by Radclyffe
“Sure.”
“She’s going to kill me before this is over,” Mitch said when Sandy disappeared into the bathroom.
“She’ll be okay,” Rebecca replied. “Just remember who you are and why you’re there. Do what you need to do, and then you leave it there.”
Sandy held out the towel, giving no indication that she’d heard Rebecca’s words, but her angry expression had softened. “It would be kinda nice if you all made sure that Mitch’s ass doesn’t get hung out to dry.”
“Sandy—” Mitch started to protest.
“He’ll be fine. We’ll be monitoring everything that happens from now on.” Rebecca pressed the last strip of adhesive into place and rearranged the chest wrap over it, smoothing out the wrinkles with her hand. “Tuck your shirt in.” She waited until Mitch complied and then walked around him, eyeing his back critically. “In dim lighting, that’s not going to show. Just make sure she doesn’t get her hands back there.”
“That’s not where she’s going to be putting her hands,” Sandy commented.
Mitch groaned softly and gave Sandy a beseeching look.
A flicker of amusement passed over Rebecca’s face as she clapped Mitch on the shoulder. “Sloan’s downstairs in the car. I’m going down to test the audio feed with her. It’s a one-way transmission, so you’re not going to know that we’re on the line. But we’ll be there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mitch said with absolute certainty. “By the way, I’m wearing an ankle holster.”
Rebecca nodded as she repacked the duffel bag. “Good. That’s something a guy like Mitch might do, so if anyone notices it at all, just say you’ve had some trouble and want to be prepared.”
At the door, she added, “If I don’t call up, it means we’re reading you with no problem. Remember, all we want tonight is for you to reestablish contact with Irina and convince her that you want to spend time alone with her where she lives. Following her to the stash house won’t be enough—we need you inside to give us some idea of the occupancy, the layout, and the number and position of the guards. We definitely don’t need a hostage situation when we get ready to take the place, so we’re going to want to go for the guards first.” She fixed Mitch with a firm stare. “Your job is intelligence. You’re our eyes, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
*
Mitch had the sense that someone was watching him. He set his bottle on the bar top and eased off the stool. Taking his time, he made his way to the back hallway that led to the restrooms and whatever else lay hidden in the bowels of the building. She was there, in the shadows.
“Hi,” Mitch said, leaning a shoulder against the wall. At the far end of the corridor he could see a flickering neon sign that said Exit. He knew there were other rooms opening onto the hallway, but for the moment, they seemed to be alone.
“Hello, new boy,” Irina purred, placing her palm in the center of his chest as she leaned close to kiss him lightly on the mouth. “Back again.”
Mitch slipped one arm around her waist and drew her against him. Tonight she wore some kind of dark red satiny slacks that hugged her voluptuous figure and a blouse that was more of a hint than a reality. It was so sheer he could see the lace of the flimsy cups that barely contained her breasts and the dark hue of nipple beneath. As she moved into him, she parted her thighs and settled into his crotch with his denim-encased cock neatly nestled between her legs. This time, he was prepared for the sudden surge of pressure, and when he bumped his pelvis into her, it was Irina who gasped. “I told you I would be here. I was afraid you weren’t.”
She stroked a fingertip along his jaw. “I am always here.”
For a second, Mitch considered questioning her, trying to get some information about the girls, but then he realized she would be on the lookout for that kind of questioning, no matter how subtle. He couldn’t afford to make her suspicious of him now. Instead, he nuzzled her neck and brushed his mouth over her ear. “You must go home sometime.”
Laughing, she tilted her head back and allowed him her neck. “Not until all the little boys have gone home happy.”
While he sucked the pale flesh of her throat, Mitch dropped his hand from her waist to her buttocks and kneaded the firm flesh. He circled his crotch against hers and moved his mouth back to her ear. “What about the big boys?”
“You are very…smooth, new boy.” She was breathing a little faster as she kissed him again, teasing her tongue along the inner surface of his lips, darting into his mouth and out again. Just as she drew away she nipped at his lower lip. “Mitch. You taste good, Mitch.”
“You feel good.” As they spoke, Mitch was aware of the transmitter on his back and tried not to think about his lieutenant and Sloan listening to this conversation. He had a fleeting instant of gratitude that it wasn’t Watts monitoring the wire. “I want to make you feel a whole lot better.”
“I don’t know why,” Irina mused as she edged a hand between them and cupped the swelling tucked in Mitch’s jeans. “But I believe you.”
“Maybe,” Mitch said, ignoring the practiced stimulation that she so effortlessly delivered, “because the other guys are just thinking about getting off.” He lightly teased an erect nipple through the flimsy layers of material, flicking it with a fingertip as he kept his eyes on her face. When he saw her lids flutter, he caught the hard peak in his fingers and squeezed. She moaned, and he squeezed again. “But remember what I said last night. I want to make you come.”
“Do the other one,” she whispered, her voice tight and urgent. Her eyes were nearly closed, her hips rolling rhythmically against him. When he started on her other nipple, working them both to the same rhythm, she forced her lids open and gazed at him through a haze of pleasure. “Did you make yourself come last night, thinking of me?”
Despite the icy control he kept over his own physical responses, he tightened deep inside at the words. Beneath the cock, his hard sex ached. Hoarsely, he said, “Oh yeah. All night long.”
“I imagined you fucking me, new boy.” Irina smiled, her lips swollen and moist. “Until I came, screaming.”
Mitch kissed her, one hand on her ass, the other tangled in her hair. He held her head while he plundered her mouth, until she was shaking in his arms and he knew she was his for the taking. He pulled his head away, breathing hard. “I want to fuck you ’til you scream. But not here. Take me home.”
She shook her head.
He spun her to the wall and pinned both of her arms against it with his hands around her wrists. He pushed his cock hard between her thighs, his lean hips between her spread legs, and he pumped into her while he took her mouth again. He worked his cock against her until she whimpered and writhed beneath him, then he pulled back, his own chest heaving. “Take me home so I can give you what you want. What I want.”
“I…” Her eyes were glazed, her mouth bruised, her breasts swollen—hard nipples exposed beneath the see-through material. “I…” She took a long shuddering breath and her eyes finally focused. “There are others there. I cannot.”
“Then I’ll take you somewhere else. A hotel.”
“No. I must stay there. I…cannot leave.”
He jerked one of her hands down the wall and thrust it between his legs, squeezing her fingers around his cock. “Feel me. You know you want this.” He dropped his forehead to hers, shivering as she automatically started to jack him off. “Please, Irina. Please. Please.”
“After,” she whispered urgently. “You come after they are asleep.”
“When? Where?” Mitch knew he sounded desperate, because he was. He had to get her hands off him, because there was only so much stimulation he could take.
“I will tell you when.” Then she pushed him abruptly away. “You just be here, new boy.”
Mitch sagged against the wall and watched her disappear into the darkness at the end of the hall. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and worked on quieting the storm she had stirred. When he thought he could walk without
stumbling, he returned to the bar and signaled to Jasmine that he was leaving.
Five minutes later, Jasmine met him at the car, and they drove six blocks in silence before pulling to the curb. A dark Ford Escort pulled in behind them, and Rebecca walked up to the driver’s side. She peered through the open window at Jasmine and Mitch.
“Everything okay?” Rebecca asked, her gaze fixed on Mitch.
Mitch nodded wordlessly.
“All right. Good job.” To Jasmine, Rebecca said, “Take him home.”
*
Mitch let himself into the apartment, made his way carefully in the dark to the bathroom, and closed the door behind him before turning on the light. He stripped and tossed his clothes into a pile, then removed the chest wrap and his drag gear, laying everything on top of the toilet tank. With one arm, he reached awkwardly behind his back and jerked the tape from his skin, mindless of the quick rush of pain.
Then Mitchell stepped into the shower and turned both dials on full. The first blast to hit her was icy cold, but she never flinched. Eyes closed, she washed the smell of smoke and beer and dark secrets from her skin. Eventually she felt clean, at least on the outside. She toweled off, brushed her teeth, and turned out the light before opening the door. Moving by memory, she made her way to the sofa bed, carefully lifted the sheet, and slid in. Then she lay on her back, her eyes on the ceiling, wide awake. She could feel the heat of Sandy’s body only inches away, but she did not touch her. She lay there, remembering the stroke of Irina’s tongue inside her mouth, the crush of Irina’s breasts against her chest, the tease of Irina’s sure hand between her thighs, making her swell and ache and long for more. She thought of the lies and wondered what part was real and what had only been an act. Her mind and body were alive with confusion and, worse, simmering desire, but she dared not touch Sandy. Not now. It would be wrong.
She didn’t notice the tears until Sandy’s fingertips brushed over her cheeks.
“C’mere, baby,” Sandy said softly as she drew Mitchell’s head down to her breast.
“Sandy, honey, I…” Mitchell had no idea what she should say. “Tonight—”
“Shh. It’s okay.” Sandy kissed her forehead. “I don’t need to know what you did. You’re here. That’s what matters.”
Mitchell turned on her side and wrapped her arms around Sandy, drawing up one thigh onto Sandy’s, trying to get as close as she could. She closed her eyes and held on tightly. “I love you.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Monday – 7:20 a.m., Sloan Security Offices
Rebecca handed Mitchell a cup of coffee. “You did good work last night, Detective.”
They were alone in the conference room, waiting for Jason and Sloan to gather the preliminary data from Sandy’s review of the videotapes. Mitchell rested her hips against the counter and stared into her coffee.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Undercover work is one of the most difficult things a police officer can do,” Rebecca said conversationally as she leaned next to Mitchell. She sipped her coffee and gazed through the windows opposite them at the crisp blue sky. “A good undercover officer is an invaluable asset to a team like this.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Never doubted it.” Rebecca angled her body and studied Mitchell’s face. “Mitch is unique. He gets us in places that no one else could. I also appreciate that his assignments, especially this one, put added pressure on you.”
“It’s all so new,” Mitchell admitted quietly. “Mitch, the work, how it all fits together. Me and Sandy.”
Rebecca nodded. “It’s a lot to handle, and you’re doing just fine. I wouldn’t put you out there if I didn’t trust you to deal with whatever comes up. No arrest is worth one of my people.”
“I just don’t want to let you down.”
“You won’t. Not if you keep your head on straight.” Rebecca took a sip of coffee. “How’s Sandy doing?”
Mitchell colored. “She’s good. Okay.” She turned the coffee cup in her hands and finally tasted the contents. It was hot, and that was about all she could tell. “I think she understands what I’m doing. On the job, I mean.”
“Then you’re luckier than you know.”
“No,” Mitchell said softly. “I know how lucky I am.”
“You have a problem—on the job, at home—you come to me. We’ll work it out.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Rebecca straightened as Sloan and Jason came in. “Okay. Let’s get to work.” She took her seat and the others followed suit. “Tell me you have something for me.”
Jason passed copies of a printout to both Rebecca and Mitchell. “Not everything, not yet. But we’ve got a start.”
Rebecca perused the list of dates, mentally counting off the intervals between them. “It’s a loose pattern, but it’s a pattern.” She looked from Jason to Sloan. “Can we get the rest of this today?”
“Sandy’s on her way,” Jason affirmed. “I think we’ll have the rest of the dates for you in a couple of hours.”
“I want to get a look at the central computers at Port Authority,” Sloan said.
“I’ll make some calls,” Rebecca replied. “The captain down there is a good officer. I think she’ll be willing to let us work outside channels a little bit. Watts is meeting with her this morning, so the two of you can coordinate at that end.”
Sloan nodded.
“When are we going to bring Captain Henry in on this?” Mitchell inquired.
Rebecca shrugged. “When I can bring him a solid package of evidence and enough of a plan to convince him that we don’t need the feds to run this operation.”
“Fucking-A,” Sloan muttered.
“At some point,” Rebecca advised, her eyes on Sloan, “Clark is going to get involved. The international human smuggling, trafficking these girls across state lines, the Internet angle—it’s all federal. But before they grab up the perps like they did last time, I want the guy who did Hogan and Cruz. And I know he’s part of this.”
“Got to be,” Mitchell said. “He’s probably the enforcer for this arm of the organized crime network. I’m willing to bet he oversees the transfer of the girls from the port to the stash houses and probably runs all the guys who guard them too. That means he’s got rank in the organization.”
“I agree.” Rebecca appeared pleased with Mitchell’s assessment. “Which means he’s just the kind of guy that Clark is going to want to try to turn—someone high enough up in the organization to name names. And I want him first for the murder of two cops, a bent ADA, and an innocent young girl.”
“Then let’s move fast,” Sloan said, eyes gleaming. “I need to stop by Police Plaza to see how my new guys are doing with the work on retooling the computer system. Then I’ll head down to Port Authority.”
“I expect that Irina will move on Mitch tonight,” Rebecca said. “We’ve got fifteen hours to put this together.”
Sloan grinned. “Plenty of time.”
Monday 8:45 a.m. Port of Philadelphia
Captain Carla Reiser passed Watts a pastry on a paper plate as she sat down next to him on the worn plaid sofa in one corner of her office. She gestured with her coffee cup to the stack of printouts in front of him. “These are the most likely ships to fit the profile and dates you’ve given me so far.”
Watts rifled through the stack, softly humming a refrain that approximated “We’re in the money.” “Can we get duty rosters for the shifts when these ships came into port and also for the time they were being off-loaded?”
“I’ve already got the computers working on that.”
“That so?” Watts gave her an appreciative glance as he took a huge bite from the cheese Danish. He chewed, swallowed, and shook his head approvingly. “It’s nice you’re not busting my balls over sharing this info.”
Carla took a healthy bite of her own Danish and regarded him thoughtfully. “Why should I?”
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Watts lifted one beefy shoulder. “Interagency cooperation is more of a pipe dream than a reality.”
“This is a big port, Detective. Tons of merchandise move through here annually. I could tell you that no one could keep track of it all, and that would be the truth.” She lifted the stack of papers and let it fall to the table in front of them with a thump. “If there’s evidence in here that large-scale—no, scratch that—if any kind of smuggling is going on at this port under my watch, I want to know about it. And if it is, it’s not happening without inside help.” Her chocolate eyes grew even darker with fury. “I want to see the son of a bitch who’s been using my turf like his own personal playground strung up by his balls.”
“Now that’s my kind of police,” Watts said with a happy smile.
“The shift lists will need to be cross-referenced, drivers checked, a lot of background info run—Lieutenant Frye says she’s sending over a computer expert to sort through it and nail down how the transfers are being made.”
“That would be Sloan,” Watts said. “If anyone can put it together, she can. She’ll need a secure place to work because we don’t want to tip our hand.”
“She can use my office.” Carla stood. “Let me take a quick tour around the docks before she arrives. Assuming we get a chance for lunch, I’m buying.”
“Nah, let me get it.” Watts cleared his throat. “I, uh…like working with you.”
“Good. Same here.” As she reached the door, she looked back. “But lunch is off the clock. And on me this time.”
Watts stared after her, grinning, and was still grinning when Sloan walked in a few minutes later.
“Please tell me what there is to be happy about,” Sloan said by way of greeting.
“I finally ran into a woman on this job who likes guys with real dicks.”
“Yeah?” Sloan’s attention was already riveted on the computer on Reiser’s desk, and she headed for it. As she settled into the captain’s swivel chair, she muttered offhandedly, “Rumor has it there’s one or two of them still left around.”