Heart Stop

by Radclyffe

  She pushed through the revolving door of Stuie’s Diner, the heat and the grease and the noise a familiar slap in the face. Stuie, big belly made wider by his smeared white apron, was behind the grill, his florid face framed in the pass-through as he kept an eye on the waitresses and the register. Gert, one of the regular waitresses, worked the counter, busily sliding heavy white plates heaped with burgers and fries and gravy and mashed potatoes in front of the customers lined up on the stools along the chipped and discolored Formica counter.

  Sandy waved hi and made her way to the last booth in the long, narrow diner and stopped beside the three young women crowded around the skinny red-topped table. She knew two of them. Lola, a brassy blonde with sun-kissed skin and old eyes, and Marie, a thin brunette in her late thirties with just about the best legs Sandy had ever seen. The third was young, as young as she’d been once, maybe. The new girl, a pale redhead with a smattering of freckles and a deep blue gaze that vacillated between fear and suspicion, eyed her suspiciously.

  “Buy you girls some breakfast?” Sandy said.

  “You’re just in time, sugar. How you been?” Lola pointed to the free spot beside the new girl, across from Marie.

  Sandy slid in, nodded to the young redhead. “Hi, I’m Sandy.”

  The girl said nothing and averted her gaze.

  “Couldn’t stay away, huh? Knew you’d be missing us,” Marie said, a teasing note in her voice, but a question in her eyes.

  Sandy understood. Almost no one left for good, unless they were really gone for good, like never coming back—anywhere. Those who tried to leave the life were met with mixed hopes and cynicism.

  “I’m always around if you want me for anything,” Sandy said, sidestepping the unspoken question. They all knew she’d crossed the line to the opposite side. Most of them had known she was getting friendly with Dell, but none of them knew about her relationship with Frye. That had been a secret that would’ve gotten her killed, and she couldn’t afford even those she considered her friends to know about it.

  “How is your handsome stud?” Lola asked.

  Sandy grinned. “I keep her busy.”

  Lola and Marie made whooping sounds and raised their brows.

  Sandy laughed. “What’s new?”

  Silence fell as Gert plodded over to them with her order pad and pen at the ready.

  “The regulars for all youse girls?”

  Lola, Marie, and the nameless newcomer all said yes. Sandy said, “I’ll have a burger and fries, thanks, Gert.”

  “No breakfast for you, honey?” Gert said as she scribbled.

  “Not this time around,” Sandy said.

  Gert disappeared and Sandy waited. She could ask, but it was up to them whether they would tell her anything or not. Her relationship with her old friends had changed, although none of them had ever talked about it. She wasn’t one of them any longer, but she was someone they still trusted—at least for now. She would use whatever she learned to try and make their lives a little safer. The last thing she wanted to do was endanger them.

  “Not much has changed,” Lola said. “The weather is getting warmer, so business is better.”

  Marie snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Trouble from anyone?” Sandy asked.

  Lola shook her head. “No more than usual. What you looking at?”

  Sandy reached into the pocket of her jacket and took out a copy of the headshot of the dead girl the crime scene techs had taken. She put it on the table. “I don’t know her. Do any of you?”

  “Uh-uh.” The laughter went out of Lola’s eyes.

  Marie’s face was a mask as she studied the picture. She was the unofficial head of the local girls, keeping an eye on everyone, making sure the strays ended up with a place to stay at night, putting out the word if there was trouble with certain johns or certain officers, calling the bail bondsman if it came to that. “Not one of ours,” she said at last.

  “Thanks.”

  Lola turned the picture this way and that with her index finger. “She doesn’t look like one of us at all. You sure?”

  Sandy pocketed the picture. “No, not really. We don’t know who she is.”

  “OD?” Lola asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Around here?” Marie asked.

  “No, a few blocks north of Market.”

  “Huh,” Lola said musingly. “I would’ve bet south of Bainbridge.”

  MS-13 territory. The Salvadorans.

  “Why?” Sandy asked.

  Gert brought their food, and after she passed plates around and left again, Lola replied, “Word is they’re not too fussy who they sell to, or what they sell. They’re getting popular with the car hoppers from the suburbs.”

  “Not so north of Market?” Sandy asked. Zamora’s territory.

  Lola shrugged. “Maybe not yet.”

  “Have you heard anything about bad stuff? Maybe something new?”

  “Should we have?” Marie said.

  “Possibly. Let everyone know to be careful of anything new, especially coming from out of state.”

  “Got a name?” Lola asked.

  Sandy nodded. “They’re calling it bird.”

  She finished her meal and left the girls to relax before they had to go to work. She hadn’t learned much, except that her dead girl might only be the first.

  *

  Dell parked her Harley under the overhang adjacent to the double garage doors opening into the first floor of Sloan’s building in Old City, locked her helmet to the back, and climbed the brick steps to the small porch in front of the unmarked brown door. No sign, just a small square window a little too high to see through. She glanced up at the security camera tucked into the corner beneath the short roof and waved. The door lock buzzed open, and she walked through into a hallway with a polished wood floor that led back into the cavernous garage where Sloan kept her Porsche and the field-equipped utility vehicles the team used on surveillance. The service elevator, one of the old-fashioned kind with the fold-back metal grate and an interior big enough to accommodate dollies loaded with equipment and supplies from when the building had been a working warehouse, stood open in the back corner. She stepped in, pushed a button, and it rose noiselessly on the new hydraulics, opening on the third floor where Sloan and Jason had their private offices. The space also served as the High Profile Crime Unit’s operations center.

  Frye had an office she never used at Police Plaza and Sloan worked there as a consultant helping the department upgrade its cyber security division, but this was where the heart of their operation resided—in the banks of computers, monitoring devices, and surveillance equipment that rivaled anything in Virginia. Of course, both Sloan and Jason had started out in Virginia and still had contacts there—as well as the coolest toys.

  Jason, lithe and blond and androgynously beautiful, swiveled in his chair and waved.

  “Am I the first one here?” Dell walked over and lifted the baby from the carrier resting on the workbench next to Jason. “Hey, Mr. Timmy. How’s your day been?”

  Jason smiled. “His day’s been just dandy. He had applesauce for lunch, his favorite.”

  The baby smiled as only four-month-old babies could do, wide and innocent and delighted with everything, and Dell settled him back in the carrier. “How’s Dad doing?”

  “Dad would like very much to get a full night’s sleep, which he fervently hopes will be happening soon.”

  “What else is happening?”

  Jason’s face settled back into work mode. “Nobody’s entirely sure, but there’s drumbeats in the air.”

  Dell hitched a hip onto the counter and shed her leather jacket onto a nearby stool. “Yeah. It’s been way too quiet. Zamora coming out of the woodwork?”

  “He’s still being cautious, but we’re starting to see some cracks in the shell. Keeping an organization his size muzzled is practically impossible.”

  “Good. Maybe the troops are getting restless.” She kn
ew she was. Building cases against sophisticated crime organizations took time, and she was lucky she got to spend most of her time on the streets and in the clubs, but she could do with some action.

  “Well, the lieutenant will be here soon,” Jason said. “Must be something heating up.”

  Dell nodded. “You want coffee?”

  “Are you buying?”

  “Sure.” Dell sauntered back to the full kitchen in the rear and put on a fresh pot of coffee. She checked her watch, mentally calculating what Sandy would be doing right about now. Where she might be. A little kernel of unease always resided in the center of her chest when Sandy was working. She guessed Sandy probably felt the same way about her. Neither of them would change anything, and she knew Sandy was more than capable of taking care of herself under any circumstances—on the street, in the squad, on the job. Her girl was just about the most capable person she’d ever met—resilient, resourceful, smart as anything. But still, she was Dell’s girl—beautiful, delicate in her own way, and the single thing that made Dell’s heart beat every minute of every day. She blew out a breath, put the worry aside. They’d both be home in a few hours, and Sandy had promised she’d be getting a surprise. Surprises always meant hot sex.

  Smiling to herself, she carried the coffee back to Jason just as Sloan and the lieutenant walked in. Frye, tall and lean and cool, looked sharp as always in her tailored dark trousers and pearl-gray shirt, the cuffs rolled back, black cashmere topcoat draped over her arm. The one she hardly ever wore but carried around because her wife wanted her to. Dell smiled to herself. She knew how that went.

  Watts shambled along behind Frye and Sloan, although his step was quicker and lighter than it used to be, now that he’d shed a lot of the extra weight he’d been carrying around. She even thought his suit might be less than five years old, a distinct change for the detective who had joined the group reluctantly and now was a pivotal part of the team. Watts was a seasoned cop who knew his way around the city and the department and had acquired years of invaluable contacts. Bianca Cormey followed close behind Watts, and Dell’s blood buzzed with anticipation. If Bianca was there, they must have gotten something from the tap. At last.

  “I’ll try to make this quick,” Frye said without slowing. “Let’s all go back to the conference room.”

  Watts stopped to grab coffee, Sloan got a bottle of water, and they convened around the big table, everyone taking their customary seats as they had done dozens of times before. The lieutenant sat at the head of the table.

  “Sergeant Cormey,” Frye said, nodding toward the brunette, “picked up a little snippet this morning that I want to chase down. Why don’t you go ahead and play it for everyone, Sergeant.”

  Bianca set a small computer on the table, rapidly keyed in commands, and turned it so the speakers faced the group. A conversation between Zamora and one of his capos about a dead girl who might have been dumped in their territory played.

  Watts grunted. “I’d be covering my balls with a steel jock if I was that guy. Zamora probably knows we’re listening.”

  “He certainly assumes so,” Sloan said.

  Watts lifted a still-beefy shoulder, but his florid complexion had settled down into a healthier tone, and even the bags under his eyes seemed shallower. “So what do we think—is anyone smart enough to try to put the squeeze on Zamora by pointing us at him?”

  Dell said, “Seems pretty sophisticated for the Salvadorans, and they’re his biggest competition.”

  “What about someone inside his organization?” Frye said.

  “A takeover, you mean?” Sloan waggled her hand. “Unless it’s a faction loyal to Gregor looking for revenge, I don’t see it. And Gregor is dead, so there’s no percentage in it.”

  “I agree,” Frye said. “I’m more inclined to think it’s just a message—spit in your face kind of thing. Or maybe somebody just wanted to get rid of a body and didn’t want it on their home turf.”

  “That’s not how the Salvadorans usually handle things,” Dell pointed out. “They’re not particularly concerned about crapping in their own backyard.”

  Watts said, “Maybe they’re getting tired of stepping in their own shit. Maybe somebody with brains instead of balls is in charge.”

  “We haven’t heard anything like that on the streets,” Dell said.

  “I want to up the surveillance on the border zones,” Frye said. “If a territory skirmish is coming, it’s going to start there. In the meantime, we follow up on this conversation—let’s talk to the homicide guys, see what they’ve got on this.” She looked at Dell. “Chase down the ID and the rest of the details.”

  “Sure, Lieutenant. No problem.”

  “Watts,” Frye said, “things have been quiet on the docks. Alert them to be on the lookout for any change in manifests—we don’t want to miss a new distribution pipeline. You’ve got some people you can talk to there, right?”

  “Can do, Loo.” Watts very nearly smiled, which on him looked a little bit like he had gas. He’d kept his new relationship with the port commandant under pretty close wraps, but he’d shown up for work a few times with a new spring in his step. Plus, he’d been getting regular haircuts.

  “Sloan, Cormey, if we’ve gotten one break from the wire, there’ll be more. Keep on it.”

  Cormey smiled. “Absolutely.”

  Frye stood. “All right then. Daily roll call here, seven a.m. starting now.”

  Watts winced. Sloan, who never seemed to sleep anyhow, grinned.

  Dell thought about Sandy on the streets, the friends they both had out there. When a street war started, the innocent often became the first victims.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sandy let herself into the apartment a little after nine p.m. The lamp by the living room sofa was turned down low. Dell sprawled in the corner of the couch, her head back, her eyes closed. Sandy gently closed the door behind her and took off her jacket.

  “Hey, baby,” Dell murmured, a grin breaking across her face.

  “Hi.” Sandy leaned back against the door to take in the view. Dell’s thick dark hair was tousled, and her loose-limbed slouch looked sexy as hell. So did her tight dark T-shirt, black jeans, and scuffed motocross boots. “You just get home?”

  “A little bit ago.”

  “You tired?”

  Dell shook her head. “Not really.”

  Sandy stopped in front of the sofa and kicked off her shoes. “Been thinking about me?”

  “Always.” Dell settled back on the sofa, her legs spread, her expression just this side of a smirk, like she knew what she wanted and knew she’d be getting it.

  “Are you ready?” Sandy let her eyes drift down Dell’s body, checking to see just how ready and just what Dell might be in the mood for. A faint bulge lifted the fly of her button jeans, and she smiled. “Looks like you might be.”

  Dell brushed a hand over the front of her pants. “You did tell me to be prepared, and I try to always do what you want.”

  Sandy pulled up her tight skirt, giving her room to spread her thighs as she straddled Dell’s legs. She wiggled until the narrow swatch of silk panties that barely covered the delta between her thighs settled onto the ridge in Dell’s jeans. She murmured in approval as the pressure flooded her clit. Her breath came faster as she rocked. “And you always follow my instructions so well.”

  “Try to.” Dell grasped Sandy’s hips, pulling her down as she lifted up, easing Sandy back and forth over the cock tucked along her thigh. “And what would you like tonight, huh, baby?”

  “You know what I want?” Sandy braced her arm on Dell’s chest and tugged Dell’s shirt from her jeans, sliding her hand underneath. Dell’s chest was free tonight and her small, firm breast filled Sandy’s hand, the nipple tight against her palm. She liked Dell in this halfway state, a little bit her and a little bit Mitch. She liked Dell and Mitch any way they came to her, and she especially liked knowing Dell could be whoever she needed to be with her. She squeezed Dell’s brea
st, brushing the nipple with her thumb, and Dell arched her back, her lids dropping low for an instant. Sandy caught Dell’s lip between her teeth and tugged a little bit, sliding her tongue over the soft inner surface of Dell’s lower lip. “I’ve been thinking about you fucking me all day.”

  Dell’s breath whooshed out and her hips surged. “That’s good, because I’ve been thinking about fucking you all day.”

  Sandy kissed her, toying with her tongue, probing and stroking, sucking, nipping every now and then, smoothing her palms over the muscles in Dell’s chest, cupping the soft lift of her breasts, tracing the tight ridge of her belly, getting tighter all the time. When she turned her hand and pushed her fingers below the waistband of Dell’s jeans, Dell groaned.

  Sandy laughed. She loved making Dell wait, knowing every minute she was getting wetter and harder for her, feeling her thighs tremble and the sculpted planes of her shoulders and arms shudder. Dell was powerful, beautiful, and hers. Never more hers than in these moments when they both demanded and offered, gave and took, commanded and surrendered until they moved as one to the edge. Dell swept her hands up the backs of Sandy’s thighs, pushing the skirt even higher, and clasped her ass, massaging her as she rotated her cock deeper into the cleft between Sandy’s legs.

  “I’m gonna get come all over your jeans if you keep doing that,” Sandy murmured.