by Radclyffe
“It’s kind of a dangerous job.”
“Which job would that be? Being an official snitch or being a cop?” Sandy walked back to the bed and plopped down. Dell hadn’t answered the question. Sandy leaned back, her legs slightly spread, a challenging expression on her face. “You could get hurt, too, rookie.”
“There’s a difference and you know it.” Mitchell tried and failed to keep the aggravation from her voice. At least I have a gun. And backup. Sometimes, anyhow.
“Yeah, sure. I suppose you think being a cop is special and being an informant is just one step up from being a stoolie?”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Sandy.” Mitchell ran her hands through her hair in exasperation. “I don’t want you to get hurt, okay? Is that so hard to understand? Jesus, why are you always such a pain in the ass?”
Sandy jumped up and stalked to within a few inches of Mitchell’s surprised face. “I did not ask you to worry about me. And I don’t need you to take care of me. Okay?”
“Has it occurred to you that you’re out there by yourself?” Without thinking, Mitchell put her fingers around Sandy’s forearm. “You’re totally unprotected.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, yeah. You’ve done a great job with that so far.”
Sandy jerked her hand away and barely stopped herself from flinging it across Dell’s face. “Get out.”
“Sandy...” Mitchell’s face was white and her eyes huge, the deep blue shadowed with pain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way you think.”
“I know what you meant...that I’m just a who—”
“No.” Mitchell raised her hand slowly. “No.” She brushed a fingertip over the scar on Sandy’s forehead. Her voice was pitched low, tight with feeling. “This is what I mean. How many more times can you take a beating like this?”
Sandy wanted to pull away, to spew angry words, but she couldn’t. Dell’s touch was so gentle, her expression so tender, her body so near. Dell was trembling. They both were. Sandy remembered the first time she’d seen Dell, standing guard on the stairs outside the room where Anna Marie’s violated body lay growing cold. She remembered intentionally brushing her breasts against Dell’s arm in passing, just to rattle the rookie and steel her own nerves for what she knew she would find upstairs.
“Dell...” Sandy murmured, wanting to feel her nipples pressed to the hard warmth of Dell’s chest. But unlike that first night, this urge wasn’t born of anger or fear; it was born of desire. Heat surged between her thighs, and she gasped as she felt herself grow wet. She stumbled back a step, breaking their tenuous contact.
Mitchell, her hand outstretched, wanted so badly to follow. There was something in Sandy’s voice, a hushed yearning that made Mitchell’s heart twist and her head roar. She wanted to touch Sandy again, run her thumb over the moist surface of Sandy’s slightly parted lips, slide the tip of her finger between them. She wanted the fire she knew was waiting there. “Hey...”
Sandy took another step back. “You should go, Dell.” There was no anger in her voice now.
“Can I come back?” Mitchell didn’t even know why she was asking, but she had to. “I won’t bug you about Frye again.”
“Yeah, right.” Sandy tried to sound flip, but she was watching Dell’s mouth, and that made it hard to concentrate. Dell had a beautiful mouth. Then Frye’s voice cut through the haze. “A police officer can be suspended, even fired, for fraternizing with a prostitute.”
“Look,” Sandy said as forcefully as she could. “If you’re so worried about me, you should probably not ruin my reputation by hanging around here, okay? Jesus, talk about making people suspicious of me.”
“It doesn’t have to be here.”
“Anywhere is dangerous, especially with me asking around the way I’m doing.” Sandy tilted her head, searched frantically for the right words to make Dell go. “Look, I’m Frye’s now, okay? I don’t want anything to mess that up.”
Mitchell straightened as if struck. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She reached behind her for the doorknob. “Just watch your back, okay?”
Then she was gone, leaving only the echo of her footsteps in the hall. Sandy listened until she couldn’t hear her at all.
“You be careful, too, rookie,” she whispered. Her fingers rested lightly on the scarred wooden door in a final caress.
*
At 11:24, the side door to Catherine’s private office closed behind her last client of the morning. The psychiatrist leaned back in the large padded leather chair, closed her eyes, and sighed. She’d been seeing the troubled young student for several months, and she found every session draining. It was often so difficult not to offer advice, but to listen instead, occasionally gently steering the conversation in a direction that might help shine a different light on the problem.
Trying to gather herself for the afternoon ahead, she might actually have fallen asleep if the intercom line on her phone had not rung. She leaned forward, picked up the receiver, and hit the blinking button. “Yes, Joyce.”
“Detective Frye is here, Doctor. Your next appointment is scheduled at one, so you have a bit of time.”
Suddenly invigorated, Catherine smiled. “Tell her to come in, please.”
When Rebecca came through the door a moment later with a brown paper bag in one hand, Catherine was waiting just inside. She placed a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder and leaned close to give her a kiss on the mouth. “What a nice surprise.”
“I took a chance that I might catch you between sessions. I brought lunch.”
“I knew there was a reason that I love you.” Catherine reached for Rebecca’s hand and led her to the sofa in front of a low coffee table. “Indian?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wonderful. I’m famished.” Catherine extracted the various containers from the bag along with the plastic forks and paper napkins and spread them out on the table. After they’d dished out and begun to sample the food, she asked, “Is there another reason that you’re here—besides rescuing me from starvation, of course?”
Rebecca hesitated. There were very few things in her life that made her uncomfortable. Being at odds with Catherine was one of them. When they fought, even when they merely couldn’t see eye to eye over some issue, it left her feeling disjointed and strangely hollow inside. The simplest solution would be not to bring up topics that she knew would produce friction between them. That had been her modus operandi in each of her previous relationships, and they had all ended disastrously. She supposed that if she truly thought evasion were possible in this instance, she might try it even still. Unfortunately, emotional subterfuge did not work with Catherine Rawlings. And in her heart, Rebecca knew that Catherine deserved more than that from her.
With a sigh, she pushed the container of spinach and cheese aside. “I had a briefing with Sloan and the others this morning. We’ve been putting together a plan of action.”
“Problems?” Catherine continued to eat slowly, suspecting that Rebecca would not have come by in the middle of the day had things gone smoothly. One of the traits that intrigued and annoyed her most about her intrepid lover was Rebecca’s self-sufficiency. Catherine freely admitted that she needed to feel needed, and sometimes she wondered just how much Rebecca really did need her.
“We’re working on a couple of angles, but one of the critical things that we have to do is find the source of the information leak that led to the attack on Sloan.”
“And you suspect someone within your department.” Catherine could only imagine how difficult it was for Rebecca to investigate her own people.
“If not there, then somewhere else close to the investigation. Somewhere close to someone associated with the investigation.”
“And there are a limited number of people who knew the details of what you were planning, right?”
Rebecca nodded. “How well do you know Rand Whitaker?”
Clearly surprised, Catherine sat back, her hand resting gently on Rebecca�
��s thigh. “Only casually. We see each other at local psychiatric meetings and now and then at seminars at the university. I’ve heard him speak several times on stress-related issues in the workplace. He seems solid enough.”
“Do you know anything about him personally? Whether he seems to live beyond his means or if he has a couple of ex-wives and a bunch of kids he has to support?”
“You suspect him of providing information to...whom? Someone who would commit murder?” The incredulity in her voice was unmistakable. “I can’t believe it. And how would he have gotten the information? Surely you didn’t tell him anything?”
“No, but he works in the department. And I was seeing him in an official capacity. It’s possible he could’ve gotten access to almost anything I was involved with. A phone call to a clerk—it’s not like we have much in the way of internal security.” Rebecca ran a hand through her hair, frustrated once more by her inability to find a solid lead.
“I suppose anything is possible,” Catherine mused, “but I don’t know him well enough to speculate.”
“I didn’t really think that you would, but I had to check.” Rebecca turned until she faced Catherine fully, their knees slightly touching. She wanted to take Catherine’s hand, but that didn’t feel right considering what she was about to say. “Something else came up this morning as well.”
“Oh?” Catherine waited, watching Rebecca’s eyes. Now we’ll get to the reason why you’re here.
“Dellon Mitchell said that she’s been seeing you. For a while, it seems.”
Catherine remained silent.
Rebecca forged ahead. “Is there anything that she might have told you that could be accessible to someone outside this office? Anything about the investigation?”
“It would be better if we discussed this after Officer Mitchell gives me a call,” Catherine said gently. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing this with you until then.”
“Catherine,” Rebecca said, trying to keep exasperation from her voice. “Mitchell already told us she was seeing you for counseling. She knew that I would talk to you when she said it.”
“I believe you, of course. But I would still rather discuss with her what information she’s comfortable with me revealing.”
“Déjà vu. Jesus.” Rebecca closed her eyes. In a low voice she muttered, “I think it was right about at this point the first time around that I fell in love with you.”
Taken completely off guard, Catherine’s heart lifted. “Why, Detective Frye, could it be that you’re mellowing?”
Ice blue eyes suddenly bored into Catherine’s, only to soften instantly. “Sensitivity training.”
Catherine laughed out loud and moved closer on the sofa. Rebecca automatically threaded her arm around Catherine’s waist, and the psychiatrist rested her head on the detective’s shoulder. “I can tell you this. I can’t imagine that anyone has been going through my files.”
“Did you send periodic reports to the department?”
“No, only a final report just this week.”
“What about session notes? Could there have been anything in those?”
“I don’t see what.” Catherine shook her head. “They’re all very cursory. Not detailed at all.”
“Do you save them on a computer?”
“Yes,” Catherine replied, stiffening slightly. “But surely you don’t think—”
“I don’t know what to think.” Rebecca’s tone was harsher than she intended, and she swiftly kissed Catherine’s temple in apology. “I’m sorry. I think someone lifted files from one of the police department computers, so anything is possible.”
“If it’s all right with Officer Mitchell, I’ll check my notes and let you know if there’s anything in my records remotely connected to what you’ve been doing.”
“Thanks.” Rebecca would have liked to have ended the discussion there, but she had one more thing to deal with. “Mitchell said she wasn’t sure if she was coming back to see you again.”
“We can’t discuss this, Rebecca.”
Rebecca held up a hand. “Just hear me out. On the off chance that someone is looking at your files, it might be a good idea for Mitchell to continue to see you. At some point, we might need to use that fact to our advantage.”
“You mean, have her pretend to see me, as part of your investigation?”
“Right,” Rebecca said hurriedly.
“No.”
Rebecca blew out a long breath. “I knew that felt too easy.”
“I have a therapeutic relationship with Officer Mitchell. I can’t allow that relationship to be subverted, and it would be, if I saw her under false pretenses.”
“Even if she agreed?”
“Even then. The dynamic of our interactions would be permanently altered, and I would no longer be able to function effectively as her therapist.”
“But you would see her if she wanted you to?”
Catherine drew away and studied Rebecca carefully. “Promise me that you won’t order her to do something like you’re suggesting.”
Rebecca opened her mouth and then closed it again. “I don’t think I can do that.”
“Well.” Catherine stood abruptly and paced back and forth between her desk and the seating area, frown lines furrowed between her brows. Just as precipitously, she stopped and faced Rebecca. “There are moments when you are quite incapable of appreciating anyone else’s work other than your own. Do you realize how frustrating that is?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because this is one of those moments.” Catherine walked behind her desk and sat down. “If and when Officer Mitchell returns to this office, I will assume it is under her own free will, with no other agenda. If I discover otherwise, you and I will have a problem.”
Completely unexpectedly, Rebecca felt a wave of nausea. She forced herself not to change expression and asked steadily, “What does that mean?”
“It means that I will be very angry with you.” Catherine tilted her head and narrowed her gaze. “What did you think I meant?”
Rebecca gathered the remains of their meals into the bag and stood. “I’m sorry I had to bring this up in the middle of your workday.”
“Rebecca,” Catherine said softly. “I love you. That doesn’t stop just because you aggravate me.”
“I’m glad,” Rebecca murmured. “Because I’m probably going to do that more than once before this is over.”
“Yes, I suspect that you probably are.” As Rebecca reached for the door, Catherine called gently, “I’ll see you tonight, darling.”
“Yes. Okay.” Before Rebecca crossed the threshold, she turned and looked back at the remarkable woman who had changed her life. “I love you, you know.”
“Yes. I know.” Catherine smiled. “Be careful, Detective.”
Chapter Ten
“Who’s the ‘dark angel’ in your office there?” Maggie Collins asked the small, wiry, sandy-haired woman in the neatly pressed jeans and dark blue polo shirt.
“Dark angel?” Dee Flanagan glanced fleetingly away from the microscope into which she had been staring with fierce concentration.
“Aye. The handsome one who’s been lurking in your office since the middle of the mornin’.”
“Ah. Her.” As Dee looked back through the eyepiece and adjusted the focus, she said softly in a completely conversational tone, “Do you know how easy it would be for me to commit murder and get away with it?”
The younger woman with the shoulder-length curly red hair, the sea-foam green eyes, and the hint of Ireland in her voice laughed. “Fixin’ to do away with me, are you, darlin’?”
Dee, the chief of the Crime Scene Investigation Unit, straightened and turned to face her senior crime scene technician and lover. “Not you, my love.” She hitched a shoulder in the direction of the office that was separated from the rest of the long laboratory space by waist-high partitions and glass windows. “The competition.”
Maggie’s eyes softened the way they often did
when she looked at Dee, and she shook her head in mock consternation. “How long will it take before you believe that you have always been and will always be the only one?”
“Don’t look at me that way when we’re working.” Dee’s expression was stern but her voice husky. Maggie, fifteen years her junior, had a way of taking her by surprise, and the love in her eyes was hard not to get lost in. The CSI chief cleared her throat. “Her name is Sloan. She’s some kind of computer whiz. Frye brought her in earlier this morning.”
“I didn’t think I recognized her as one of the usual techies. What’s she doin’ poking around in your computer?”
With a quick glance around to be certain that they were alone, Dee confided, “We’re hoping she’ll be able to figure out where my files on Jeff Cruz and Jimmy Hogan disappeared to.”
“Really.” Maggie tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “Are you doin’ something you shouldn’t be doin’, Dee Flanagan?”
“Me?”
Maggie stepped closer, the fingers of her left hand briefly brushing across her lover’s right. “If there’s some kind of trouble brewin’, I don’t want you in the mix.”
“Somebody raided my files, Mags. Someone invaded my territory.” As head of the department, Dee was in the position where she didn’t have to do field work, or even bench work for that matter. Nevertheless, she was always present at major crime scenes and often at the most commonplace ones as well. She oversaw the work of her technicians personally, got her feet wet and her hands dirty collecting evidence samples, and was often the last one to leave a scene. She was fiercely close-mouthed about the evidence analysis until she was certain of her facts. Her rigid adherence to protocol and dictum drove cops crazy, but when they had a tough case, it was Dee Flanagan they wanted to work it. She was unshakable in the courtroom, and defense attorneys had long since given up trying to maneuver her into changing an opinion once she had rendered it. “If those bastards thought I would just forget about stolen files, they’re bigger fools than I imagined.”