by Radclyffe
Sandy laughed bitterly. “Perfect.” She closed the phone and faced Mitchell. “I have to go out.”
“She calls and you jump?” Acid burned in her stomach where moments ago it had been desire. “She that good?”
“You’re a jerk.” Sandy gathered her small purse and headed for the door.
“Take my jacket.”
Sandy pulled a tiny royal blue satin zip-up top from the coat tree by her door and slipped it on. When she turned, her face was a mask. “Don’t you know by now that they don’t buy what they can’t see?”
Mitchell paled. “Sandy...”
But she was talking to a closed door.
Chapter Sixteen
Woody’s was a neighborhood bar that had once been almost exclusively gay, but it had gradually morphed into a place where anyone could find their particular flavor of sexual partners. Despite the fact that it was midweek, the place was crowded. It was also noisy and smoky. With only a few minutes until closing, almost everyone was too interested in finishing their last drink or ensuring their latest conquest to notice Sandy.
She quickly threaded her way through the crowd clustered around the bar for last call and walked into the dark recesses at the rear. Frye was seated at a tiny table in the back room. It occurred to Sandy as she approached that Frye and Mitchell dressed a lot alike when they were off duty—tight blue jeans, boots, and leather jackets. Frye was taller and thinner and had a hardness around her eyes that Mitchell didn’t have.
Dell will get it, though. She’s already got those shadows in her eyes, cop’s eyes.
It hurt to think of Mitchell, and she pushed the thought away as she dropped into the seat across from the handsome blond detective. “Funny place for a meeting, unless you’re looking to get laid. You looking for some action? ’Cause I’m free now, thanks to you.”
Rebecca ignored the taunts. Sandy’s anger was one thing she counted on, and she had a feeling it was a big part of what kept Sandy from being swallowed by the street. “You get rid of your visitor?”
Oh yeah, I got rid of her all right. Left her high and dry and hurting. She could still feel the heat of Mitchell’s anger mingled with the waves of frustration and pain. Despite the ten-block walk, her own body still resonated with arousal. Despondently, she wondered if Mitchell would seek comfort somewhere else that night.
“What do you think? I left him at my place?” Sandy tried not to think about where Mitchell had gone, what she was doing. “You gonna be calling all the time now? It cramps my style.”
“You’re not supposed to have a style any longer, remember?” Rebecca studied the young blond. It was always difficult to tell what was happening with Sandy. There was a wounded look in her eyes, which was rare. She usually hid her feelings much better behind that wall of bravado and sarcasm. She’s not your responsibility, so let it go. “We can’t afford to meet out in the open anymore. The less we’re seen together, the better.”
“You didn’t use to worry about rousting me on the street.”
“Things are different now. Before, if anyone noticed, it just looked like I was hassling you, which is what people expect cops to do to prostitutes.” Rebecca fell silent until two men squeezed past their table and disappeared into the dark shadows behind them. “But now that we have a long-term relationship, it’s important that people not put us together. And if you’re going around with Mitchell, it’s even more important.”
Sandy’s heart twisted at the sound of Mitchell’s name, wondering just how long their new relationship—whatever it was—was going to last. “Yeah, well, we don’t want to blow her cover.”
“No, we don’t. Besides, you won’t be much use to me if some john takes his fists to you.” Every night as she drove the streets, she watched women, some barely in their teens, selling their bodies to survive, knowing there was nothing she could do to change their fates. She tried, and would probably keep trying—scanning the faces, looking for likenesses to the blurred images on the missing persons bulletins, taking those she could convince to leave the life to shelters or women’s centers—but it was a never-ending battle doomed to failure. Every day there were more of them. Why Sandy meant more to her than any of the others, she couldn’t say. “I have an investment in you, and I expect you to take care of yourself.”
“I’ve managed just fine so far.”
“Yeah—that new scar on your forehead is proof of that. Someone beat the living hell out of you, didn’t they?”
“It was nothing. I could have handled it even if Dell—” Sandy clamped her jaws shut. Shit!
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “What does Mitchell have to do with it?”
“Nothing.”
“Her life is on the line, Sandy. Don’t fuck with me, I don’t have time.” Rebecca’s tone was harsh, not with anger, but worry. What in hell have I missed?
“I told you, it was noth...” Sandy remembered that night—remembered the fear and the pain. She took a deep breath. “A guy was roughing me up. Dell stopped him.”
“Stopped him how?”
“Like cops do—she took the fucker down and arrested him.”
“That’s it?”
Sandy looked away.
“Sandy, please.”
The request startled Sandy. Cops never asked for anything; they just took what they wanted. But Dell asked. Will it be all right if I touch you? And this is about Dell. About keeping her safe.
“Dell got into trouble for it...because she pulled her gun and got rough or something.”
And the pieces tumbled into place. Mitchell on suspension. Mitchell undergoing counseling—mandatory in situations like that. Catherine and Mitchell—Catherine who must have known all about it. How much hasn’t Catherine told me?
“Okay. Thanks.”
Uncomfortable, Sandy shrugged. “So you said you had money for me?”
Rebecca reached into the inside pocket of her jacket, withdrew an envelope, and slid it halfway between them. She kept it covered with her hand. “I need you to find an Asian girl named Lucy.”
“Lucy what?”
“No last name—”
“Come on, Frye. Do you how many Asian Lucys there are?”
“She’s about sixteen, taller than most Asian girls, and she might work for Angel Rivera.”
“Angel’s a mean pimp.” Sandy’s eyes grew hard. “He hooks his girls on smack to keep them working.”
“I know that,” Rebecca said, her anger barely contained. And I’d love to put him away, or kick the crap out of him, but he always manages to slip through some crack in the system. “I want you to stay far away from him. Just talk to some of his girls.”
“What did this chick do?”
“I didn’t say she did anything. I tried showing the picture of the girl from the video around Chinatown. I thought maybe she was a runaway and someone might know her.” Rebecca sighed in an unusual show of frustration. Four hours in and out of every bodega and restaurant in a ten-block area and one slim lead to show for it. “No one knew her, but someone said they thought maybe she was a friend of this Lucy.”
“That’s kinda thin, don’t you think?”
“It’s what I’ve got.” Rebecca looked at her watch. “It’s closing time. We should leave before the lights come up. I need this soon, Sandy.”
“Sure, boss. Anything you say.”
Rebecca slid the envelope across the table, and Sandy automatically covered Rebecca’s hand with her own. The detective quickly withdrew, and Sandy palmed the envelope into her purse.
“Where’s Mitchell now?” Rebecca asked.
That twist of pain was unexpected, and Sandy jerked involuntarily. To cover her surprise, she laughed harshly. “How should I know? You’re the one told me to stay away from her, remember?”
“Things have changed.” Rebecca leaned forward intently. “Listen to me. Jasmine can’t be with her all the time. None of us can be. She’s good, but she doesn’t know the streets like you do. I need you to watch her back.”
/>
“So what do you want me to do? Move in with her?”
“If you have to.”
Sandy stood. “You know something, Frye? You use people.”
Rebecca made no reply and Sandy walked away.
You use people.
It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, although not quite as honestly as Sandy put it. Jill had complained that Rebecca put the job first and gave her what was left—which was never enough. Rebecca thought of Catherine, and how much she needed her. How she so often came to Catherine, weary and drained, and let Catherine comfort her with her body and her tender soul. I use her, too.
Rebecca looked at her watch again. Five minutes till closing. Still time for a fast drink.
She stood, walked to the bar, and surveyed the rows of bottles lined up on small shelves in front of the mirror. Johnnie Walker Black. A sure remedy for frustration and disappointment. A quick treatment for loneliness and despair. An easy cure for self-loathing.
“What’ll you have?”
Rebecca met the bartender’s questioning gaze. Her voice was steady but she was trembling inside. “Nothing, thanks. I’m going to go home instead.”
He looked at her as if what she had said made perfect sense. “Probably a good idea.”
“Yes. It is.” She left a five on the bar and held the image of Catherine’s face firmly in her mind as she walked away.
*
Catherine rarely slept deeply when Rebecca was working. She rolled over and opened her eyes, having been roused by a soft noise in the darkened room.
“Rebecca?”
“I’m sorry. I was trying to be quiet.” Rebecca padded across the floor and slipped naked into bed. She turned on her side and drew Catherine into her arms, burying her face in the sweet softness of her hair.
“Everything all right?” Catherine snuggled closer, sighing with contentment.
“Mmm. I love you so much.”
Catherine heard the faint catch in her lover’s voice. “Darling? Did something happen?”
“No.”
You use people. It was true, and no amount of rationalization would change it. Catherine, too. Rebecca shut her eyes tightly, focusing on the swell of Catherine’s breasts against her chest and the firm press of thigh between hers. The skin beneath her hands was so warm, so soft. Gentle lips touched her forehead. She swallowed a groan.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. I’m just beat.” Rebecca took a long breath. She wasn’t going to burden Catherine with more of her guilt. “It’s late, love. We should get some sleep.”
Catherine hesitated. She knew there was more. She always knew. Rebecca could hide almost everything from everyone, but her body never lied, and when she lay in Catherine’s arms, her secrets were revealed. That was one of the things that Catherine loved about being Rebecca’s lover. The raw honesty of the physical intimacy they shared.
“I know you’re tired.” Catherine kissed her forehead again, then her eyelids, then finally her mouth. She let the kiss linger, felt it deepen, sensing Rebecca drawing strength from their joining, as she herself so often found peace. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Catherine,” Rebecca whispered. I need you so much. I don’t know if I could keep going...
“What, darling?”
“I...you’re the best thing in my life. The most important thing.” Rebecca smoothed her fingers over Catherine’s cheek, along her neck, and then lowered her head to kiss Catherine’s breast just above her heart. “I just want you to know that.”
“Oh, Rebecca. I do.” Catherine pulled her even closer, wishing desperately that she could ease whatever sorrow tormented her. “Believe me, I do.”
“I’m so glad.” Rebecca closed her eyes and rested her cheek against Catherine’s breast. She finally fell asleep, lulled by the steady comfort of her lover’s heartbeat.
Catherine lay awake, stroking Rebecca, wondering what hurt had befallen her while she’d been away, while she’d been doing whatever it was she did alone in the night with so very little to protect her. If she could, Catherine would stand between her and all that had hurt her or would hurt her, but such protection was beyond her power to give.
“I love you,” Catherine breathed, letting that be enough.
*
Michael rose carefully. She took a step, switched on the bedside lamp, and then took another step. The headache was there, but much less intense. Her stomach was queasy, an aftereffect of the pain pills. The clock read five-thirty. The side of the bed where Sloan had lain was cold.
She went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and then looked into the mirror for the first time since the accident. She blinked, drew a shaky breath, blinked again.
Thank God Sarah washed my hair, because the rest of me is a fright.
The left side of her face was bruised from temple to jawline, the skin discolored a purplish-green. Her left upper lid was puffy, the sclera of the eye below bright red with blood. Gingerly, she touched the scalp on the left side of her head. It felt boggy to her touch, and there were crusted stitches buried beneath her hair. She tried to remember what the doctor had told her.
Car accident...skull fracture...broken ribs...bruised kidney.
With horrific clarity, she abruptly recalled the conversation with Sarah. Someone had tried to kill Sloan, and she had been hurt instead.
“My God...”
Michael walked back into the bedroom and surveyed the empty bed, her heart pounding. She picked up the phone from the nightstand and pushed the intercom button for the line into the offices downstairs. It rang...ten...fifteen...twenty times. No answer. She tried Sloan’s cell phone. An electronic voice announced she could leave a message.
Her mind was racing as she disconnected, her headache returning full force. She started to dial Sarah’s number, and then she remembered.
I’ll be right here if you need me.
Michael set the phone down and turned hurriedly toward the hall that led from their bedroom into the greater loft space. The sudden change in direction made her stomach lurch, and she gasped, afraid for a moment that she might vomit. When her system settled, she made her way carefully through the loft to the guest room. She halted at the door.
“Sarah?”
A light came on, and Sarah was instantly by her side.
“Michael? What is it? Are you sick?”
“Where’s Sloan?”
“I...what?” Sarah took Michael’s hand. “You should go back to bed. You’re white as a sheet.”
Michael looked beyond Sarah to Jason, who was just tying his sweatpants. He looked worried. She stepped around Sarah, her eyes riveted on Jason’s face.
“Where is she, Jason?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t she here?”
“No. She’s not downstairs, and she’s not answering her phone.”
He looked helplessly at Michael. “She said she was going to check on some data for Rebecca.”
“You left her alone?” Michael’s voice rose with anger and fear. “What were you thinking? Someone tried to kill her.”
“We’re pretty sure that was related to the other case.”
“Pretty sure? Pretty sure!” Michael’s vision dimmed, and a wave of pain rolled through her head and flooded her consciousness. She swayed and Sarah grabbed her arm.
“Michael. Sit down.”
“I’m fine.” Nevertheless, Michael allowed Sarah to lead her to the bed. She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “I’m sorry.” She lifted anguished eyes to Sarah and Jason, who stood side by side a few feet away, both looking distraught. “Someone tried to kill her and almost killed me instead. Don’t you realize what she’ll do? God, she’ll be crazy.”
“Ah, hell,” Jason muttered.
“What?” Michael asked sharply.
Jason looked to Sarah for guidance but Michael’s voice cut through the air.
“Tell me. What?”
“She’s working on finding the leak in the departmen
t—maybe she found it.”
Michael’s voice was cold and eerily flat. “And it didn’t occur to you that she’d go after the person if she did?”
Jason shrugged helplessly. “I figured she’d call me.”
“Find her, Jason,” Michael ordered. “You find her right now and bring her home.”
*
Six a.m. Quitting time.
On autopilot, Sandy trudged up the dark narrow stairwell to the third floor. She unlocked her apartment door, stepped inside, and stared at the woman sitting on the side of her bed. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Sandy found her voice.
“What would you do if I came home with a john?”
“I don’t know,” Mitchell said wearily. “Shoot him?”
“Smart. And if it was Frye?”
Mitchell winced. “Shoot myself, I guess.”
Sandy took off her jacket, opened her purse, and took out her cell phone. She pushed a button. “Frye’s cut off. You’re safe.” She crossed the room and sat down beside Mitchell, careful not to touch her. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to say I was sorry for being an asshole.”
“Okay. You said it.”
Mitchell curled her fingers over her knees to hide the shakes. She was so fucking tired. She could have left, gone back to her high-rise. And spent the rest of the night wondering, imagining, where Sandy was and what she was doing. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She didn’t want to be anywhere else. She just wanted to make things right.
“I didn’t have any right to come down on you for leaving last night. I was...I was a little crazy.”
“You were a lot crazy if you think Frye and I have anything going on.”
“I know. I just...” Mitchell drew a long breath. What could she say? I was so wild for you to touch me I lost my mind? All I could think about was coming? “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
When Mitchell started to rise, Sandy put a hand on her thigh, stopping her. “I’m sorry for leaving you in a state. I didn’t want to.”
Mitchell blushed. “Not your fault.”
