by Radclyffe
“I can’t imagine life without you.”
“You’ll never have to.” Sloan trembled as she tenderly kissed Michael’s lips. She kissed her again—gently, carefully—her passion restrained but her devotion unbridled.
Chapter Thirteen
“How come you don’t have a car?” Sandy asked as she and Mitchell crossed Market Street going south on Sixth.
“I have a car.” Mitchell walked with her hands by her sides for quick access to her weapon, glancing into each darkened doorway that she passed, reflexively always on patrol.
“So where is it?”
“In the garage at my building. I don’t drive to work.”
“How come?”
Because I can just hear the grief I’d get if I showed up with the Austin Healy. Mitchell shrugged and stepped slightly in front of Sandy as a large man wearing too many layers of clothes and carrying a bundle secured with twine under his arm shuffled toward them. Probably just a street person, but she wanted to be prepared if he made a move in their direction. She kept her eyes on him as she answered. “I like walking.”
“You do that a lot, you know,” Sandy observed as the vagrant brushed her in passing.
“What?”
“Get ready for trouble, like with that guy just now.”
“Habit, I guess.” Mitchell slowed. “Does it bother you?”
“No. I kinda like it.”
Mitchell smiled. “You hungry? Should we get a pizza or something?”
“How about we go somewhere after Jasmine does her thing with you?”
Does her thing. Mitchell blushed. “Yeah, right. That.” She’d almost forgotten. It wouldn’t have been bad, really, if Sandy weren’t going to be watching. What if I can’t do it? Jeez, what if she laughs? Her stomach churned. What if she doesn’t like...him?
“You’re crazy for doing this.”
“It’s my job.” Mitchell stared straight ahead, her pace quickening.
“It is not.” Sandy grasped Mitchell’s wrist and tugged until the rookie looked at her. “You’re supposed to be walking a beat, not club crawling and picking up sluts.”
“Picking up...oh, come on! You know that what I do while I’m undercover doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the job.”
“Does that include fucking one of them, too?” Sandy’s eyes glittered dangerously.
Mitchell stopped dead. She didn’t notice that they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk or that pedestrians were forced to step around them. “I am not going to fuck anyone. Jesus.”
“Why not? Got something against it? Or is it just girls you don’t want to fuck?” Sandy jutted her jaw and wondered where the hell that had come from. Like I care who she fucks.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” Mitchell raked a hand through her hair in frustration. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would come out sounding right. No, I don’t fuck girls. Or better yet, I don’t want to fuck girls. No, wait...I know better than to fuck girls. “Come on. My building’s just up here.”
Neither of them said anything else until they were inside the high-ceilinged lobby that was lorded over by an officious uniformed attendant at a long security desk. The floors were polished marble, the walls papered with a delicate gold-on-linen filigree pattern above dark wood wainscoting, and the spacious area lit by huge hanging chandeliers.
“Whoa. This really is fancy,” Sandy observed as she craned her neck to stare up into the far reaches of the atrium.
“Good evening, Officer Mitchell.” The guard greeted Mitchell politely even as he stared at Sandy with a look that verged on a leer.
“Hello, Clifford.” Mitchell caught his appraising expression—as if Sandy were an offering on a smorgasbord and he was deciding if he’d try a piece. Her pulse jumped, and her vision got a bit hazy.
Sandy’s eyes narrowed as he blatantly perused her body without even bothering to disguise his smirk. She straightened slightly, knowing that the movement would thrust her breasts forward. His gaze flickered for a moment on her face and then dropped down to fix on her nipples.
“Did you lose something—Clifford?” She shot him a disdainful look as he realized she was taunting him, and his face reddened. All the same, fancy suits or not. Screw you, buddy. A look is all you’ll ever get.
Mitchell took Sandy’s hand. Gruffly, she said, “The elevator is this way.”
“I think I might’ve just ruined your reputation,” Sandy said sarcastically, withdrawing her fingers from Mitchell’s grip.
“No. I think you just made it.” Mitchell pushed the elevator button, trying to forget the lascivious look on the doorman’s face. For a second, she flashed on the night in the alley when the stranger had been molesting Sandy, and she wanted to go back and punch Clifford just for looking at her. This is no good. She makes me crazy.
The elevator arrived and they stepped in. They were alone.
“You mad?” Sandy asked.
“No.”
“Sure?” Sandy leaned one shoulder against the wall, her hip cocked, a strip of bare skin showing above the waistband of her tight slacks.
“Yeah,” Mitchell said hoarsely, her attention riveted to that pale smooth inch of flesh. She wanted to see if it was really as soft as it appeared. She felt hot and a little dizzy.
Mercifully, the elevator glided to a stop and the faint ping penetrated her consciousness just as she reached out to trace a finger along the border where flesh and fabric met. She jerked back as the door opened. “This is it.”
Suddenly shy, Sandy hesitated. “You sure about this? You know, if people see you with me...”
Impatiently, almost angrily, Mitchell took Sandy’s hand again and pulled her from the elevator. “What do you think, that you have a big sign that says hooker around your neck? Let them think whatever the hell they want to think.”
“What about your job? That could be a problem, right?”
Mitchell’s head snapped around. She stared hard at Sandy. “Who told you that?”
“Nobody.”
Frye said...I’m Frye’s now...Mitchell jammed her key into the lock and twisted viciously. She pushed the door open and waited for Sandy to enter before walking into her apartment and flicking on the light switch to her right. “What did Frye say to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie. Jesus, just don’t lie.”
Sandy couldn’t miss the current of desperate pain in Mitchell’s voice. Immediately, she forgot why she had been angry with the young cop for badgering her just seconds before. “Listen, Frye was just looking out for you, okay?”
“I don’t need her to look out for me, especially not where you’re concerned. What did she say?” Mitchell took a step forward, and when Sandy flinched, Mitchell jerked back, instantly feeling sick to her stomach. “God, Sandy, do you think I’d hurt you?”
“No.” Sandy shook her head. Tentatively, she placed her palm flat against Mitchell’s chest, just above her heart. “No, I...I don’t think that.”
Mitchell stood very still, afraid if she moved Sandy would take her hand away. The heat from Sandy’s small hand burned her skin through the fabric of her shirt. She couldn’t feel anything except those few square inches of flesh, and in that one single spot, she felt terribly alive.
“I won’t,” Mitchell whispered. “Never. I swear.”
Tremulously, Sandy smiled. She marveled at Mitchell’s heart thudding against her palm. She couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like that insistent pounding—wild and strong and strangely gentle. Like Dell.
“Don’t ask me things, and I won’t have to lie.”
Mitchell took a cautious step forward. Sandy didn’t move her hand, but slid it higher up Mitchell’s chest, until her fingers touched the skin of her throat.
“That’s not how it works.” Mitchell’s voice was husky, her body taut with tension. She kept her hands at her sides, afraid she might frighten Sandy again.
“How what works?” Sandy asked,
unable to look away from Mitchell’s face. Your eyes get so dark when you’re excit—oh God.
Sandy stumbled back and dropped her hand.
Mitchell leaned toward her, breathing fast, but she did not follow. What am I doing? I scared you, didn’t I? I’m sorry.
“What did Frye say?” Mitchell’s voice was a whisper.
“That...that you could lose your badge if you hung around me.”
Mitchell closed her eyes, fighting the fury. Fighting the memory of loss. Not again. No one will do that to me again.
“Look, rookie—”
“No.” Mitchell didn’t raise her voice, but the intensity of that single word punching the air silenced Sandy’s protests. “You and me...that has nothing to do with the job. Do you understand?”
“Hey, okay,” Sandy hastily agreed, alarmed by the bleak expression on Mitchell’s face and the rage in her eyes. She wanted to touch her again, just to ease that unhappiness, but her insides were still on fire from the last touch.
“I mean it. You don’t walk away...not because of that.”
Sandy stiffened. “Nobody scares me off. Especially not a cop.”
Mitchell relaxed minutely, the pain and the panic receding. “Glad to hear it. I was starting to think you were getting soft.”
“Huh. Not likely.”
They smiled at one another.
“You okay?” Sandy finally asked.
Mitchell nodded. “Yeah, you?”
“Sure.”
The doorbell rang.
Mitchell drew a deep breath. “Show time.”
*
Catherine pushed up on one elbow and brushed the hair from her face with her free hand. “What is it?”
“Christ, I’m sorry.” Rebecca sat up quickly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her voice was muffled as she said, “Look, it’s not you, okay?”
“I could point out that I’m the only one in bed with you, so it most likely is me—but I’m too old to waste my time on false pride.” Gently, Catherine rested her hand against Rebecca’s bare back. The skin was slick with the heat of their passion, the muscles tight with tension. “And fortunately, we’ve been together long enough that I believe you. So, if it’s not me, what is it?”
“Nothing, it’s just...” The detective ran a hand through her hair. This is how it starts. First she’ll be confused, then she’ll be hurt, and eventually she’ll be angry. This is when it all starts to come apart. “It’s nothing. I guess I’m just tired. Sorry.”
“Rebecca,” Catherine said as she sat up and slid a leg around each side of Rebecca’s body, wrapping her arms around Rebecca’s waist from behind at the same time. She rested her chin on top of her lover’s shoulder. “We’ve made love when you were so exhausted you could barely move a muscle. We’ve made love when you were still recovering from a gunshot wound. Lord, we’ve made love in places and at times when sane people couldn’t conceive of being turned on. This is not about being tired.”
“I want you...you know that, don’t you?” Rebecca tried but couldn’t keep the desperation from her voice. “You know that’s not the problem, don’t you?”
“Yes, darling. I know.” Catherine smiled and kissed Rebecca’s ear. “You do an excellent job of making me feel desirable. And I’m not upset because I couldn’t give you an orgasm—in fact, I’m not upset at all. But you are—and that’s what matters right now.”
“If you just give me a minute...”
“I’ll give you anything you want. But right now, I think what you need—what we need—is communication of a different sort for a moment or two.”
Without looking around, Rebecca found Catherine’s hand where it lay on her stomach and held it. Catherine’s breasts were against her back, a soft warm comfort. Maybe, maybe this time, it really would be all right. “It’s the case.”
“Mmm, I thought as much.” Catherine snuggled her cheek against Rebecca’s neck. “What’s worrying you about it?”
Rebecca heaved a sigh. “Just about every damn thing you can think of. I’ve got a ragtag team, short on cops and long on civilians—one of whom is a goddamned streetwalker.” And another who’s my lover. “I’ve got Sloan trying to smoke out an informant within the department—someone who might be mob connected, someone who probably tried to kill her once already. Watts’s career, maybe even his pension, is shot to hell if this operation runs afoul of someone with a lot more clout, or connections, than we can handle. I’m putting a rookie cop undercover, with no prep time and barely any backup. Civilian backup at that. Jesus, what a mess. I should be taken out and shot.”
“Don’t even joke.” Catherine stiffened, and for the first time, her voice held an edge. The nightmares had only begun to abate, and there were still nights when she woke in a sweat, haunted by images of Rebecca’s life bleeding away through her fingers.
“Sorry.” Rebecca turned her head, found her lover’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Lie down with me.” Catherine leaned back on the pillows, drawing Rebecca with her. To her surprise, and pleasure, Rebecca acquiesced willingly. Catherine kept her arm around Rebecca’s shoulder, toying with the hair at the base of her neck, stroking her softly. “What makes this any different than your usual investigations? Why does this one bother you more?”
“I’ve put all of my people in harm’s way. The only one who is reasonably safe is me.”
Catherine’s throat tightened, but she kept her voice steady. “You’d be happier, wouldn’t you, if you were the only one likely to get hurt?”
“Of course.” Perplexity was evident in the detective’s voice.
“You’re the team leader—the commander. Your burden is every bit as great as theirs.” Catherine kissed Rebecca’s temple. “Harder in some ways.”
“I’d rather...” take a bullet than have it be one of them. But she’d been awakened by Catherine’s cries more than once, and she wouldn’t willingly remind her of that pain. She sighed. “Then this thing with Mitchell—it’s risky. And putting her that close to Sandy, in her building even. I must be crazy...the two of them are already too tight.”
“Why is that bad?”
“Forgetting the fact that Sandy is a prostitute and that consorting with someone engaged in illegal activity would cost Mitchell her badge, if they get...involved, Mitchell’s not going to be able to think about the job. And not thinking about the job could get her killed.”
Yes. I know what happens when a police officer develops personal attachments while on the job. When a police officer forsakes judgment for emotion. Catherine was silent, realizing that Rebecca had never mentioned Dell’s encounter with the man in the alley, or her subsequent difficulties within the department. Rebecca didn’t know the extent of Dell’s history with Sandy. She didn’t know how deeply Dell already cared.
“You and Watts...you’re partners. You care about each other, right?” She took a breath, because it was hard for her to voice the truths she didn’t want to acknowledge. “You’d risk your life for him, wouldn’t you? Like you did...with me.”
“That’s different. I’m not sleeping with him.”
Catherine laughed faintly. “Well, I am certainly glad to hear that. Do you think De—Mitchell is sleeping with Sandy?”
“Hell, I’m not even sure either of them is gay.” Rebecca shrugged, frustrated. “I just feel something between them.”
“Yes,” Catherine agreed. “So do I. But I don’t think that’s the kind of thing you can order them not to feel.”
“Probably not. I tried that, and it doesn’t seem to be working.” She rubbed the ache between her eyes. “Maybe I’m not cut out to command.”
“Oh, but you are. And this is why. You care.” Catherine kissed her gently. “You’re exactly the right person to lead them.”
Rebecca turned her face to Catherine’s neck and pressed her lips to the soft skin. She followed with her body, rolling over and pulling Catherine beneath her. Resting on her elbows, one thigh between Catherine’s, she g
azed into the tender, knowing eyes that never failed to welcome her. It took her by surprise, every time, how quickly the comfort of Catherine’s gentle strength could transform into wanting.
Feeling the sensuous rise of Catherine’s hips and the light brush of nipples against her own, Rebecca forgot everything except the heat rising within. When Catherine stroked her breasts, her abdomen, the swell of her hips, she let herself be carried beyond thought on the tides of their singular desire. Surrendering to the pull of Catherine’s mouth and the rush of fingers over her skin, Rebecca closed her eyes as Catherine claimed her, abandoning control as the knowing touch found the places that made her weak, made her gasp, made her cry out with the swift surge of pleasure rising too quickly to crest and break.
“Now there’s only you,” Rebecca murmured, riding the surge of excitement that gathered deep in her stomach and poured down her thighs, drowning her in pleasure. “Ah, Catherine, you’re making me come.”
Catherine watched, awestruck, as Rebecca arched above her, braced on trembling arms, shuddering on the brink of orgasm. So terribly defenseless, so terribly precious. “I love you.”
Rebecca’s eyes flickered open, her usually piercing gaze glazed and unfocused. “I need...you. So much.”
“I’m here,” Catherine whispered, sliding her fingers from the pulsating clitoris, moving lower, inside, taking possession of what was hers. “And here.” She thrust deeper, and Rebecca tensed, poised to shatter. “And...here.”
As Catherine caught the skin below Rebecca’s jaw in her teeth, the sharp edge of pain cut through the deep well of pleasure, and Rebecca lost her tenuous grip on control. “Oh God, don’t...go.”
Catherine pulled Rebecca into her arms as she came, cradling her while the breath tore from her on a hoarse cry of fulfillment. “I’m here, I’m here,” she soothed, over and over until Rebecca relaxed in her embrace.