by Radclyffe
“I can do it.”
Satisfied, Jasmine continued. “Once he’s part of the group at the Troc, that buys him entrance to Ziggie’s with no questions asked. It shouldn’t take more than a matter of days to establish him as a regular.”
“Yeah?” Watts asked belligerently, leaning forward with his forearms crossed on the table, fixing Jasmine with a direct stare for the first time since he realized who she was. “And what about the little matter of Mitchell looking like a guy? She don’t, even if she does have short hair and not much in the way of tits.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sloan said smoothly. “I think she looks like Orlando Bloom.”
Jasmine tilted her head, her lips parting appraisingly as she studied a blushing Mitchell. “Mmm, I can see that.”
Watts looked at Rebecca. “For Christ sake’s, Sarge. This is nuts.”
Rebecca shrugged. “Jasmine?”
“Actually, Detective, she doesn’t have to look like a man. She only has to give the impression of one,” Jasmine explained calmly. “That’s the art of impersonation. Our intent is for her to be a believable drag king, and that is almost entirely a matter of projecting a masculine attitude.”
“That right?” Watts's expression darkened. “If it’s just an attitude, then how come you look so much like a girl?”
Jasmine smiled sweetly. “Because I am.”
“Oh, for fu—”
“Let’s assume,” Rebecca interjected, sensing that Watts was about to blow a fuse, “that Mitchell can pass...”
“I can.” Mitchell met Rebecca’s gaze. “Isn’t it what we do all the time, Sergeant? Play the game?”
Rebecca studied the unflinching, deep blue eyes. So you know already? Playing the game—yes, that’s what we do. Pretending that the things we see don’t affect us, that the fear isn’t real, that the violence doesn’t touch us. That we aren’t bleeding inside.
“Assuming—” A series of high-pitched beeps interrupted her.
Sloan swiveled to check one of the two monitors mounted in the corner, then stood and walked to a panel on the wall below. Pressing a button, she said, “Good evening, Dr. Rawlings.”
On the screen, Catherine smiled back. “Hello.”
“Come on up. We’re in the east conference room.”
“Thank you.”
Everyone got up and replenished their coffees, except for Sandy, who murmured something to Jasmine. Jasmine opened the refrigerator and extracted a can of Stoudt’s, which she handed to the young woman. A moment later, Catherine appeared.
“I’m sorry,” she said upon seeing the group gathered in the conference room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting. I checked at the hospital, and they told me Michael had been discharged. I just thought I’d take a chance on stopping by to see how she’s doing.”
Sloan smiled. “She was sleeping earlier. But it’s good you’re here, because Jason and I want to discuss some things with you anyhow.”
“Fine.” Catherine glanced at Rebecca uncertainly. “Should I wait in the other room?”
“No,” Rebecca said. “Please join us.”
“Thank you.” Turning to Jasmine, she extended her hand. “I’m Catherine Rawlings. We haven’t met.”
“Jasmine.”
Catherine tilted her head, something in the voice tripping a memory. “Or have we?”
“It’s a long story.” Jasmine’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll tell you some evening, if you let me buy you a drink.”
Catherine laughed. “All right then.” She reached across the table and offered her hand to Sandy as well. “Hello. Good to see you again.”
Sandy blushed, an almost unheard of event. Carefully, she took Catherine’s hand. “Same here.”
Once Catherine was seated to Jasmine’s left across the table from Watts, Rebecca gave her a capsule summary of the plan and Mitchell’s role. Then the detective turned her attention to Jasmine. “Assuming that Mitchell is accepted by your friends at the Troc, how soon could we get her into Ziggie’s?”
“Almost immediately. At least a few nights a week, the kings go to Ziggie’s or one of the other clubs after the Troc closes. Plus I’m doing a show later this week,” Jasmine replied. “A group of us usually go out after to celebrate, while we’re still...dressed.”
Watts snorted. “To a topless bar?”
Jasmine stiffened, and, for the first time, she looked angry. “Our choices are limited, Detective.” She made a conscious effort to lighten her tone. “Besides, it’s a good place for the drag kings to practice, since almost all the patrons are men. It’s a chance for them to see how well they fit in.”
“You might be able to dress Mitchell up right,” Watts persisted, “but who’s gonna teach her the moves? You?”
“Jason can help,” Jasmine said. “But you’d be better.”
Watts’s mouth fell open. He didn’t say another word.
“Where do you live, Mitchell?” Rebecca asked.
“Independence Place.” Mitchell named one of the expensive high-rises just south of Walnut at Sixth Street, bordering Washington Square Park.
Rebecca shook her head. “No good. We’ll need to find you an apartment a little more downscale than that.”
“There’s a place open in my building,” Sandy said quietly.
Before Rebecca could object, Jasmine said, “That might be good. It wouldn’t hurt for Mitchell to have a girlfriend, either. Another piece of the picture.”
“Not if I’m going to strike up a friendship with one of the dancers in Ziggie’s,” Mitchell pointed out hastily, carefully not looking in Sandy’s direction.
“That isn’t necessarily true.” Sloan smiled gently. “Ever heard of cheating, Officer?”
Mitchell blushed and Watts snorted.
“Okay,” Rebecca said, lightly slapping her palms on the tabletop. “Let’s go with this plan for now. Jasmine, you’re in charge of getting Mitchell...geared up.”
“What’s your address, stud?” Jasmine asked. When Mitchell gave it to her, she added, “I’ll be over in an hour or so. Why don’t you bring Sandy, too? She can be our first audience.”
Mitchell looked like she wanted to object, but she just nodded her assent.
Rebecca glanced at Watts, her expression deadly serious. “If they need any help in that regard, do it.”
“Right.” He bit off the word as if it hurt to say it.
Rebecca turned to Sandy. “What’s the situation at your building? Is there a building superintendent who handles renting the apartments?”
“That’s a fancy name for the guy, since he doesn’t do shit around the place, but yeah.”
“Bring Mitchell around. Tell him sh...he’s a friend of yours who needs a place right away. Cash. I’ll take care of getting the money to you tonight.”
Mitchell looked even unhappier.
“Sure.” Sandy shrugged indifferently.
“And I still need you to find one of those girls who told you about making the sex videos a few months ago. There’s a good chance that she’s been to the film site.”
“I told you before, I won’t name names.”
“I don’t want their names. I just want to talk to one of them.”
“Okay,” Sandy said reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good. You still got the phone?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Use it.” Rebecca surveyed the group. “Let’s plan on a nightly briefing here at six. Mitchell, you’re dismissed. Sandy...” She hesitated, but had to admit that Jasmine’s plan for Mitchell’s new persona to have a girlfriend made sense. “Go with her.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mitchell said as she stood. Sandy merely sniffed.
Rebecca watched them go, trying not to second-guess her decision. She rubbed the bridge of her nose to fight back a headache, struggling like an apprentice juggler to keep all the twirling plates aloft. “Tomorrow, Jason and Mitchell can keep trolling on the Internet sex sites to solidify the suspect list.” F
or the first time, she met Catherine’s eyes. “It will help if you can profile them like you did with LongJohnXXX. Jason will tell you what we’re looking for. I’ll leave it to you to work out your schedule with him, since I know you have other commitments.”
“Will Jason be back tomorrow?” Catherine glanced at Jasmine and raised an eyebrow. She’d finally recognized where she knew that voice from. And those beautiful eyes.
“He’ll be in and out.” Jasmine’s eyes twinkled as she crossed her legs and spread one arm along the back of Sloan’s chair, her fingers lightly brushing Sloan’s shoulder. Her blouse tightened across shapely breasts. “I’ll see that he calls.”
“Of course. Thank you,” Catherine said, suddenly aware that she was staring. Aware, too, of the distant pulse of arousal. Well. That’s unexpected.
Drawing her eyes away, Catherine angled in her seat so that she could focus on Rebecca, who continued to outline the team members’ responsibilities. Jasmine’s image disappeared as Catherine observed Rebecca doing what she did so well. Her lover’s mind was keen, her command presence clear, her determination unwavering. She was starkly beautiful, at once intimidating and exciting. What Catherine felt when she looked at Rebecca went far beyond arousal. It bordered on a nearly indefinable hunger.
Rebecca had turned her attention to Sloan. “You’ve got the interdepartmental computer traces.”
“Right. I’m going back tonight. Less traffic on the network. Fewer people to notice me—either in the flesh or online.”
“Tomorrow I should have a list of people in the district attorney’s office who were involved with generating the warrant for the Justice bust,” Watts offered. “I’ll call...Jason with them.”
“Good. Sloan, as far as the police officers who could possibly have had anything to do with the leak,” Rebecca said with reluctance, “you should probably check out Trish Marks and Charlie Horton, two detectives in Homicide, as well as Captain Henry and Elizabeth Adams. Adams is the civilian clerk who generated the paperwork to go to the district attorney from our end.”
“Got it,” Sloan said, jotting down the names on one of the ubiquitous yellow legal pads lying around the conference room.
Rebecca pushed back her chair. “Anyone have anything else to add?”
Everyone shook their head. Watts muttered good night and left immediately. Rebecca turned to Catherine.
“Are you going upstairs to visit Michael?”
“I thought I’d say hello if she’s awake.” Catherine could usually judge Rebecca’s mood by the color of her eyes. At the moment, they were the gray of thunderclouds, and Catherine wondered just how much that storm had to do with her own imminent involvement in the investigation. She tried not to make assumptions about such things, knowing only too well how deceiving appearances could be, but such caution was difficult where her lover was concerned. Rebecca’s state of mind was so critical to her own comfort, her own life. That dependence on another human being was still new, and still frightening. “What about you?”
“How about I wait here, and then we catch some dinner? I don’t imagine Michael’s up for a crowd.”
“Are you going back to work tonight?” Catherine asked, remembering Rebecca’s comment to Sandy about bringing cash by “later.”
“Probably. Yes.” Turning her back to Jasmine and Sloan, Rebecca added, “If you don’t mind too much.”
Catherine brushed her fingers along the edge of Rebecca’s jaw and smiled. “Not too much.”
The brief touch sparked heat in Rebecca’s stomach, and she sucked in a breath. Voice thick, she murmured, “Don’t be too long, okay? You just started something.”
“Really?” Catherine appeared to consider the thought. “Then let’s order Chinese and take it home. We can eat it in bed.”
“I’ll make the call.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Rebecca’s gaze followed her lover as Catherine left with Sloan and Jasmine. Home. Home was very rapidly becoming Catherine’s apartment. That idea was starting to feel comfortable. When it wasn’t scaring the bejesus out of her.
*
Sloan peeked around the corner into the bedroom. Michael, her blond hair freshly washed, lay in bed wearing one of Sloan’s old cotton shirts that had once been blue but was now faded nearly to white. “Everybody gone?”
“Hello, love. Yes, I’m quite alone.” Michael smiled and stretched out a hand. “I missed you.”
“Me, too.” Sloan crossed the room and settled onto the corner of the bed. “You hungry?”
“Sarah made me some soup earlier. She left the rest on the stove for you. You should have some.”
“Sure,” Sloan said automatically. She wasn’t hungry. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last real meal she’d eaten. It had been sometime the day before Michael had left for her meeting in Boston. After that, the hours had disappeared in a blur of motion and terror.
“Sarah told me a little bit about what happened.”
Sloan’s heart lurched in her chest, and her stomach was instantly queasy. “What do you mean?”
“About the accident.”
“Damn it,” Sloan burst out, one hand fisting the covers. “It’s too soon—”
“It’s not her fault. I asked her.”
“What happened Saturday night?”
Sarah continued gently toweling Michael’s hair. “What can you remember?”
“Not much.” Michael, a thick terrycloth towel wrapped around her naked body, leaned back against Sarah for support. “I know there was an accident, and Sloan told me I was hit by a car. She said the driver didn’t stop.”
“Then you know almost as much as we know.” Sarah carefully worked a wide-toothed comb through the long tresses, stopping intermittently to remove the small islands of clotted blood that clung tenaciously to the silken strands.
“I know there’s more.” Michael closed her eyes, the headache exhausting, just by virtue of its constant presence.
“Sloan will tell you.”
Michael started to shake her head, then stopped when the pain escalated. “No. She can’t. It kills her to talk about it. I can’t stand to see the pain in her eyes.”
“God, I know.” Sarah’s sighed. “Sloan is incapable of hiding her feelings, no matter how hard she tries. If it hurts me to see her hurting, it must be awful for you.”
“Yes. Agony.” Michael reached for Sarah’s hand and held it tightly. “So for both of us, could you help me understand what’s happened?”
“You will remember on your own, given enough time.”
“It’s not the memories I need as much as knowing what’s coming. There’s a meeting downstairs right now, isn’t there?”
“Sloan is an idiot if she thinks she can keep anything from you.” Sarah’s voice was husky with tenderness.
“She thinks she’s protecting me,” Michael replied, instantly coming to Sloan’s defense. “I love her for that. For that and so many other reasons.”
“You know she lives for you, don’t you?” Sarah leaned down and kissed the top of Michael’s head. “She would never intentionally keep something from you, except to prevent you from being hurt.”
“Sarah,” Michael said softly, “you needn’t tell me how she loves me. She’s the heart of my heart.”
“Of course she is. I’ve always known that.”
“Then, please, tell me what’s happening.”
“Do you remember that Jason and Sloan were involved in an investigation with the local police and the Justice Department?”
Michael was silent a long moment. “Something...about the Internet...a pornography ring, right?”
“Yes. Something...ah, God...something went wrong. Someone found out what Sloan and the rest of them were investigating.”
The silence stretched longer this time. When Michael spoke, her voice trembled. “So the accident...wasn’t an accident?”
“Here, put this on,” Sarah directed, holding up the shirt she had pulled from Sloan�
�s closet. She helped Michael stand and finished drying her off. Her expression was carefully blank as she gently patted the soft cotton over the large bruises on Michael’s ribs and back. “I should put something on that abrasion on your hip. Wait a minute.” Quickly, blinking back tears, she turned to the medicine cabinet and fumbled about until she found a large tube of antibiotic ointment. Despite her care, Michael winced as Sarah spread the soothing ointment on the raw surface where the skin had been stripped away by her body’s impact with the harsh surface of the street. “Sorry.”
“No. That’s all right.” Michael rested one hand on Sarah’s shoulder for balance. “But they couldn’t have meant to hurt me, could they? I didn’t know anything.”
When Sarah met Michael’s eyes, her distress was clearly evident.
Tears overflowed onto Michael’s cheeks. “Sloan. Of course...they wanted Sloan. Oh, God.”
“Hey,” Sloan said anxiously, moving nearer on the bed. She brushed her fingers over Michael’s cheeks, catching the tears on her fingertips. “Hey, hey, baby. It’s all right. It’s all right.”
“Is someone still trying to hurt you?”
“No! No.” Sloan settled on the bed next to Michael and wrapped her arm around her lover’s shoulder, forgetting to be careful for the first time since Michael had come home from the hospital. All she wanted was to comfort her. She pressed her lips to Michael’s hair, stroking her cheek with her free hand. “Everything is fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“You’re sure?” Michael pressed close, swallowing a moan when her tender ribs protested. It felt too good to be in Sloan’s arms to move away, even to ease the pain.
“Absolutely.” Sloan consciously eased her grip, because all she wanted to do was hold Michael more tightly. She had been afraid for what felt like forever that she was going to lose her, and now that Michael was close, she wanted her fiercely. It had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with existence. Michael was her heart.
Michael rested her cheek against Sloan’s chest, listening to the rapid rush of breath and the wild pounding of her heart. She had always loved the heat of Sloan’s body and the quick rise of her passion, but never more than now. Just knowing that someone had wanted to harm her lover made Michael desperate to keep her safe.
