by Radclyffe
After unlocking the door, she pushed it open and said, “Come on in.”
Catherine stepped through and waited for Rebecca, who pulled the door closed, bolted it, and flicked on a wall switch to her right. After her eyes adjusted to the light, Catherine looked around, smiling to herself when she found that the apartment was very close to the way she had envisioned it. One large living room with a door to the left that opened into a small kitchen and another on the right that most likely led to the bedroom and bath. A utilitarian sofa with the requisite coffee table in front of it, a very nice stereo set coated with a layer of dust that suggested it rarely saw any use, and a high-end television comprised the furnishings.
She strolled a few steps forward. An end table supported a haphazard stack of paperbacks, and a gym bag lay open on the floor to her left, apparently having been abandoned there after Rebecca removed her soiled workout clothes. It looked like a bachelor apartment, which, of course, was what it was.
“As I said,” Rebecca began in an apologetic tone, “it’s not much to look at—”
“On the contrary,” Catherine said. “It seems very much like you. Utilitarian, and a little bit…” She quirked an eyebrow, grinning at Rebecca. “Spartan.”
“Spartan, huh?” Rebecca laughed, too, and began to relax. “Can I get you something? I’ve got soda, I think, and…” Her voice trailed off as she followed Catherine’s gaze.
“Is that yours?” Catherine asked quietly, her tone carefully neutral. Her heart was pounding furiously, but she knew that her voice sounded calm. That was the benefit of years of training.
Rebecca stared at the half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black on her coffee table. “Yes.”
“Are you drinking?” It terrified her more than she would have ever dreamed to think of Rebecca in any kind of trouble, physically or emotionally. If she was drinking again, then something was very wrong. To realize that something so serious could be happening to someone she loved and that she wouldn’t even know, wouldn’t even suspect, made her wonder what exactly had happened to the two of them. How could they have drifted so far part?
“Rebecca?” Catherine asked again into the silence.
Rebecca took a deep breath. “No, I’m not.”
“But you bought it?”
“Yes. I did. Four nights ago.” The second night we were apart. She shrugged out of her jacket and released the clasp on her shoulder holster, removing it and stowing it in its customary spot on top of the bookcase next to the door to her bedroom. Turning, she asked, “Can I take your jacket?”
Catherine simply nodded and slipped it from her shoulders. Approaching Rebecca, she held it out in one hand.
Rebecca took it and carefully placed it on a hanger in the small closet next to the front door. Then without hesitation, she walked to the table, lifted the bottle of scotch in one hand, and carried it into the kitchen. She returned empty-handed and sat on the sofa. Catherine sat down beside her.
“Why?” Catherine asked, leaning toward her but not yet touching her.
“I’ve asked myself that every day for the last four days,” Rebecca said at length. “I can’t tell you exactly why, but I was lonely, and I was angry, and I was tired. I can usually deal with one or two of those things at one time, but when they all come together, I mostly just want to forget.”
Those words and her expression shredded Catherine’s soul. “Is it me?”
“No,” Rebecca said, her voice a whisper. “It’s me.”
*
“Who is it?” Sandy called irritably.
“It’s me.”
She opened the door and regarded her unexpected visitor. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Neither moved; each leaned against the doorjamb on opposite sides of the threshold, regarding one another as if uncertain what to say next. Finally, Sandy said, “It’s three o’clock in the morning, Dell. What’s going on?”
“Did you talk to Frye tonight?”
Sandy’s eyes sparked with sudden anger. “We’re not going there.”
“Just tell me you’re not doing something crazy for her.”
“What I do for her or anyone else isn’t any of your business,” Sandy said, moving to close the door.
Mitchell straight-armed the door before it could close completely, but she made no move to enter the room. “You met her tonight, didn’t you?”
“Are you following me?”
“No. I guessed.”
“Leave it alone, rookie.”
“I don’t want you to tell me what you told her,” Mitchell insisted. “Just tell me if you’re doing anything except passing on information.”
“Go home, Dell,” Sandy said, but her voice was softer now.
“Please, Sandy,” Mitchell said with a note of quiet desperation. “I can’t sleep. I keep thinking…these guys…”
“There’s a reason we can’t be friends,” Sandy said, her eyes impossible to read but her tone bitter. “And this is it. For a little while, you can forget what I do, what I am…but not all the time, right, Dell? And this is what happens.”
“You’re wrong,” Mitchell whispered. “The only thing I can’t forget is the way you looked lying in that alley with your face covered in blood. I don’t want anyone else to hurt you.”
Sandy blinked. The torment in Dell’s deep blue eyes was impossible to ignore. She wasn’t certain what brought the tears to her own eyes—the fact that Dell was hurting or the fact that the young cop could feel something like that for her. All she knew for certain was that no one had made her cry in a very long time, and she had sworn that no one ever would again. In a voice she didn’t recognize, she asked, “Are you coming in?”
“No,” Mitchell said hoarsely, her entire body trembling.
“Why not?”
Because I want to so bad.
*
Breathless, Catherine rolled over and pushed Rebecca away. “I have yet to determine how it is that every time I intend to have a serious conversation with you, I end up in bed with you instead.”
“Sorry,” Rebecca gasped. “I think I started that.”
“Well,” Catherine murmured, linking her fingers with Rebecca’s as she stared at the ceiling in the semi-darkness, “you definitely had help finishing it.”
Rebecca waited for Catherine to continue, wondering what she was going to ask or what she hoped to hear. When the silence between them expanded to fill the room, Rebecca spoke out of a desperate need to break through the barriers between them. “Every night, I poured a glass of Scotch and sat staring at it…I don’t know for how long. Then I’d get up and pour it down the sink.”
Catherine turned on her side to study Rebecca’s profile in the moonlight. “Does anyone know?”
Startled, Rebecca replied, “Who would know?”
I should know. But this wasn’t the time for that. “Watts…or Whitaker?”
“No,” Rebecca replied abruptly. Then, aware of her defensive tone, she added more softly, “I can’t talk to Whitaker about this, Catherine. I’m still waiting for him to sign off on my incident evaluation. The last thing I can tell him is that I feel like getting drunk.”
“I understand, believe me. I see people every week who don’t want their employers to know they’re in therapy. Still, it would probably help if you talked to…someone about this,” Catherine said carefully. “A friend or…me.” Gently, she stroked the length of Rebecca’s arm. “But keeping it inside is going to make it harder not to drink.”
“I know. I think I’m past it now. I emptied the bottle down the drain tonight.”
Catherine felt a small swell of relief, but she knew it was never that easy. “And the next time?”
After a pause, Rebecca answered quietly, “Next time…I’ll tell you.”
“Thank you,” Catherine whispered. “What you did, not drinking, was incredibly difficult, Rebecca. I’m proud of you.”
Rebecca turned on her side to face Catherine, her palm resting on the crest
of Catherine’s hip, their bodies only inches apart. “I want to make things right between us. And I don’t know how.”
“What we’re doing right now will make things right between us,” Catherine said, her voice tight with emotion. “I need to know you, Rebecca. Not just all the strong, brave, wonderful parts of you, but the parts that are uncertain or lonely or…frightened.”
“I need practice at this.”
“So do I,” Catherine admitted. “I haven’t cared about anyone like this before. You bring up feelings in me I didn’t even know I was capable of having. Before you, my life was ordered; everything made sense. I was settled…comfortable.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Rebecca said with a hint of laughter.
Catherine laughed, too. “No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t bad at all; it was just not remarkable. Being with you is quite remarkable.”
“Captain Henry told me that I could be promoted to lieutenant if I wanted it,” Rebecca said in a low voice. “I could tell him yes.”
“Do you want that?”
“I wouldn’t be on the street as much. I’d have more regular hours.”
And you’d hate that. Catherine leaned closer and kissed the point of Rebecca’s shoulder. “You’d do that for me?”
“No,” Rebecca said, her eyes meeting Catherine’s. “I’d do that for us.”
“Maybe someday,” Catherine said softly, stroking the edge of Rebecca’s jaw with her fingertips, feeling the muscles bunched tightly beneath her fingers. “Right now, I’d rather you just share your life with me, not change it for me.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever done that with anyone, but I’ll try. I swear to God, I’ll try.”
“Good. You can start in the morning.” Catherine slipped her fingers into the hair at the base of Rebecca’s neck and guided the other woman down on top of her. “But right now, I’d rather not talk.”
Rebecca slid her thigh between Catherine’s legs and leaned on her elbows, staring down into Catherine’s face. “I feel like part of me is missing when I’m not with you.”
Maybe it was her words, maybe it was the pressure of warm firm muscle against her nerve centers, but a surge of desire so powerful it caused every muscle in her body to tense wrenched a sharp cry from Catherine’s throat. She wrapped her calves around Rebecca’s leg and thrust hard into her, forcing the blood to pound faster through her already swollen flesh. Pressing her lips to Rebecca’s ear she whispered raggedly, “I don’t want to…think. Make it so I can’t.”
First, Rebecca kissed her until Catherine couldn’t speak. Then she found her nipples, and teased them, tormented them, until Catherine couldn’t breathe. Then, she touched her, stroked her, and finally filled her…until Catherine couldn’t do anything except feel.
Chapter Seventeen
The phone rang at 6:40 a.m. Rebecca groped for the receiver and fumbled it to her ear. “Frye.”
“You up yet?” Sloan’s ever-present, clearly irrepressible energy crackled over the line.
“No. Damn…you been to bed yet?”
“Nope. But I’ve got something for you.”
Rebecca sat up in bed, and Catherine rolled over to rest her head against Rebecca’s stomach, wrapping one arm around her waist. Rebecca threaded the fingers of her free hand through the thick tresses at the base of Catherine’s neck.
“Tell me.”
“LongJohn finally showed up last night, and he’s dangling bait in front of BigMac’s…nose. You’ll have to see the transcript, but basically, he’s offered BigMac a show. A live show.”
“Excellent,” Rebecca rejoined, her mind already prioritizing her day’s work. “I need as many details as you can give me. I’ll be over in an hour.”
“I’ll put the coffee on.”
Rebecca leaned toward the nightstand to hang up the phone.
“What is it?” Catherine asked sleepily.
“Sloan’s got something for us.”
“I take it that means we’re getting up?”
Rebecca slid down into bed and settled Catherine into her arms. “We’ve got a few minutes. You can sleep a little longer.”
Catherine ran her palm along Rebecca’s ribs and down to the base of her abdomen, her fingers settling lightly in the cleft between Rebecca’s thighs. “I wasn’t thinking of sleeping. The last thing I remember from last night is feeling as if my entire body had disintegrated. It was wonderful, but at about the point where my arms and legs disassembled, I think I lost consciousness.” She laughed softly, edging her fingers lower as she spoke.
Rebecca’s body had come to attention, and she murmured huskily, “Like I said, we’ve got a few minutes.”
Catherine pressed closer, her mouth against Rebecca’s neck. Teasingly, she murmured, “I might need a little longer than that.”
“Uhh,” Rebecca gasped as fingers closed around her length, “take all the time you want.”
*
If Sloan was surprised to see Catherine arrive with Rebecca, she didn’t show it. Hair wet from the shower, in a tight black T-shirt and black jeans, she met them at the elevator with a handful of printouts in her fist. Her eyes alight with excitement and the thrill of the hunt, she said, “Come on down to the conference room.”
Jason was there waiting, looking immaculate in a crisp white shirt and blended silk trousers. Grinning at them, showing not the slightest hint of fatigue, he said, “Looks like I might have a date this weekend.”
They all helped themselves to coffee and then sat down with copies of the most recent chat transcript.
Transcript Six - Excerpt
LongJohnXXX: Hey big man, wondered where you were
BigMac10: Looked for you earlier, but you were nowhere
LongJohnXXX: Busy arranging entertainment for some friends
BigMac10: entertainment? Anything hot?
LongJohnXXX: sizzlin
BigMac10: live action?
LongJohnXXX: Next best thing — live on screen
BigMac10: oh man, how sweet
LongJohnXXX: turn you on?
BigMac10: you know it. Room for one more?
LongJohnXXX: could be - not exactly an open house, you know
BigMac10: I understand, but I’ve got the green. No matter the price
LongJohnXXX: You know liberty place?
BigMac10: like my own backyard
LongJohnXXX: Cybercafe at 17th and market, Log on Sunday 7 pm
BigMac10: and then?
LongJohnXXX: then we’ll see-come prepared to party
“What does this mean?” Catherine asked. “Why does he want you to go to this cybercafé?”
“It’s a test,” Jason explained. “One, to see if I’m serious, and two, to make sure I’m not trying to trace him from my computer. I suspect he’s been logging on somewhere other than his house just to protect his equipment.”
“He’ll probably be there—in the café,” Sloan added. “Trying to get a look at Jason and see if he looks legit or like a cop.”
Jason smiled, spreading his arms wide. “What do you think?”
“You don’t look like a cop—more like a choir boy,” Rebecca said seriously. Only the slight quirk at the corner of her mouth suggested she was teasing. “This looks good,” she added as she leaned back in her chair. “I’ll take copies of these and the CI reports to my captain this morning. We’ll have the necessary support and paperwork if we get to the point where we can move on this guy.”
“It’s far from a lock,” Sloan warned in an unusual show of reservation. “This guy is very smart. We’re not talking about amateur hacks making videos in their basement. The fact that he wants Jason to contact him from a commercial machine means that he’s aware that he can be traced. That shows a fair amount of sophistication.”
Jason nodded in agreement. “He’s been very careful so far not to spell anything out. Not once has he mentioned kids or ages or any details of what he’s offering.”
“We’ll have to talk about putting someone insi
de that café with you, Jason,” Rebecca said thoughtfully. “At the very least, we’ll need to be able to follow you so we can set up outside his house once you get there.” Glancing at Sloan, she asked, “How do we play this once Jason’s inside? Is there any chance we can put an undercover cop in his place? I can probably find someone who is computer literate enough.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Catherine interjected. “Not at this point. Jason and this man have a relationship. There’s a certain style of speech, a certain way of responding to verbal cues, that Jason has established with him. No one else is going to have that flow.”
“I agree,” Jason said. “Besides, we have no reason to think this guy’s dangerous.”
Rebecca didn’t necessarily agree. If this was an operation being run by the local organized crime syndicate, then anyone involved was capable of violence. The hierarchy within organized crime dictated that everyone, at every level, protect the integrity of the organization at all cost. “What about once he’s inside this guy’s place? How will we get the signal to go in?”
“Ideally, we’ll want to wait until they’re receiving the live feed,” Sloan explained. “I want as much information downloaded into that CPU as possible before we confiscate. Plus, it will preserve Jason’s cover if you bring him in along with this guy, just in case we need to use him again where he’ll be visible. Remember, this perp is just a link to the big guys—not the payoff.”
Rebecca regarded Sloan sharply. The cybersleuth had been a cop, all right, because she still thought like one.
