Justice for All

by Radclyffe

  “Sandy,” Mitch whispered.

  Sandy pressed her fingers to his mouth. “If you keep doing what you’re doing, and I guess you’re going to since Frye thinks you’re so good at it, you might have to do more than kiss a girl’s neck some night. Whether I see it, or I don’t, it’s about work. I don’t need to know the details.”

  “Just so you know, it won’t happen unless there’s no other way. And…” Mitch sighed. “It won’t mean anything to me.”

  “You sure you’re okay?” Sandy ran her hands down his arms, then rubbed her palms over his chest inside his jacket. “You’re pretty tight.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Maybe a little. How about we check in with the lieutenant and then you can find out if I’m wearing any underwear.”

  “I don’t want to be distracted in front of Frye,” Sandy whispered against Mitch’s mouth while she worked the zipper down on his fly. Mitch stiffened as she slid her hand inside his briefs and gripped his cock. “One question answered.”

  “That’s as far as you better go,” Mitch said thickly. “Because we don’t have time for the rest.”

  “Five minutes?”

  Mitch laughed. “You know how to straighten out my head when I’m twisted around. No one else ever has.”

  Sandy licked his neck. “I know how to straighten something out. Got a safe in your wallet?”

  “You know I do. But I’m still not going to fuck you right now.” He gripped her hips and backed her off a few inches, then looked down at her hand inside his pants. “Jesus. You make me hot.”

  “That’s more like it.” She kissed him lightly on the mouth, rearranged his clothes, and zipped his fly. “Now, let’s go to work.”

  *

  “Jesus Christ, Frye,” Clark barked as he held his hotel room door open a few inches. He wore boxers and a white T-shirt, and he needed a shave. “It’s five o’clock in the morning.”

  “Five twenty,” Rebecca replied. “We need to talk.”

  “I’ll be in the office by nine.”

  When Clark tried to close the door, Rebecca wedged her foot in the opening. “This can’t wait.”

  Clark looked back into the darkened room. “I’ll meet you downstairs in the coffee bar in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fine.” Rebecca strolled back to the elevator, pleased that she had derailed his plans for morning wake-up sex. Since she hadn’t been to bed yet, she figured that was an even trade. She ordered coffee and settled into a booth at the back of the nearly empty restaurant.

  Twenty minutes later, Clark slid in opposite her. His hair was wet, his eyes bloodshot, and his rigid posture indicated he was not a happy man.

  “Coffee,” he snapped before the waitress had even reached their booth. She promptly spun around and disappeared. “What?”

  “I’m getting warrants for Gregor Zamora, a priest, and half a dozen members of the Russian mob. When we make the sweep, we’re going to pick up some high-profile public figures too.” Rebecca smiled when Clark’s eyes popped.

  “Why am I just hearing this now?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “I’ll talk to the U.S. attorney. My people should make the arrests.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “You can have Zamora. You’ll get him one way or the other. But the rest are mine.” She pushed the coffee cup to one side. “The district attorney’s office has already been informed.”

  “This isn’t what we would call cooperation, Lieutenant.”

  “Sue me.”

  “What about the brother?” Clark asked.

  “He’s smart—doesn’t get his hands dirty. But there’s dirt on him just the same. Squeeze Gregor—you guys are good at that. Maybe he’ll roll.”

  “Maybe isn’t good enough.”

  “It’s a lot more than you could have gotten on your own.” Rebecca stood up. “We did all the work, and you’ll get your chance to flip someone all the way at the top of the food chain. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to move, and you can send your agents for Zamora. Then we’re done, Clark. All done.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he called after her.

  Rebecca didn’t bother to answer.

  *

  Catherine met Rebecca at the front door and held out her hand for Rebecca’s blazer. “You really need to wear an overcoat, darling.”

  “You know,” Rebecca said, “that’s exactly what I need to hear right now.”

  “Something ridiculously domestic?” Catherine hung the jacket in the closet, hooked her thumbs under the leather straps of Rebecca’s holster, and lifted it off. “That sounds hopelessly unromantic.”

  Rebecca carried her weapon in one hand and circled Catherine’s waist as they started toward the bedroom. “Believe me, it isn’t. It’s exactly what I need to come home to.” She slowed just inside the bedroom. “I don’t suppose you could come back to bed for a while.”

  “Only if you promise to go right to sleep.”

  “I promised you once I’d never lie to you,” Rebecca murmured, drawing Catherine to the side of the bed. She unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it her from her trousers. “But despite my best intentions, I probably will fall asleep on you.”

  “That’s all right. I like holding you while you’re sleeping.” Catherine worked Rebecca’s belt loose from her trousers. “How did it go with the operation?”

  “Mitchell’s inside and we’re close to the endgame,” Rebecca said, shedding the rest of her clothes and climbing under the covers. The bed still held Catherine’s warmth, and she felt as if she were slipping into a sanctuary. Catherine lay down beside her, and Rebecca settled into her arms with a sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

  “You’re here now.” Catherine kissed her. “Everything is all right with Mitch and Irina?”

  “They made some heads-up plays tonight,” Rebecca mumbled. “Why?”

  “Irina is necessarily very dependent on him. He’s her only chance for safety, and for having her sister returned to her. He’s her lifeline.”

  “Meaning she’s likely to get attached.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mitchell can handle it.” Rebecca laughed quietly. “Mitchell’s in for an interesting time. Sandy wants to be a cop.”

  “That makes perfect sense,” Catherine said. “Do you approve?”

  “Not for me to say. But, yeah. I do. She’s got guts. And street smarts. And she’ll understand what needs to be done in ways the rest of us never will.”

  “And you’ll take care of her, won’t you,” Catherine said softly.

  “You mind?”

  Catherine kissed Rebecca’s forehead. “No, darling. I don’t mind.”

  “We know when the Russians are delivering girls to the next private party set up by the Zamoras. Mitch and Irina will be working the inside. We’re going to hit them then.”

  “All I ask is that you don’t take the door. You’re not ready for that.”

  “Okay. I need to be there, but I’ll let Watts take the lead. We’ll have uniform backup for this too.” Rebecca kissed Catherine’s breast. “Don’t worry. There’s not going to be trouble.”

  “All right then.” Catherine stroked Rebecca’s face. “I still want to know when it’s happening. Now, close your eyes. For the next few hours, you’re just mine.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Mitch zipped his jacket and lingered by the bedroom door, watching Sandy pull on a fake fur coat that hit right in the middle of her pert, round ass, about three inches above the bottom of her skirt. Even though she was shorter than him, her legs looked like they went on forever, slender and shapely, her toned calves tightening with each step she took in her mile-high heels.

  “I wish you’d wear shoes you could run in,” he grumbled.

  Sandy shot him a look. “Like no one would notice if I showed up in sneakers.”

  If he had his way, she wouldn’t show up anywhere at all, but the lieutenant had called the shots. Business as usual tonight. Mitch knew it made sense
not to change anything that might tip off the Russians that something was up. Even when that meant Sandy would be making the rounds at the clubs.

  “Be sure to call Frye if they make contact,” Mitch said for the fifth time.

  “I will.” Sandy picked up a tiny purse on a shiny silver chain and slung it around her neck. She had her cell phone, a spray container of mace, lipstick, and condoms. Work supplies. “You’re the one who needs to be careful. You and Irina are gonna be right there when everything goes down. You don’t need to be thinking about me. You don’t need to be worrying about anything except keeping safe. You got it?”

  “Don’t go anywhere with them unless Frye knows.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes. “I know the drill. If I show up in Atlantic City tonight at this party, you don’t worry about me. You just do your thing and I’ll do mine.”

  Mitch cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her chin. “I love you. See you when this is over.”

  Sandy kissed him. “Just remember that.”

  *

  Sloan, in black jeans and a black T-shirt, settled the holster onto her right hip and shoved her federal credentials into her back pocket, aware that Michael was watching everything she did. She’d been in some tight spots in Southeast Asia, particularly when she’d been a field agent on the trail of some of the major drug smugglers in the region. She wasn’t afraid of a fight, but things were different now. She had Michael to think about.

  “It’s just a precaution, and I’m not going to be anywhere near the action.” She held out her hand. “Walk me out?”

  “I’d rather see you spend twenty-four hours a day in front of the computer, than this,” Michael said softly. “I don’t know how Catherine stands it.”

  “There’s really nothing to worry about. I promise.” Sloan took her hand. “These are businessmen, not hardened criminals, and most of them are gonna have their pants around their ankles. They’re not going to resist.”

  “What about the Russians who are with them?”

  “Rebecca has the state police on standby. They’ll go in first along with Watts. Once everyone is locked down, Rebecca and I will just coordinate the transfers. We don’t trust Clark’s men not to show up, and we’re not losing our prisoners this time.”

  “I suppose this is going to sound selfish, but I don’t really care if Clark makes off with a bunch of criminals or not.” Michael stopped Sloan before she could call the elevator. “I just want you coming home in one piece.”

  Sloan kissed her. “It’s not selfish. And at the first sign of trouble, I’ll run.”

  “Sloan. You’re such a bad liar.” Michael laughed shakily and kissed her as the elevator doors opened. “Call me, darling. As soon as you can.”

  “I’ll be late,” Sloan said as the elevator doors slid closed. “Don’t worry.”

  *

  “You know your sister is probably going to be there tonight,” Mitch said, standing in the bathroom doorway.

  Irina squinted into the small mirror above the bathroom sink and touched up her mascara. “I hope so. You said they would bring the same group as last week.”

  “The lieutenant will wait until the party is under way before making the arrests. You’ll probably have to…you know, put your sister to work.”

  “Mitch,” Irina said, turning in the tiny space to face him. “We don’t think like you do. If she needs to fuck some man tonight, she will not care and neither will I. As long as later, we are free.”

  “I get that,” he said. “I just…I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want you to be upset.”

  She smiled at him, her expression softening. Then in another one of those moves that always took him by surprise, she pressed close and whispered against his mouth, “This might be the last chance I get.”

  Then she kissed him in a way she never had before. Not urgent, not challenging, but softly, gently. Her fingers glided through his hair, her body undulated languidly against his, her hips rocked rhythmically into his. He responded before he had time to think about it, and then when he would have pulled away, she did.

  “That was to say thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.” Mitch stepped back from her so that their bodies no longer touched. “I think you’re pretty special.”

  “But you already have a girl, don’t you, new boy,” she said quietly, her eyes searching his.

  “I do.”

  She nodded and slipped past him. As she reached for the leather coat he’d bought her, her cell phone rang. She answered and spoke a few words in Russian.

  “Olik is on his way with the girls,” she said. “He wants to see for himself how we work.”

  Mitch grinned. “You ready?”

  Irina took his hand and laced her fingers through his. “Da.”

  *

  Halfway up the block, a black stretch limo slid to the curb in front of Mitch’s apartment. A burly, flat-faced man in a long black leather trench coat exited the front passenger side and walked around to the sidewalk. He pulled open the rear door, folded his arms, and stood there like a statue. A minute later, Mitch and Irina came down the steps and climbed into the limo. The man slammed the door, got back in front, and the car slid away.

  “Here we go,” Rebecca said, starting the engine. She waited until the limo had turned the corner heading east before following.

  “Atlantic City, here we come,” Watts muttered, slouched in the passenger seat of the unmarked.

  Sloan leaned forward from the back to get a look out the windshield. “New Jersey, here we come,” she said with satisfaction. “Taking those girls across the state line should make the federal charges nice and solid.”

  “Why don’t we just drive right to the casino hotel,” Watts said, “instead of following them around and risking them picking us up on their tail? That jerk-off Thomas already told us where this little fuckfest is going down.”

  Rebecca’s gaze locked on the taillights of the limo five cars ahead of them. “Since Mitch isn’t wired and there’s no way he can call us if they change the location at the last minute. They could direct the johns to a new rendezvous spot, and we’d be sitting in front of the Boardwalk Hotel with our thumbs up our butts for the rest of the night.”

  Watts grunted. “Must be why you’re the lieutenant.”

  “Of course, maybe you’d like Sloan’s thumb up—”

  “Hey!” Watts and Sloan objected at once.

  Rebecca grinned fiercely, feeling the burn of anticipation in the pit of her stomach. Everything made sense now that she could finally see the big picture. Jimmy Hogan, a narcotics detective and one of Clark’s agents, had gone undercover to get information on the Zamora organization. In the process, he’d stumbled onto the human trafficking operation at the pier being run by the Zamoras’ new Russian associates. Needing help to investigate that, he’d arranged a rendezvous with Rebecca’s partner Jeff in the Special Crimes Unit, but Jimmy’s cover had been blown and he hadn’t known it. He and Jeff had been executed, and Rebecca knew with every cop instinct she had that one of the Russian enforcers had pulled the trigger. Tonight, she would have justice for her dead partner.

  “I still can’t believe the DA agreed to let that pervert priest walk,” Watts said bitterly.

  “We needed his cooperation and the church has a lot of power. We had to bargain.” Rebecca had objected violently, but her arguments hadn’t done any good. She’d been instructed to personally take charge of him during the bust and sequester him away from the other prisoners.

  Thinking of the phone call she’d made just before she picked up Watts and Sloan, Rebecca turned onto the Atlantic City Expressway. “But you never know. Anything can happen.”

  *

  “You might want to work one of the other clubs tonight,” Sandy said when Darla plunked down next to her at the bar at the Blue Diamond.

  “How come?”

  Sandy tilted her head toward the two men talking to a couple of girls across the room. “Our friends are
back.”

  Darla followed her gaze and stiffened. “Oh man. Those nasty pricks—I was hoping I’d never see them again. You think they remember us?”

  “Yeah.” Sandy kept her eyes on the hard-eyed guy who’d gotten off manhandling her in the parking lot the week before. He smirked at her and adjusted his crotch. When he started toward them, she said quickly, “You don’t want to be in on this tonight. Go out the back. Now.”

  “Are you going to be okay?” Darla didn’t bother to wait for an answer. She just hopped down from the stool and hurriedly collected her purse and jacket.

  Sandy held the Russian’s gaze as he approached. She smiled at him, and she didn’t have to fake it. She was really glad he’d found her, because now she’d have the chance to see him go down. “I’m gonna be just fine.”

  *

  Mitch leaned against the wall just inside the door of the penthouse suite at the Boardwalk Hotel and Casino and watched the party get under way. A Russian security guard occupied a similar spot on the opposite side of the door, looking bored. Irina directed the girls, speaking to them in Russian and moving them about the room like players on a stage. Placing one next to a portly sixty-year-old who immediately began to fondle her while gulping the drink Irina handed him. Instructing another to kneel between the spread legs of a thirtysomething in a business suit who unzipped his fly and tugged out his penis while sharing a joke with a man seated nearby. She’d chosen two of the youngest to sit on either side of Bishop Thomas on a wide leather couch.

  Mitch recognized Thomas from the photograph Sandy had taken at the last party. He recognized Irina’s sister, too, whom Irina had just delivered like a party favor to the priest. Nothing showed on Irina’s face as she went about the business of seeing to the clients’ needs, and her sister had been equally cool, only the faintest smile showing for a second when she’d first seen Irina. Mitch wondered if Irina struggled with the same blind rage that hammered at the edges of his control, or if she had long ago accepted the reality of what she must do to survive. He thought of her and Sandy, and ached for retribution for all the injustices they had endured.