by Radclyffe
“Oh, yeah?” Sandy bumped Mitchell’s shoulder with hers. “I thought it was.”
“I was so hot for you,” Mitchell whispered, glancing at Sandy with a half-turn of her head. “I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what the fuck I was saying.”
“Was hot for me?”
“Am.” Mitchell took Sandy’s hand, caressed it gently. “Have been for quite a while.”
“Same here.” Sandy leaned her head on Mitchell’s shoulder. “You wanna stay?”
“I have to work today.”
“Sleep with me a while first?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
Silently, they both rose, undressing slowly, watching each other in the breaking dawn light. Sandy lifted the covers and slid under, then held them open for Mitchell. The bed was narrow, and they turned to face one another, their bodies lightly touching. Mitchell rested her hand softly on Sandy’s hip. Sandy nestled her face close to Mitchell’s on the pillow.
“Is it okay if we just...” Sandy shivered. She’d never been this way with anyone. “Is just sleeping okay for now?”
“It’s fine.” Mitchell’s body was doing the all-over tingle thing again, and she was wet. But that was okay. It was good, great. Perfect. “You’re really beautiful, you know.”
“Dell,” Sandy said gently. “You are such a blockhead.”
Carefully, Mitchell inched forward and kissed Sandy, a tender whisper of lips brushing lightly. “I know. But you’re still beautiful.”
Chapter Seventeen
Catherine lifted the phone midway through the second ring. “Hello?...Yes, she’s right here.” She extended the receiver to Rebecca. “It’s Jason.”
“Frye,” Rebecca croaked. She squinted at the clock and groaned. A little after six.
“Sorry, Rebecca...we can’t seem to find Sloan.”
Rebecca sat up, instantly alert to the anxiety in Jason’s voice. “What have you tried?”
“She’s not answering her cell, and she’s not downstairs. Look, it’s probably nothing, but—”
“I’ll make a few calls. Where are you?”
“Sloan and Michael’s. I’ll head down to the office.”
“I’ll be over.” Rebecca hung up and got out of bed. Catherine slipped out her side and reached for a robe.
“Sorry,” Rebecca muttered.
“That’s all right. What’s the matter?”
“Sloan’s in the wind.” Rebecca frowned, then picked up the phone and dialed the station house. “Cleary?...Frye. Transfer me to CSI, will you?...I know what time it is. Just do it.” She listened to the phone ring and said, “Catherine, why don’t you go back to bed. I’ll be leaving in just a minute.”
“The alarm was about to go off anyhow.”
Rebecca held up a finger. “Flanagan? Rebecca Frye...I figured you’d be in early...No...no favor. I just wondered if I left something of mine there yesterday—back in your office. The CD-ROM for the computer game I told you I was going to try...No? No sign of it, huh? Well, if you see it, could you give me a call?...No, no problem. Just getting forgetful, I guess...Yeah, thanks.”
“Do you think she’s in trouble?” Catherine followed Rebecca into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
“I don’t know,” Rebecca said as she stepped under the spray, making room for Catherine to get in beside her. “As far as I know, we don’t have any hard leads, so I don’t see how she could be.” She reached for the soap and grimaced. “Of course, I seem to be missing more than a few critical pieces of information these days.”
Catherine halted in the process of lathering her hair, sensitive to the nuances of frustration laced with anger in Rebecca’s tone. Ah, we’re getting to what was bothering her last night. “Care to share?”
“Well, for starters, I didn’t know that Mitchell was seeing you professionally because of a disciplinary action involving my CI.” Rebecca tried but failed to keep the resentment from her voice.
“Did Officer Mitchell tell you that?” Catherine asked mildly, leaning her head back to rinse.
“No,” Rebecca grunted, reaching for a towel as she climbed from the shower. “Sandy did.”
“Really?” Catherine accepted the second towel that Rebecca passed to her. “She told you?”
“Not exactly.” Rebecca’s voice was muffled as she dried her face. Then she draped the towel over the towel bar and faced Catherine. “I put it together from things they both said. I’m a detective, remember?”
Catherine smiled softly. “How could I forget?”
“It would have helped me to know about their involvement, Catherine.”
“How?”
Annoyance flickered across Rebecca’s features. “Because I might not have been so quick to team them up. Jesus Christ—I practically told Sandy to live with Mitchell in order to protect her cover.”
“And knowing that they were friends would have changed that?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. That’s not the point.”
“What is, then?”
“I need to know everything about my people!” Rebecca turned her back and placed both hands on the edge of the sink, trying to curb her temper. In a low, restrained voice she continued, “I can’t afford to make the wrong decision.”
“I couldn’t...can’t...tell you anything about Officer Mitchell.” Catherine raised her hand to stroke the rigid back but caught herself. “I know I don’t need to explain that.”
“Couldn’t you have given me some idea?”
“I’m sorry. No.” Catherine did touch her then, a soft glide of fingertips over still-moist skin. “I love you.”
Rebecca turned, resting her hips against the counter. “Ah, Christ. I love you, too.”
“Is Dellon all right?”
“As far as I know. Jasmine and Sandy are working with her to secure her cover.” Rebecca grasped Catherine’s hand and pulled her into her arms. They were both still nude, and the rush of excitement that always accompanied the touch of Catherine’s body to hers raced along her spine. She sighed. “Now I’ve got to find Sloan.”
“Do you really think she’s in trouble?”
“Maybe. I probably shouldn’t even be using her, the condition she’s in. But I needed her.” You use people. Rebecca rested her cheek against Catherine’s temple and closed her eyes. “I have to go.”
“I know. Will you call me? I’m planning to go to Sloan’s later this morning to work on the profiles, but if I don’t see you there...”
“Yes. As soon as I know anything.” Rebecca kissed Catherine’s forehead and reluctantly let her go.
Standing in the bathroom door, Catherine pulled on her robe and watched Rebecca dress. Every addition to her armor—the suit, the weapon, the badge—seemed to take Rebecca further from her, and distance, much more than anger, was what frightened her. “Are you still upset with me?”
Rebecca paused, her keys in her hand. “I wasn’t angry at you. I was angry with myself.” She crossed to Catherine and cupped her chin in one palm, lifting her face. “I understand why you didn’t tell me about Mitchell. I want circumstances to be different sometimes, but I never want you to be anyone but you. You’re everything I need.”
“Rebecca Frye,” Catherine murmured, slipping her arms around the detective’s waist. “You know just what I need to hear.”
“Do I?” Rebecca kissed Catherine possessively. “I’ll call you. I love you.”
“Be careful, darling,” Catherine whispered as Rebecca strode away. Catherine shivered and pulled her robe tighter about her shoulders. The room seemed smaller and somehow colder with Rebecca’s sudden departure. “You’re everything I need, too.”
*
Jason, unshaven in wrinkled clothes, looked up hopefully as Rebecca walked into the central office area just after eight a.m. “Anything?”
“Nothing.” Rebecca had never seen him with a hair out of place, even when he’d been lying on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back, Mitchell’s knee between
his shoulder blades. “If she was working in Flanagan’s lab last night, there’s no sign of it on the computer that I could see. Or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“There wouldn’t be. Sloan is...well, she’s the best.” He ran a hand over his face. “I should have realized she’d go after whoever hurt Michael on her own. Michael is...everything to her.”
Rebecca understood that. That was what she would do if anyone hurt Catherine. She knew it, in her bones, and she had let Sloan work the case just the same. “It’s my fault. Not yours.”
“I know her bes—”
He cocked his head, listening to the sound of the elevator descending to the first floor, then to the slow steady whir of the machinery reversing. Together, he and Rebecca watched as the double-wide doors slid soundlessly open.
“Sloan!” Jason’s voice was tight with relief.
Sloan’s eyes were rimmed with dark shadows, her cheeks gaunt, her clothes beyond creased. Her shoulders sagged, and her step was unsteady.
“You hurt?” Rebecca asked sharply.
Sloan shook her head and sat heavily into the nearest chair. “I got him.”
“Where have you been?” Rebecca asked almost too casually.
“Sitting outside his house, waiting for him to come out.”
Jesus, God. Rebecca’s insides turned to ice. “Who?”
“Captain John William Henry.”
Rebecca’s face never changed expression, but her stomach heaved. With effort, she kept her voice even. “What did you do?”
Sloan looked at her, her eyes slightly unfocused. “I sat across the street with my gun in my lap, locked and loaded, all night. Knew he’d be out early.”
“Oh my God!” Jason jumped to his feet. “Sloan, don’t say anything else!”
“What?” Sloan regarded him quizzically. “It’s okay, Jase, I—”
“Not another word. I’m calling Jack Goldberg.”
Sloan sat up straighter. “I don’t need an attorney.”
“Are you willing to talk to me without an attorney, Sloan?” Rebecca was quiet, nonthreatening, and she hadn’t moved an inch since Sloan arrived.
“No, she isn’t,” Jason said adamantly.
“I didn’t do anything.” Sloan leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. “He came out, he got in his car, he drove away.”
Jason sagged in obvious relief.
“That’s it?” Rebecca asked.
Sloan nodded.
“You carrying now?”
Again Sloan nodded.
Rebecca walked to her and extended her hand. “Give me your weapon.”
Sloan narrowed her eyes.
“Do it, Sloan, for God’s sake,” Jason snapped.
After a long moment, Sloan complied.
“Jason,” Rebecca said, ejecting the clip and putting both it and the automatic into her pocket, “take her upstairs and see that she stays there.”
“Wait a minute.” Sloan jumped up, her eyes suddenly bright. “I need to run this guy’s records, cross-check his—”
“You’re done, Sloan. You’re off the case.”
“You can’t do that. This guy is mine.”
Sloan took one step forward, and Rebecca braced herself. Jason threw himself between them and grabbed both Sloan’s arms.
“Take it easy, Sloan,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll run the checks. Everything there is. I’ll get it done.”
“Get her out of here, Jason.” Rebecca’s voice was flat and hard. “Now.”
Rebecca remained motionless until Jason and Sloan disappeared into the elevator, Jason with his arm around Sloan’s waist. Then she sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. Captain Henry. And Sloan almost took him out. Christ, how many more ways can I screw up this case?
*
Mitchell was awakened by a persistent pulse of pleasure centered in her left breast. She opened her eyes to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling and, in the next second, became aware of the unaccustomed weight of a body lying upon hers. Raising her head, she focused on the blond head bent over her chest and watched Sandy suck her nipple between her lips. A ripple of arousal coursed through her and settled hard between her legs. Her hips jerked, her clitoris grew stiff, and she was instantly wet.
“Ahh, jeez, Sandy.” Mitchell’s head dropped back, and she closed her eyes again. “What are you doing?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Sandy whispered in between alternately licking and sucking the tight nub. “And I couldn’t stand to just look any longer.”
Eyes still closed, Mitchell trailed her fingers along Sandy’s side, brushing the curve of her bare breast. “Feels good. So good.”
“Mmm.”
Sandy shifted, nestling her own breast in Mitchell’s palm. Her voice was soft as she said, “You can touch me now.”
Mitchell’s breath caught at the sudden gift, amazed by the sensation of Sandy’s heart beating under her fingers. “Oh, yeah. You’re perfect.”
Sandy’s laughter registered surprise and disbelief.
Ever so carefully, Mitchell ran her fingertips over the gentle swell of silken skin, thumbing lightly back and forth across the erect nipple. It grew even tighter beneath her fingers, and Sandy made a small mewling sound.
“Okay?” Mitchell asked, opening her eyes and pushing up against the pillows. Sandy was stretched out on top of her, one thigh between hers.
Sandy nodded, lids half closed, as she rocked slowly against Mitchell’s leg. “You can do it...harder.”
“You sure?” Mitchell asked, squeezing rhythmically, harder each time.
“It...oh...Dell...I can feel it...all the way down.”
Mitchell groaned and captured the other breast in her hand. Sandy arched upward on extended arms, pressing her breasts harder into Mitchell’s palms. As Mitchell tugged and rolled her nipples, Sandy began to shiver, her hips moving insistently against Mitchell’s thigh.
“Stop,” Sandy gasped abruptly. “Dell, stop.”
Immediately, Mitchell stilled, her entire body rigid. Her voice was hoarse with tension and arousal. “What? Sandy, what? Did I hurt you?”
Sandy lowered herself against Mitchell’s body and pressed her face to Mitchell’s neck. She was trembling.
“Hey, hey.” Mitchell caressed her lover’s back, rocking her gently. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Sandy mumbled, her fingers tracing the curve of Mitchell’s jaw. She kissed the side of Mitchell’s neck, then the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t expect...I didn’t think...”
“You didn’t expect what?” Mitchell turned her head, and Sandy’s lips were there, waiting. She kissed her, and for long moments, she was lost again in the incredible softness of Sandy’s lips and the heat of her mouth and the tender, sensuous stroke of her tongue. Mitchell groaned and finally drew away. “God, you can kiss. You make me want to come just kissing you.”
Sandy grinned. “Not so fast, rookie.”
“So,” Mitchell said quietly, working to stay focused through the mists of arousal, “what just happened?”
“Uh...I think you were telling me how good I kissed.” Sandy glanced away.
“Sandy? Come on. Help me out here.”
Sandy looked back into Mitchell’s eyes. She found desire there, and need, and beneath it all, tenderness. “I’ve never come with anyone touching me before.”
Mitchell’s eyes darkened; her breath stuttered to a stop. She eased onto her side, keeping Sandy in her arms. Their heads rested close together on the pillow, their breasts and thighs lightly touching. “Do you want to?”
“I almost did a minute ago, and then...” Sandy turned her face away.
Mitchell tapped a finger on Sandy’s chin. “And then?”
“I got scared.”
“Ah, babe.” Mitchell kissed Sandy gently. “I want what you want. You tell me.”
“I want to touch you.” Sandy drew a finger down the center of Mitchell’s body, resting her fingers in the dark triangle at the base of h
er abdomen. “I want to make you come.”
Mitchell moaned softly. “That should take about two seconds.”
Sandy laughed. “You always so easy?”
“I’ve been ready since last night. And being close to you like this...I’m wrecked.” Mitchell ran her fingers along Sandy’s collarbone, then over her breast, stopping just before she reached her nipple. “I want to touch you, too. So much.”
“I want you to,” Sandy whispered. She found Mitchell’s hand, drew it down her own body. She covered Mitchell’s fingers with her own and pressed them between her thighs. Her eyes flickered closed, then opened, the pupils wide and dark. “I don’t know if I can.”
Mitchell felt the heat, felt the hard shape of her desire, felt her tremble. “Anything you say...I’ll just stroke you a little, okay?”
“Yes. Yes.” Sandy eased her hand away and slipped it between Mitchell’s legs, one finger on either side of her clitoris. She squeezed lightly and smiled when Mitchell gasped. When Mitchell mirrored the motion, she moaned. “Nice. Dell...that’s so nice.”
“Yeah.” Mitchell struggled not to come immediately. The hours of wanting the night before, the days and weeks of denying the desire, the incredible wonder of Sandy in her arms—she couldn’t contain all the feelings. And Sandy was so good, her touch so sure, that Mitchell just wanted to let go. Had to surrender.
“Dell,” Sandy breathed. Touching Mitchell made her so excited, she could barely discern what aroused her the most—Mitchell’s pleasure or her own. Distantly, she was aware of her legs trembling and her hips rocking rhythmically in time to the long smooth strokes of Mitchell’s hand. The pressure deep inside was increasing, insistent and so painfully good. “Oh, you just got so hard.”
“I’m gonna come,” Mitchell gasped. She pressed her forehead to Sandy’s, groaning softly as she spasmed in Sandy’s palm, shuddering with the swift and merciful release of the tension in her depths. “Sandy. Sandy.”
“Oh, yeah.” Sandy watched in awe as Mitchell closed her eyes and arched her back, so beautiful. She marveled at the pulsations, alive against her hand. The sharp rise of her own orgasm took her by surprise, and she cried out, every muscle clenching as it struck.
