shoulder, she said to Sloan, “Get us a shot of the guy now.”
“It’s mostly just gonna be his dick,” Watts remarked.
The images blurred, and then a profile of the man’s face came into view. Sandy straightened suddenly. “Wait...can you go back?...There...” She pointed at the screen. “On his neck...is that a scar?”
“Sloan?”
“Can’t be sure, but Jason can work it up for us later with the imaging software.”
“Good girl, Sandy.” Rebecca’s voice was tight with excitement. “Do you know him?”
“Seen him, maybe,” Sandy replied. “I remember something about a guy with a scar on his neck shaped like a...whatdayacallit...a scimitar.”
“Is he a john?” Watts asked gruffly.
Sandy flushed, and then was angry at herself for showing even that little bit of emotion in front of these strangers. So Frye told them I’m a whore. So what.
“Why don’t you shut the fuck up,” Mitchell growled as she leaned close to the heavy detective. “She came here to help.”
Watts stared, his expression one of shock. He was, for once, left without a comeback.
“Turn it off,” Rebecca ordered.
The lights came up and they all stood, blinking, carefully not looking at one another.
“If you can give me pictures of those girls, I can show them around,” Sandy offered.
“Jason will get them made up for you tonight,” Sloan replied.
Sandy nodded, really looking at Sloan for the first time, slowly taking in the wild dark hair, the amazing eyes, the muscular physique. She looked a bit like an older Dell, except Dell’s body was sexier, all wiry and tight and...Oh man, what is that about!
“Maybe flashing those pictures around’s not so cool,” Mitchell said, moving closer to Sandy. She almost reached for her hand, and then stuffed her fists into the pockets of her jeans instead. “You start asking about those girls and somebody might take notice. Somebody you don’t want to take notice.”
“Mitchell,” Rebecca warned. I’ve got to rein her in before she crosses a line.
Sensing the warning in Rebecca’s voice, Sandy lifted her chin and snapped, “I can take care of myself, rookie. Why don’t you just worry about the cop stuff, ’cause it looks to me like you guys haven’t been doing such a hot job with that lately.”
“We’ve all got some work to do,” Rebecca said sharply. “Jason, you finish running the images through the databases and get a couple of sets of prints for me. Sloan, when you’re a little more settled, I’ll brief you about that other issue.”
“Sure. Fine.” Sloan looked at her watch. It was almost eleven, and for the last twenty minutes she’d been unable to concentrate on anything except getting back to Michael. The longer she was away from her bedside, the more anxious she became. “I’ll be at the hospital until sometime tomorrow morning. I’ll catch up to you then.”
Rebecca merely nodded, wanting to suggest that the security consultant get some sleep first, but knowing that it would do no good.
“I’m gonna knock off for the night,” Watts said. “But in the morning, I’ll start digging into whatever Jimmy Hogan was doing for Justice. Probably won’t get anything, but it’s gotta be done.”
While the others worked out the schedule for the next day, Mitchell and Sandy slowly drifted toward the elevator.
“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” Mitchell murmured to Sandy. She rested her fingers lightly against Sandy’s bare elbow. To her surprise, Sandy didn’t pull away, even though the blond hadn’t looked at her directly since the lights had come up in the viewing room.
“Sandy,” Rebecca called, catching up to them at the elevators. “Let’s take a ride.”
“Sure,” the young woman replied with a sigh, moving her arm away from Mitchell’s hand. “It’s your dime, Frye.”
Outside, Watts went one way and Sandy and Rebecca walked in the other direction to the Corvette. Mitchell stood on the sidewalk, shoulders hunched in the chill night air, and watched them go.
*
“You did well up there,” Rebecca said as she drove south on Front Street, the lights of the Ben Franklin Bridge glowing blue as it towered into the dark night sky just above them.
“I didn’t do a thing.” Sandy looked out the window. “I told you I don’t know them.”
“Know anybody who might?”
Sandy shrugged. After another minute, she replied, “Maybe. There are a lot of new girls around. Young ones like those kids in the video. I’ll ask.”
“What do you mean by ‘a lot’?”
“Seems like every few weeks there’s a new crop. Mostly in the clubs.”
“I didn’t think you worked the clubs.”
“I don’t, but I hang in them.”
“What about the guy? You know him, don’t you?” Rebecca studied Sandy’s face in the light of the passing headlights. Not for the first time she realized how pretty she was. “Sandy?”
“I’m not sure, but I think he used to be a bouncer at Ziggie’s.”
Rebecca drew a sharp breath, and her pulse rate jumped. Ziggie’s was a skin club at Eleventh and Arch that featured nude dancers, and it was mob connected. A guy reputed to be one of Zamora’s front men owned it. Finally, a connection. “Did you ever dance there?”
“Who, me?” Sandy snorted. “Not hardly. You need tits out to Arizona to shag in there. And you have to blow every bartender in the place.” She hesitated, unused to sharing information with the police, even Frye. They’d had an informal relationship for a year or so. Frye would hunt her down, ask her a few questions, drop a few dollars on her. But that afternoon, the detective had shown up at her apartment unexpectedly and made her an offer for something more formal. With a higher price tag attached. More information, more help, for more money. Sandy sighed. “But I know someone who did work there.”
“Can you put me with her?”
“I’ll see if I can find her.”
“Sandy...”
“Yeah, yeah. I said I’d try. Jesus.” Sandy pointed to a bar up the block. “You can let me out here.”
“Uh-uh. I’m taking you home.”
“It’s not even midnight!”
“When I stopped by earlier and you agreed to go official with me, you turned in your streetwalking creds.”
“I’m not gonna trick.” Sandy sounded affronted. “But I need to be out and seen, otherwise people will get suspicious. And suspicious people don’t talk. You know that.”
Rebecca had the inexplicable desire to tell her no, but she knew the savvy young woman was right. Sandy had to maintain her street contacts or she’d be useless as an informant. Rebecca pulled to the curb. The sidewalk was alive with junkies looking to score, low-level dealers shuffling along murmuring the name of the drug of the hour to every likely buyer passing by, and hookers standing under streetlights or leaning against the front of buildings.
When Sandy reached for the door handle, Rebecca said, “Wait.”
Surprised, Sandy turned in her seat. “Now what? Man, you never quit.”
“Here,” Rebecca said as she pulled her wallet from her back pocket. She extracted five twenties, almost all that she had. “Your first paycheck.
”
Sandy looked at the bills and smiled wryly. “Five hand jobs. Won’t pay the rent.”
“I’ll see that there’s more. And your hands are clean.”
“Yeah. Ain’t that a thrill.”
“One more thing.”
“Frye, you’re hurting me sitting out here.”
Rebecca had already checked and knew that no one was watching them. “A police officer can be suspended, even fired, for fraternizing with a prostitute.”
Sandy grew still. “Fraternizing—you mean, even if they’re just...like friends?”
“Sometimes ‘friends’ looks like something else.” Rebecca’s voice was soft, almost gentle. “Hard to prove otherwise.”
“I don’t have any cop friends, and the only ones I have sex with are the ones who force me.” Sandy pushed open the door. “So there isn’t anybody who ought to be getting into trouble. Okay?”
“Take this.” Rebecca leaned across the seat and held out a cell phone. “We need to stay in touch.”
Sandy studied it, then slipped it onto the waistband of her jeans. “Does this mean we’re goin’ steady?”
“It’s just business, Sandy.”
“Aren’t you worried that someone will think we’re more than friends?”
“I can handle that.”
And Dell can’t. That’s what you’re telling me, right, Frye? Sandy turned her back and headed for the bar.
Rebecca watched the thin young blond walk away, knowing that she was putting the girl in danger by employing her as an informant. But the streets would be no kinder to Sandy if she was forced to sell her body to survive. At least this way, she might have a chance. And Rebecca needed the information Sandy could provide. A devil’s bargain, perhaps, but one she would have to live with.
Chapter Six
Sloan walked quickly through the silent hospital halls, the events and conversations of the last few hours almost forgotten. There was work to be done, she knew, and she wanted to be part of it. Needed to be part of it, needed to do something to make up for the agony she had brought into Michael’s life. But that was for tomorrow. Now, at this moment, there was only Michael.
She’d been gone from Michael’s bedside longer than she had since Michael had been injured, and the nearer she drew to the heavy metal doors of the intensive care unit, the greater her sense of foreboding. By the time she pushed through, she was nearly running. When she reached the door of the single cubicle and looked in, she saw only the empty bed with the pristine white sheets neatly made. Her stomach turned over, and her head grew light. Blindly, she stretched out one hand to the doorframe for balance. In her mind, one word echoed over and over. Michael!
“I’m so sorry,” a nurse said as she quickly approached, an expression of compassion and concern on her face.
Sloan closed her eyes, the roaring in her head making it difficult to make out the words. Oh God, oh God...what am I going to do?
“I tried to call you—”
Numbly, Sloan pulled the cell phone from her belt. The battery was dead. She stared at the small, dark-haired woman with the kind eyes.
“...upstairs a half-hour ago.”
“What?” Sloan couldn’t seem to catch hold of the words that were floating past her. “What did you say?”
“We needed the bed, and she’s doing so much better she was just transferred to a regular room.”
“She’s all right?” The rush of blood into Sloan’s head was so abrupt that she developed an instant headache. The pain, however, was a welcome replacement for the numbing terror.
“Her vital signs are great, and she was awake for a few minutes.” The nurse smiled. “Take the elevators right outside the door to the fifth floor. 519.”
“Thank you.” Sloan’s voice, hoarse with fatigue, cracked. “Thank you for everything.”
She couldn’t tolerate the wait for the elevator. Instead, she shouldered through the fire door into the stairwell and took the three flights of stairs at a run. By the time she reached the hallway, she was panting. Quickly scanning the room numbers, she hurried down the far side of a horseshoe-shaped arrangement of hospital rooms until she found 519. Then, unaccountably, she was afraid to go in. She wasn’t certain how many more times she could bear to speak Michael’s name and get no response. The silence went deeper than sound. Michael’s absence from her life left her hollow, like a gourd left out in the desert sun until even the seeds inside had shriveled and crumbled to dust. She rang with emptiness.
Sloan pushed open the door and stepped resolutely inside. You’ll keep saying her name until she opens her eyes and comes back for good. That’s how many more times.
There was only one bed, and the lights had been turned down until the objects in the room were mere suggestions of forms. From the darkness came a soft sound, the answer to her prayers.
“Sloan?”
“Hey,” Sloan whispered as she approached the bed, her vision blurred with tears. As she blinked them away, her eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light, and she could see Michael propped up against two pillows. The relief of finding her awake was akin to pain, and Sloan’s stomach cramped, causing her to bite back a groan. She grasped the hand that Michael lifted, clinging to the warmth. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”
“Haven’t I been sleeping for two days already?” Michael’s voice sounded stronger than it had when she had awakened twelve hours before. “I think the nurses told me that it’s Monday night...or maybe Tuesday morning?”
Sloan leaned over, brushed her lips across Michael’s forehead, and then with her free hand stroked her cheek. “It’s very early Tuesday morning. How do you feel?”
“Weak. A little confused. I can’t remember what happened.” Michael’s eyes traveled over Sloan’s face. “There was an accident, right?”
“Yes.” Sloan’s heart ached to see Michael’s normally vibrant blue eyes clouded with confusion and pain.
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No, baby,” Sloan said, her voice choked. “I’m not hurt. You don’t have to worry about anything. You just need to work on getting well.”
“You look tired.” Michael’s eyelids drooped and she forced them open. Smiling tremulously, she said, “In fact, you look terrible. Go home.”
Sloan laughed gently and pulled a chair close with one hand. Then she found the latch beneath the bed to lower the rail and leaned forward, one hand on Michael’s hip beneath the covers and the other still linked with Michael’s. “Usually after two days apart, you think I look fantastic.”
“Well, some things about you always look fantastic.” Michael sighed. “I’m awfully tired, and I have this headache...it’s so hard to think clearly.”
“You don’t need to think. Just close your eyes and get some sleep.”
“Yes,” Michael murmured. Then she twitched suddenly and her eyes flew open. “It was a car, wasn’t it? A car hit me.”
There was an edge of fear to Michael’s voice, and Sloan felt a rush of fury like none she had ever known. She had suffered indignities and injustices in her life; she had been jailed by the very people she had sought to serve; she had been betrayed by a lover and abandoned by her friends. But nothing had ever managed to incite her rage the way this assault on the woman she loved had done.
Struggling to keep her voice calm, she said, “You rest now, baby. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
As if the effort of remembering were exhausting, Michael sagged against the pillows in acquiescence. “You, too...you go home. Go to sleep.”
Sloan stroked Michael’s cheek as she slipped into sleep. She would stay, ensuring that no harm would come to her lover that night. Then in the morning, she would seek retribution.
*
It was just after midnight when Rebecca used the key that Catherine had given her and let herself into the garden apartment in West Philadelphia. A single lamp burned in the living room, casting the space in warm shadow. She snapped it off as she passed by, maki
ng her way by memory to the bedroom in the rear. As she walked down the hall, she was surprised to see a light glowing ahead. Slowing at the door, she smiled at Catherine, who was propped up in bed, nude, with a book.
“You’re still awake.”
“Hi.” Catherine placed the book face down on the covers by her side. The window was open, and the cool September breeze wafted through the room. There was just a hint of fall in the air. “You’re early.”
“Am I?” Rebecca raised an eyebrow as she stripped off her jacket followed by her shoulder holster. She walked to the far side of the bed and placed her weapon in the top drawer of the bedside table, then leaned across the bed and kissed Catherine. “Isn’t tomorrow a workday for you?”
“It is. But I just wasn’t tired.” Savoring the heat of Rebecca’s lips, too quickly withdrawn, Catherine sighed with pleasure. I can’t seem to sleep without you.
“I’m going to take a quick shower. I’ll just be a sec.” Rebecca was already halfway to the bathroom, unbuttoning her shirt as she walked.
“Hurry back.”
The slight hint of invitation in Catherine’s voice was enough to make Rebecca’s blood surge. She turned and let the shirt slide from her chest, watching Catherine’s eyes fall to her breasts. “Don’t fall asleep.”
“Don’t worry, Detective. I won’t.”
The shower was purely functional, and Rebecca did not linger. Within minutes, she walked back into the bedroom, naked, toweling off as she approached the bed. She stopped abruptly when she observed the intense expression on Catherine’s face. “What?”
“You really don’t have any idea how beautiful you are, do you?”
Constantly amazed by Catherine’s desire, Rebecca blushed. She lowered the towel and held it still bunched in one fist, feeling her lover’s gaze travel down the length of her body. By the time Catherine’s eyes had returned to hers, Rebecca was breathing quickly. “I get excited just watching you look at me.”