Justice in the Shadows

by Radclyffe

  “Well, it ain’t gonna do us any good if we have a heart attack or something.” He hadn’t forgotten that barely a week had passed since Frye had been flat on her back with a collapsed lung, looking like a corpse searching for a grave.

  Rebecca gave him the eye. “So quit smoking and try the gym.” She thought she heard him mutter “Bite me,” but couldn’t be sure. She stifled a grin and picked up her pace.

  *

  “You want to tell me how you managed to come away empty from an operation that you were supposed to be coordinating, Sergeant?” Captain John Henry’s voice was level, but his mahogany face was a shade darker than usual with barely suppressed irritation.

  “I was hoping you could tell me, sir.” Rebecca’s eyes were winter gray and her voice colder still. She stood before her captain’s desk, Watts just behind her to the left. Her demeanor was almost casual, but her gaze never left Henry’s face.

  He stared back until the silence grew ominous. Watts coughed.

  “Sit down, Sergeant.”

  “I’m fine, sir.”

  “That wasn’t a request.” Henry hadn’t raised his voice, but his formidable shoulders bunched with tension. He looked past his senior detective to the third person in the room. “Step outside, Detective.”

  “Uh...” Watts glanced at Rebecca, who hadn’t moved a muscle. These two have been heading for a rumble ever since the Cap got Frye’s girlfriend mixed up in that serial killer thing. Shit. He shuffled his feet.

  “Go ahead, Watts.” Rebecca’s voice was soft. Dangerously soft.

  Shit. Reluctantly, Watts left.

  “Your psych evaluation paperwork is still incomplete.” Henry regarded her almost benignly. “I could pull you out of the field and plant you behind a desk until you grew roots.”

  “Whitaker must have forgotten to send the report,” Rebecca replied.

  “Nice try, Frye. Whitaker says you have a final meeting before he signs off.”

  She gritted her teeth. The mandatory psych evaluation she’d had to endure after being shot was the last barrier to getting her full street creds back, and the department shrink wasn’t giving an inch. “I guess there was a miscommunication.”

  “I’m sure.” Henry tipped his chin toward the chair. “Now sit your ass down.”

  Rebecca sat. Despite her concern that Henry might be behind the leak that had led to the attempt on Sloan’s life, he was her commanding officer, and he held all the cards.

  “Agent Clark called the chief this morning to thank him for the cooperation of the PPD and to say that the task force was ‘on hold’ temporarily.”

  “Until when?”

  “Time unknown.”

  “I don’t think Clark will be calling back any time soon. He needed a fast track into the criminal infrastructure in this city, so he used the joint task force as a front.” Rebecca snorted. “He got what he wanted, and now he’s cutting us out of the loop.”

  “That’s SOP for the feds.” Henry sighed. “Did you come away with anything from the operation?”

  “Other than a critically injured civilian?” Rebecca rarely disclosed all the details of her investigations to anyone, even her captain. That kind of secrecy and mild paranoia was typical for police officers. Information and political connections were the currency of law enforcement, and intel was her leverage—on the streets and in the cop shop. “Not much. We know there’s a local Internet porn ring streaming live sex videos. The guy Clark snatched from us last night is a part of it.”

  “Connected to organized crime?” Henry asked almost eagerly. “It would be big if we could tie Zamora and his crew to this.”

  “Nothing solid.” Rebecca watched him for some sign that his interest was more than the simple ambition of a cop wanting to clean up his city and advance his own career at the same time. If he were the mob’s inside man, his questions might give him away.

  “Have you got anything working on the streets that might pay off?”

  “Soft stuff. The ‘I maybe heard somebody say something about that’ kind of talk.” She leaned forward almost imperceptibly. “Look, Captain. If you give me a little room to work this, I know I can break something open. I still have the whole team. Clark was never instrumental—it was the computer jockeys and Watts’s legwork that caught us all the leads. We know almost as much as the feds, and they don’t have the contacts I do.”

  He eyed her impassively. “This wouldn’t be about you wanting to look for Cruz’s killer, would it?”

  “No, sir.” Rebecca never blinked. “I’m sure Trish Marks and the rest of the homicide team are working that one as hard as they can.”

  “Uh-huh.” His deep voice was soft, almost soothing. He leaned back in his leather chair, the only concession to comfort in the room, and steepled his surprisingly elegant hands in front of his chest. His heavy lids appeared nearly closed. “I have no authority to approve that kind of operation.”

  Rebecca said nothing. She knew this game.

  He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I think it might take Whitaker another week or so to finish his report. Then the whole recertification package has to get approved. Until that happens, you can’t go into the regular rotation.”

  She furiously analyzed the angles. He was giving her the unofficial green light to keep hunting for the leaders of the porn ring, and anything else she might turn up. But unofficial meant unprotected, too. He was keeping himself out of the loop and therefore unaccountable. She’d be alone, without departmental sanction. If Henry was dirty, this was the perfect way to set her up. Much the way Jimmy Hogan had been set up. A cop working outside was easier to dispose of.

  “I’m sure Whitaker will want to see me another time or two, yes sir.” Regardless, she needed the freedom to pursue the case, and this was the only way she’d get it.

  “I’ll see that those appointments get scheduled.” Henry fixed her with a sharp glance. “You make sure you keep them.”

  And cover your ass. Rebecca stood. “Absolutely.”

  “Sergeant,” the captain added before Rebecca turned away. “I’m sure there’s a great deal of paperwork accumulated from the operation with Justice. The commissioner will want in-depth reports. If you need help getting them in order, you can have a man or two to assist.”

  “Watts,” Rebecca said immediately, ignoring the faint look of surprise on Henry’s face. She hesitated. The job was risky, professionally and probably physically. There’d already been one assassination attempt. Anyone she chose could be in danger. Firmly, she said, “And the uniform—Mitchell. She’s one hell of a clerk.”

  “Clerk.” Henry almost smiled. “I’ll see to it.”

  Rebecca had almost reached the door when she heard the quiet words, “Good luck, Sergeant.”

  She didn’t answer as she stepped through the door and closed it behind her.

  *

  Watts waited just outside. “What’d he say?”

  “Not here.” She walked straight through the squad room and out the door, and she didn’t stop until they were once again in the parking lot.

  “Jesus Christ.” Panting, Watts leaned against the rickety metal railing that ran up one side of the concrete stairs. It creaked ominously under his bulk. “Aren’t you supposed to take it easy with your bum lung and all?”

  Rebecca breathed just a bit quickly, but she felt none of the pain that had preceded her collapsed lung the week before. “My lungs are fine.”

  She glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. Six months ago, her workday would have been far from over. She’d be headed back to the Tenderloin in the hopes of finding some of her confidential informants crawling out of bed and hitting the streets for the start of their night. She’d stay out—dropping into the bars, talking, watching, listening—taking the pulse of the city until the night dwindled into dawn. Night after night. That had been her life.

  But it wasn’t now. Couldn’t be now. Now there was Catherine.

  “I’ll be at Sloan’s tonight at ni
ne. Call Jason and Mitchell and tell them to meet us there.”

  “Mitchell? What is she—”

  Rebecca’s stare stopped him cold. “I don’t intend to explain every little order I give, Watts. Do you want this detail or not? Make up your mind.”

  He jiggled the change in his pocket and thought about the stack of files on his desk. Cold cases—old cases that had run out of steam. No leads. No suspects. No hope of closure. He could sit on his ass and make phone calls for the next three years and retire with thirty years in. Good pension, good health benefits. Or he could throw in with Frye, who seemed to attract danger like a moth to a flame.

  He studied the tall, intense blond woman by his side—a tough street cop whose only agenda was justice. A cop’s cop.

  “Yeah, I don’t have anything cooking right now.” He shrugged. “I’ll ride along.”

  “Right.” Rebecca turned to leave.

  “Where you goin’ now?”

  Her first impulse was to ignore him. He wasn’t her partner; she was just working with him because he had good cop instincts. He didn’t need to know anything about her. Not about those things she kept close to her heart. She stopped by the Vette and looked back. “I’m going to the hospital to page Catherine and take her to dinner.”

  He didn’t change his position, but his beard-stubbled lip flickered with a grin.

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard him mumble something about being domesticated. Just in case, she muttered, “Bite me, Watts,” before she slid into the Vette, keyed the ignition, and roared away.

  In the rear view mirror, she saw him laughing.

  Chapter Four

  Catherine stepped from the elevator and glanced around the hospital lobby. She took a moment, standing still in the midst of the milling crowd, to appreciate her lover from a distance. Rebecca stood with a shoulder against a column, talking on her cell phone. She wore a gray gabardine suit and a plain white shirt, a thin black belt encircling her waist. The shoulder holster was not visible under the carefully tailored jacket, but Catherine knew precisely where it lay along Rebecca’s left side, just below her breast. The detective had always been lean, but since the shooting, she’d become noticeably thin. She no longer looked ill, but chiseled and sharp. If possible, Rebecca was even more beautiful now than the first time Catherine had seen her.

  She remembered looking up from her desk the night they’d met to see the tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed detective striding toward her with a degree of assuredness that suggested she was rarely intimidated. She remembered, too, that the term Viking had flashed through her mind. She’d been instantly captivated by Rebecca’s intensity and drive. In the months since, she’d come to love her for so many other reasons—most especially for the sensitivity and tenderness that very few other than Catherine ever saw.

  At that moment, Rebecca closed her phone and surveyed the room. When her eyes met Catherine’s, she smiled, and her glacial countenance softened for an instant.

  Catherine’s heart beat rapidly as it always did when Rebecca touched her. Quickly, she made her way through the crowd to Rebecca’s side.

  “What a surprise.” She reached for Rebecca’s hand as she kissed her cheek. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  Rebecca laced her fingers between Catherine’s and pulled her gently out of the path of the steady stream of hospital visitors. “Any chance you can get away for a while?”

  “I have a little over two hours before I need to see patients in my office. I just have two scheduled tonight.” Catherine tilted her head, searching Rebecca’s eyes, appreciating the warmth she found there. “Just what do you have in mind, Detective?”

  “I suppose there’s no chance we could roll around in the on-call room for a while?” Rebecca took a step closer until her body just touched Catherine’s.

  Catherine drew a surprised breath and then saw the amusement flickering in her lover’s face. “You shouldn’t tease me while I’m working, darling.”

  “I was only partly teasing.” Rebecca’s voice dropped a register as she traced her fingers over Catherine’s forearm. “But if you have to work later, I suppose you should have dinner instead of sex.”

  “I’d like both,” Catherine murmured. “But I think the rolling around part should wait until later.”

  “That sounds like a plan. Can you leave now?”

  Catherine linked her arm through Rebecca’s. “Let’s go.”

  *

  Rebecca had parked illegally in front of the hospital, and within minutes they were on the expressway headed west.

  “Where are we going?” Catherine asked.

  “DeCarlo’s.”

  “You’re kidding. On the spur of the moment like this?” Catherine turned in her seat to study Rebecca’s face. “Is this a special occasion?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Nope. I just thought you’d like it.”

  “Oh, I like it.” Catherine rested her hand on Rebecca’s thigh, softly running her fingers up and down the tight muscles beneath. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Rebecca asked curiously as she pulled into the small gravel parking lot adjoining the century-old mansion that housed DeCarlo’s restaurant.

  “You don’t usually stop work this early.”

  Rebecca blushed. She wasn’t used to anyone being able to tell what was going on with her as easily as Catherine did. It wasn’t that she minded; it was just that it continued to surprise her. “I’m not done, exactly.”

  “You’re going in later?”

  “Can I tell you over dinner?”

  “Of course. Does Anthony know we’re coming?”

  “Uh-huh. I called him from the hospital to make sure he could take us.” Rebecca reached for Catherine’s hand again as they approached the wide, pillared front porch. “He understands that we’re on a tight schedule, too.”

  As Rebecca had intimated, Anthony DeCarlo met them personally and showed them to their usual table overlooking the manicured rear gardens. At a word from him, a waiter instantly appeared to take their order.

  Once they were alone, Rebecca said, “I’ll be going back out for a few hours this evening.”

  “Will you come by the apartment when you’re done?” Catherine still found it necessary to ask, uncertain of how much to expect. Although they had shared an intense beginning in the midst of crisis and weathered the trauma of Rebecca’s shooting, they had really just begun to negotiate the framework of their relationship.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind that it might be late.” Each time they had this conversation, Rebecca was anxious. Every relationship she’d ever had had suffered and ultimately failed because of who she was. Because of the cop she was. She didn’t know how to be any different and didn’t think she could. All she could do was pray that she managed to give Catherine enough of what she needed to keep her.

  At this, Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Rebecca, I know you have to work. I know what you do. You don’t need to apologize for that by taking me out to dinner.”

  “I’m not...” Rebecca fell silent as the waiter brought their first course. “It’s not that. Okay, maybe a little, but not totally. I wanted to see you. I...I miss you.” She shook her head, amazed. “Jesus, I just saw you this morning, but I miss you.”

  “I’m sorry.” Catherine reached across the table and took Rebecca’s hand. “I miss you, too. This is all as new for me as it is for you. I don’t want you to feel guilty about being who you are. I love you. And loving you means loving the cop in you. I know that.”

  Rebecca brought Catherine’s hand to her lips and kissed her palm softly. Her throat was tight and suddenly she wasn’t hungry at all. Or rather, she was hungry, but it was only for the touch of Catherine’s hands upon her skin. “I just want to do everything right.”

  “Well, you’re doing very well so far.” Catherine reluctantly drew her hand away, because the heat from Rebecca’s fingers was making it difficult for her to think. “Are you working on a new case?”

  �
��Uh...” Swiftly, Rebecca calculated, trying to gauge how much she should say. Trying to guess if what she might reveal could cause a problem.

  Across the table, Catherine watched her lover’s expression become closed and withdrawn behind the cop’s mask. Seeing Rebecca drift away hurt her and produced a quick surge of fear. This is what would come between them, this secrecy that was Rebecca’s second nature—perhaps even one of her defining characteristics.

  The protracted silence called Rebecca from her internal musings, and she looked into Catherine’s eyes. What she saw there tore at her heart—uncertainty, but more importantly, acceptance and trust. Precious feelings, every one.

  “No, not a new case.” She took a deep breath. “Officially, I’m not working on anything. Henry wants me to see Whitaker another time or two before he’ll clear me to resume full duty.”

  “Officially.” Catherine’s stomach clenched. “And unofficially?”

  “Unofficially, I’ve been green-lighted to continue looking into the pornography ring.”

  “You have to help me here,” Catherine said quietly. “You have to tell me what this means.”

  “It’s not all that unusual.” Rebecca heard the undertone of anxiety that Catherine had tried to hide, and she wanted to change the subject. She wanted to talk about anything except this. But Catherine was waiting, asking her for the truth. Jesus. Was it always this hard talking about work with my lovers?

  But Rebecca knew the answer. It had never been this difficult because she’d never shared this part of her life with anyone. She knew she had to now. She didn’t understand completely why, but instinctively, she knew in her heart that this was what Catherine needed.

  “What it means is that Henry wants me to make this case, but he can’t put his name on it in case we run afoul of Justice or some other higher-up along the way. This way, if it works out and we bring down someone big, he’ll be able to take credit for the bust and everyone will be happy. If the investigation turns sour, he can say he didn’t know anything about it.”