Justice Served

by Radclyffe

  Wordlessly, she switched off the engine and slid out. A moment later, Watts joined her at the edge of the pier. Directly below them, a fifteen-foot-square wooden dock rocked on the water, matching the rhythm of the ebb and flow of the currents. The chalk outlines of the two bodies that had lain there six months before had been washed away by the waves and the rain in the intervening months. But Rebecca could still see, with photographic clarity, exactly how her partner Jeff Cruz and the undercover narcotics detective, Jimmy Hogan, had looked. Right down to the small, neat, matching holes in the backs of their heads. Her hands closed into fists.

  “Loo?” Watts asked carefully.

  “We should have something by now, Watts.” Rebecca’s tone was pensive, her expression brooding. “We’ve been taking bites out of the Zamora operation all summer—even made a few busts, grabbed a few headlines.” She snorted derisively. “But we can’t get a handle on who killed two of our own.” She turned her head, gave Watts a hard stare. “What the fuck are we missing?”

  “Well, you know, we figure it was a contract hit, right? Untraceable.”

  Rebecca stared back at the water. “We might never get the triggerman. But whoever gave the order is right here.” She let her gaze follow the river south, then half turned and swept the city skyline. “Jimmy and Jeff—one of them was getting close to something big. Something so big it made killing two cops an acceptable risk.”

  “This pornography ring,” Watts offered. “Shutting that down has got to be taking a chunk out of Zamora’s income. Maybe Hogan got wind of it through his drug connections and wanted to clue you and Cruz in. And maybe that’s what got them killed.”

  “How long do you think it will be before this network is up and running again? Or one just like it?”

  Watts shrugged as he fingered a cigarette from his pocket. “Half a year, maybe. The equipment doesn’t cost much, there’s always plenty of perverts, and a new crop of girls hits the streets every day.”

  Rebecca nodded. “You know it. I know it. So does Zamora. Why take the chance of bringing the full attention of the PPD down on your head for six months’ income?” She shook her head. “Just doesn’t play.”

  “Maybe Jimmy got wind of a big drug shipment. An eighteen-wheeler full of blow is definitely worth a couple of bodies.”

  “Agreed.” Absently, Rebecca leaned forward with both hands braced on the wooden piling in an attempt to stretch the tight muscles in her chest. Between the surgical incisions and the damage from the gunshot wound, the left side of her chest was constantly in spasm. It didn’t help, and she pushed off with an irritated shake of her head. “Except I have to believe that Jimmy would’ve told someone in narco about it and not us. We’re sex crimes, not drugs.”

  “Yeah, can’t argue.” Watts flicked the butt into the river. “Something in the middle. It always comes back to that.”

  “The currency of flesh.”

  “Huh?”

  Rebecca regarded Watts solemnly. “Sex. It sells, it pays, it’s the common denominator that runs through every branch of Zamora’s organization. We have to concentrate on the girls.”

  “Yeah,” Watts spat in frustration. “But what about them? Most of them have no pasts we can trace, no permanent address, and no interest in helping us. It’s like they’re right there in front of us and invisible at the same time.”

  “Exactly. We need to start creating some solid profiles. Facts, not fantasies.”

  Watts snorted. “Should be a snap. And just where do you plan on starting?”

  “Ziggie’s.”

  *

  “Honey?”

  “Yeah?” Sandy replied, leaning into the closet as she sorted through the clothes in a faded floral brocade suitcase she’d brought from her apartment.

  “I’m gonna need your help a little later on tonight, so can you plan on being back here around midnight? I mean, if you’re going out?”

  Slowly, Sandy pivoted, a white satin thong dangling from her fingers. “I was thinking of wearing this. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s really sexy,” Mitchell said, trying to keep the bite from her voice. I think if you’re going out, you shouldn’t be wearing anything like that. Why would you need to?

  “Yeah,” Sandy mused as she closed her fingers around the slip of material. “Me too. And since I was planning on staying here and watching videos with you and Michael, I thought you could think about it while you’re eating popcorn.”

  “You like to tease me, don’t you?” Mitchell rolled to the edge of the bed and levered herself upright with her crutches in one adroit move.

  “Slick,” Sandy observed, holding out one arm with her palm extended. “Just stay right over there, supercop. And yes, I like to tease you. It makes your eyes get this dark, dark hungry blue color. You complaining?”

  “Nope.” Ignoring Sandy’s directive, Mitchell closed the distance between them until she was inches from her lover. Then she angled the crutches against the wall and placed both hands on Sandy’s waist for balance. “But you know what happens if you tease the animals.” She lowered her head and nipped at Sandy’s neck. “You get bitten.”

  Sandy slapped a hand against Mitchell’s chest. “No teeth. No lips either. I told Michael we’d hang out with her tonight. She’s ordering pizza and everything. I don’t want to be horny the whole time.”

  Mitchell snaked her arm further around Sandy’s waist and nuzzled her neck. “Give me five minutes. I promise to make you happy.”

  “All I have to do is push,” Sandy murmured seductively, her mouth against Mitchell’s ear. “And you’ll fall on your ass.”

  “I don’t mind if you’re on top. Makes me hot.” Mitchell chuckled when Sandy bit her earlobe. Hard. “Okay. Okay.”

  “What’s happening later, anyways?”

  “Jasmine is bringing the kings around. I want to gear up.”

  Gently but firmly, Sandy pushed Mitchell away. “You’re not going out with them tonight.”

  “No. Uh-uh. They just want to see how Mitch is doing.”

  “Okay.” Sandy’s tone was doubtful.

  “I’m going to see Dr. Rawlings tomorrow afternoon,” Mitchell informed her quietly. “I need to get cleared so I can go back to work, San.”

  “You’re still on crutches.”

  “I have that appointment with Dr. Torveau in the morning, too, remember? You’re coming, right?”

  “I said I was.”

  “So,” Mitchell said nonchalantly, “maybe I can get a cane.”

  Sandy sat on the side of the bed, her arms braced on either side of her body as she leaned back and regarded Mitchell suspiciously. “Promise you don’t go back to work until you’re a hundred percent.”

  Mitchell fidgeted.

  “Dell.”

  “I was sort of planning on going to the club this weekend. I should be okay by then.”

  “Are you going to ride your bike?”

  Mitchell raised a shoulder. “Probably.”

  “Then Dr. Torveau has to say it’s okay.”

  “Oh Christ, come on, Sandy—”

  “Promise.”

  Carefully, Mitchell shuffled to the bedside and eased down next to Sandy, keeping her left leg out straight. She put her arm around the smaller woman. “I promise.”

  Sandy settled against Mitchell, both arms around her waist and her head on Mitchell’s shoulder. “Then I’ll help Mitch get ready tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Under one condition.”

  Mitchell sighed. “Okay.”

  Sandy raised her head and peered at Mitchell curiously. “Okay? Just like that?”

  “I’m going to say yes eventually.”

  Laughing, Sandy nipped at Mitchell’s chin, then kissed the tiny red spot. “You’re pretty smart for a cop.”

  “Yeah.” Mitchell kissed her. “So what did I just agree to?”

  Sandy smoothed her hand down the front of Mitchell’s T-shirt, danced over her fly, and cupped her bet
ween the legs. “Mitch wears his working gear.”

  Oh yeah. Too busy kissing Sandy again, Mitchell didn’t answer.

  *

  “How’s it going?” Sloan brushed her hands over Michael’s shoulders as she leaned down to kiss her neck.

  “Mmm.” Michael tilted her head back against Sloan’s chest and closed her eyes as strong fingers massaged the tight muscles along her spine. “A little better than yesterday. I can actually read for ten or fifteen minutes at a time without getting a headache.”

  “That’s great, baby.” Carefully, Sloan swiveled the office chair around so that Michael faced her, then knelt before her. With a thumb, she traced the smudges beneath the sapphire eyes that were still dimmed with pain. “Tired?”

  Michael covered Sloan’s hand with hers and rubbed her cheek against Sloan’s palm. “Yes. But that’s better too.”

  “Good.”

  “How was your day?” Michael combed her fingers through Sloan’s hair, then rested her hand against the side of Sloan’s neck. “You look a little…harried.”

  Sloan gave a crooked grin. “I’d forgotten just exactly how much I hate working in a bureaucracy. It takes three times as long to do anything. And the equipment…I don’t know how they can keep track of parking tickets with the system they have, let alone collate data on criminals.” She laughed. “It’s a challenge.”

  “Did they give you some help?”

  “A couple of fairly decent guys.” Sloan thought of the two detective threes who’d been pulled from burglary to form the core of the ESU. Two guys who’d been selected because they’d once upon a time taken a computer course. But their inexperience bothered her less than her new official status as the civilian head of the unit. The ESU might be tucked away in the corner, but news would travel fast. She forced a smile, determined to concentrate on Michael and forget about what she couldn’t control for a few hours. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I love you.” Michael caressed Sloan’s cheek. “You know, not talking about it won’t help.”

  Sloan frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “You’re definitely getting better. You’re back to reading my mind.”

  “I may have forgotten some things, darling, but I remember everything about you.” Michael leaned down and kissed Sloan lingeringly, a gentle but possessive kiss. “You don’t hide things from me. And even when you try to avoid telling me what you think I’m not ready to hear, it shows.”

  “It’s nothing you need to be concerned about.”

  “Is it something to do with you?” Michael asked mildly.

  “Not exactly. Maybe.”

  “Then it has to do with me.”

  With a sigh, Sloan inched closer and pillowed her head against Michael’s breasts. Michael in turn stroked the back of her neck. Finally, Sloan mumbled, “It’s the visibility. If there’s anyone the least bit suspicious that we might be trying to track them down, my presence at Police Plaza is going to tip them off. They could start to cover their tracks. Computer tracks, that is. I’m working against the clock.”

  “They know who you are, don’t they.”

  “Probably.”

  “They know that you can find them.”

  Sloan nodded wordlessly.

  “And you think,” Michael said haltingly, “you think my accident wasn’t an accident. That someone was trying to hurt you and I was just in the way.”

  “We don’t know that,” Sloan said quickly.

  “But that’s what you think.”

  “Michael—”

  “So it follows…God, I wish I could think clearly. It follows, doesn’t it…if they see you at police headquarters working on the computer system, they might feel even more threatened.” Michael’s fingers trembled against the back of Sloan’s neck. “And they might want to…be more…thorough than the first time.”

  “It’s not going to happen.” Sloan leaned back and framed Michael’s face in her hands, her thumbs gently caressing the curve of her lover’s jaw. “Baby, there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “Always.”

  “Can you stay here tonight instead of going back to work? Sandy picked up some videos, and I’m going to order pizza.”

  Sloan thought about the work she had planned to do in the office downstairs, reviewing the data that Jason and Mitchell had collected in the last few days and running some traces herself. She thought about the long hours she had been away from home since the case had started to break the weekend before, and how often Michael had been alone. By the time she came to bed it was often almost morning, and she frequently rose after only an hour or two of sleep and went back to work. With guilty eyes, she noted the circles under her lover’s eyes, the pale cast of her skin, and the whisper of hollows beneath her cheekbones. Michael might be out of danger, but she was far from well.

  “Comedy or drama?”

  “Actually, I think she got Night of the Living Dead and every one of the sequels.”

  “I’m in.” Sloan rose and guided Michael to her feet, pulling her into a loose embrace. She buried her face in Michael’s fragrant hair, relaxing into the welcoming curves of her lover’s body. For the first time all day, she felt calm. “Pizza?”

  “Extra cheese.”

  “Maybe I’ll just forget about working tonight. After the movies, we can escape and go to bed early.”

  Michael guided Sloan’s mouth to hers, whispering against her lips, “I’d like that.”

  Chapter Nine

  “It won’t work, Mitch.” Sandy stood with a hand on her cocked hip, studying Mitch through narrowed eyes as he finished buttoning his fly. His dark hair was slicked back, with just a single thick wave slashing across his broad forehead, his chest and stomach were flat beneath the tight stretch of his black T-shirt, and his narrow hips seemed tight and powerful beneath the faded black jeans.

  He looked up, surprised and worried. “What’s wrong?” He ran a hand over his chest. “Is the Ace too bulky? Does it show through my shirt?”

  Sandy shook her head. “No, it looks good.”

  “Not enough shading?” He traced along his jaw where Sandy had expertly accentuated the already strong lines with the subtle application of makeup.

  Another negative head shake.

  “So what—?”

  “It’s not your face.” Sandy smiled faintly at Mitch’s obvious expression of distress and twined her arms around his neck. With her body tight to his and her mouth against his ear, she whispered, “I can tell you have a hard-on.”

  Mitch laughed, a combination of embarrassment and pride. He pulled her closer to his groin, his hands spread across her lower back. The pressure of her body against the fullness in his jeans sent the blood thundering to his belly. “You told me that’s what you wanted, right? The working gear?”

  “Yes,” Sandy admitted, rolling her hips over him lazily. “But Michael might get up. And I don’t want her to see you like this.”

  “Why?” Mitch searched her face, frowning. “Are you embarrassed?”

  Sandy bumped him sharply, groin to groin, making him gasp in surprise. “No,” she said, as if speaking to a five-year-old. “I just don’t want any other woman but me checking out your equipment.”

  “Sandy,” Mitch complained, distracted by the subtle insistence of her hips moving against him. “It’s always gonna show some. And even if Michael sees, she isn’t going to be interest—”

  “You don’t know that,” Sandy whispered as she slid a hand between their bellies and cupped the rigid length of him. “You look so hot.” She squeezed, massaging him rhythmically. “And this is mine, baby.”

  Mitch was losing focus, every sense concentrated on the exquisite pressure against the turgid tissue beneath the cock in Sandy’s hand. His stomach spasmed, and his legs shook. “Sandy. Honey. You gotta cut that out.”

  With a hand between his legs and one aro
und his shoulders, Sandy walked him back against the dresser, until she had him pinned with the weight of her body fused to his. She pumped him faster and watched his eyes glaze. “You like it, baby?”

  “Oh…jeez…honey…” Mitch trembled and groaned. “You’re gonna get me off like that.”

  “I could,” Sandy said sweetly, stilling her hand as she kissed his mouth. Still leaning into him, she stroked her tongue inside his mouth until he quivered the way he did when he was getting ready to come. Then she eased away. “But I’m not going to, not right now.”

  Mitch braced an arm along the edge of the dresser for support, his chest heaving. “What are you doing to me? Honey, what are you doing?”

  She stroked his cheek. Kissed him again. Pumped his cock one more time with her hand. Eased farther away. “I want you to remember where this belongs. Now go change into something that’s not gonna make every girl within a mile want to fuck you.”

  “If I move right now, I might come.”

  “Are you hard, baby?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  She nipped his chin gently. “Good. Save it.” Forcing herself to back completely away, when what she wanted to do was unbutton his jeans and pull him down on top of her and into her, she said, “I’m going to get dressed.”

  Smiling a satisfied smile, Sandy pretended she didn’t hear him whimper as she turned her back and stripped off her top.

  *

  “Darling?” Michael massaged Sloan’s back as she lay with her head pillowed against Michael’s breast.

  “Mmm?”

  “I think there’s a party going on in the other room.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Are you awake, or are you just humoring me by pretending to be listening?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Michael gently extricated herself from her lover’s grasp and sat up in bed. “I think I hear Sarah’s voice.”

  Sloan rolled onto her back and lazily opened her eyes. “How come I’m wasted and you’re wide awake?”

  “Because you did all the work,” Michael murmured, stroking Sloan’s cheek. “In fact, as I recall, you were having one of those butch attacks and wouldn’t let me do anything.” Her fingers hesitated, then began their slow caress again. “Are you afraid to let me get too excited?”