by Radclyffe
Mitchell, barely able to get her breath, pulled Sandy close and ran her fingers lightly over her clitoris, prolonging the climax. She ached to be inside her, but she held back, waiting until Sandy invited her. “You’re beautiful, Sandy. So beautiful.”
Beyond words, fearing she would fly apart, Sandy could only cling to Mitchell, whimpering faintly as the waves of pleasure streamed along the pathways of her being. Eventually she became aware of her heartbeat and the amazing lassitude in her body and the harsh sounds of Mitchell’s irregular breathing close to her ear. “That was...fuck, I don’t know what that was.”
“Incredible,” Mitchell whispered. “You are incredible.”
“I can see why people pay for that.”
Mitchell’s heart lurched at the words, and then she saw the light in Sandy’s eyes. The most beautiful, bright, shining light. A light that could only be happiness. Her throat closed around sudden tears, and she swallowed hard. “I’m available, any time you want.”
“Yeah?” She still had her hand between Mitchell’s thighs. She pressed the base of the swollen clitoris, then stroked its length.
“Uh-huh.” Mitchell’s vision got blurry. “No charge.”
“Hmm,” Sandy murmured thoughtfully, circling faster. “Interesting offer.”
Mitchell jerked, moaning softly.
“You’re doing that again.”
“What?” Mitchell’s voice was hoarse, her stomach tight.
“Getting really hard.”
“That’s ’cause...you’re making me come again. Ah...God.”
Sandy leaned up on an elbow, grinning. “Yeah?”
“Ye—” Mitchell choked on the word, coming too hard to do anything but fight for air. It went on forever, the contractions so powerful her shoulders came off the bed. When the last ripple of orgasm faded, she fell back, gasping. “Thank you.”
Sandy’s smile of self-congratulation changed to an expression of astonishment. “Dell, Jesus. You’re nuts.”
Mitchell tried to focus and finally fixed on Sandy’s face. “Why?”
“Because.” Sandy leaned near and kissed her. Long and deep and hard. “Because...I wanted to be with you.”
“Everything was okay?” Mitchell studied Sandy’s face with concern.
“Are you gonna ask me if I came?” Sandy’s smile took the edge off the sarcasm.
Mitchell blushed. “Uh...I know you came. I was gonna ask you if it was good.”
Sandy punched her shoulder. “No, idiot. It was terrible. The worst orgasm I ever had. So bad I want to do it again, just to see what all the fuss is about.”
“Okay. Now?”
“I thought you had to work.”
“I’ll be late.”
Sandy snuggled into the crook of Mitchell’s arm and ran her hand up and down the length of her chest and abdomen. “How come you didn’t ask me if I was safe?”
“Because I trust you.” Mitchell kissed the wisps of sweat-dampened hair that clung to Sandy’s cheek. And I wanted you so fucking much I didn’t care. That thought scared her more than anything ever had.
“I am. I’m always careful, and I get checked.” Sandy felt the muscles in Mitchell’s abdomen tense. And I haven’t been fucking, but you don’t know that. And you’re still here with me. Why? Why are you here, Dell?
“I’m glad, because I don’t want anything to happen to you. If you tell me to use protection, I’ll use it. If not, I won’t.” Mitchell lifted Sandy’s chin. “But I’m not gonna stop touching you until you tell me to. No matter what.”
“You got a girlfriend, rookie?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“I’m holding out for Mitch’s girl.”
Sandy laughed. “I don’t know, Dell. Mitch is fucking hot.”
“Uh-huh. I noticed you thought so.”
“Yeah, I did.” Sandy rolled over and straddled Mitchell’s hips, rubbing herself against the base of Mitchell’s belly. She was still wet and the fleeting friction against her erect clitoris made her groan. “But then, so are you. Big time.”
Mitchell reached for Sandy’s breasts, gently cupping them as she arched her hips, making Sandy bite her lower lip and close her eyes. “So I’ve got a chance?”
“We’ll see, rookie,” Sandy whispered. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Eighteen
The second Sloan walked in the door, Sarah accosted her.
“Are you out of your mind?” Sarah stood an inch from Sloan, her face flushed, her voice a lethal whisper. “Michael has been frantic. Do you know what that kind of stress can do to her right now? God damn it, Sloan.”
“Where is she?” So tired she could barely stand, Sloan looked past Sarah to the bedroom. “Is she all right?”
“I just said she wasn’t.” Sarah tried to keep her temper in check, but she’d been so worried for both her friends that her nerves were frayed beyond repair. “She’s in the bedroom. I finally got her to at least lie down.”
“Sarah,” Jason murmured gently. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Sarah snapped. “I am sick of the two of you taking chances, as if nothing mattered except—”
Michael’s voice came softly from across the room. “It’s all right, Sarah.”
When Sarah whirled in Michael’s direction, Sloan took the opportunity to step around her. She crossed quickly to her lover, asking anxiously, “Are you okay?”
Michael rested her palm against Sloan’s chest and smiled faintly. “You look awful. Take a shower and go to bed.”
“Okay.”
Sarah gaped as Sloan disappeared into the bedroom. “Amazing.”
“Is she all right?” Michael asked, looking to Jason.
“She’s a bit...strung out.” He wasn’t certain how much to say, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell her where Sloan had spent the night. Or what she’d been contemplating. “I think she needs a break from work for a while.”
“I’ll see to it.” Michael smiled at Sarah. “Don’t be too angry with her. You know she’d never intentionally hurt any one of us.”
“Ah, hell,” Sarah said with a sigh, threading her arm around Jason’s waist and leaning into him. With her cheek on his shoulder, she met Michael’s gentle gaze. “I know that. But, damn, sometimes she makes me crazy.”
Slowly, Michael nodded. “She’s not leaving here today, so if you two want to go home—”
“I’ve got to get back downstairs,” Jason interjected, his tone apologetic. “We’re about to brief.”
“And I’m staying right here for at least a few more days,” Sarah said adamantly. “You know damn well as soon as Sloan gets some sleep, she’ll be at it again.” She looked pointedly at Jason. “Whatever it is you two are into this time.”
He shrugged sheepishly. “Mostly it’s just the ordinary computer sleuthing.”
“Mostly, maybe. It’s the other part that worries me. Let the police take care of the rough stuff this time, okay?”
“That’s the plan.” He said it because it was true. But sometimes real life just worked out differently.
“Don’t expect Sloan any time soon,” Michael remarked, turning away. “And thanks, both of you.”
*
When Michael reached the bedroom, she discovered Sloan, naked and still damp, just emerging from the bathroom.
“Come to bed.” Michael loosed her robe and slid under the sheets, stretching an arm out across the pillow.
Sloan lay down next to her, rested her cheek on Michael’s shoulder, and sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“Where were you?”
“Working...I thought I’d be back before you woke up.” Sloan kissed Michael’s neck. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“You didn’t worry me so much,” Michael replied, threading her fingers into Sloan’s thick, dark hair. “You scared me.”
Sloan’s stomach clenched. She was so very tired, and her mind wasn’t working well. The first few hours that she’d sat in the dark w
atching Henry’s house, she’d had only one thought—This is the man who hurt Michael. He has to pay for that.
When she’d first arrived outside his house, it had seemed so clear what she needed to do; but as time passed, she’d become confused and uncertain. She knew Michael wouldn’t want her to take matters into her own hands; Frye would know immediately it was her doing if anything happened to the guy; and, as she’d turned the automatic over and over in her hands, she had come to doubt that she could pull the trigger. Had she caught the driver of the vehicle the night Michael had been struck, she would have killed him. Of that she was certain. But sitting alone in the cold dark night, contemplating it, she didn’t think she could go through with it.
“I’m really beat, baby,” Sloan murmured. “I fucked up last night. I...I’m not thinking right. I haven’t been right since you got hurt.”
“I know, love.” Michael kissed Sloan’s forehead. “Everything is going to be all right. I’m going to be all right. So are you.”
“I’m so sorry you were scared. I never meant for that to happen.” Sloan shuddered. “God, I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“Promise me you will not get out of this bed for the rest of the day.”
Sloan nodded wearily, curving her arm around Michael’s body and pressing close. “I promise. Whatever you want.”
“I want you, right here beside me.” Always.
Sloan didn’t reply. She was already asleep.
Michael closed her eyes. The world never felt as right as it did when Sloan was nearby, and right now what they needed in order to heal, above all else, was each other. They were together, and it was a start.
*
Mitchell stepped off the elevator at Sloan Security and hurried down the hallway toward the sound of voices. She was late. Way late. She thought about Sandy as she’d last seen her, lying naked, asleep in the midst of the tangled sheets. Feeling almost high, Mitchell grinned, knowing that she wouldn’t have changed anything about the last few hours.
When she walked into the conference room, her euphoria rapidly dissipated. Watts, Detective Sergeant Frye, and Jason were gathered around the conference table, and surprisingly, Dr. Rawlings was there, too. The atmosphere was grim.
“Sorry I’m late,” Mitchell said, her eyes on Rebecca.
Watts gave her a hard stare. “Late night out with the boys, Officer?”
“No, sir, I—”
“Did you get settled into the apartment?” Rebecca asked briskly. She didn’t have the patience for Watts’s heckling at the moment.
“Yes, ma’am, I di—”
“Good. Sit down. We’re in the middle of a briefing.”
Mitchell sat, her gaze forward. What the hell has happened? And where is Sloan?
Rebecca walked to a whiteboard that Jason had exposed by opening sliding panels in the wall at one end of the room. “Sloan thinks she’s nailed our leak. I want to be sure, because we’re going to have to concentrate all our resources on building a case against him if she’s right. We can’t afford to do that until we’ve eliminated all the other possibilities.” With a black marker, she wrote Suspects at the top of the blank board and underlined it. “Let’s go through them, one by one.”
Next she wrote PPD to the far left of the board. Beneath it, she wrote Captain Henry—Special Crimes, Adams—Civilian Clerk-SC, Trish Marks—Homicide, Charlie Horton—Homicide. She looked around the room. “Anyone else from the police department who ought to be on the list?”
Silent shakes of the head and a grunt of disgust from Watts.
“Okay.” She moved over an inch and wrote City Hall. “Watts? Want to fill in the players?”
Watts pulled a tattered leather-bound notebook from the inside of his brown suit jacket, flipped it open, and read dispassionately. “Two ADAs handled the warrant for the bust at LongJohn’s because the request came in on Saturday at changeover time or some such shit. That would be Margaret Campbell and...uh...George Beecher. The judge was Sally Marchamp.”
As he spoke, Rebecca added the names. With one more shift to her right, she headed the last column under Suspects with Civilians. Beneath that, she wrote Whitaker and Rawlings. When she turned, she met her lover’s gaze. Much as she’d expected, Catherine regarded her calmly, but there was a quizzical expression in her eyes.
Rebecca surveyed the room. “Who can we absolutely eliminate? Let’s start with the PPD.”
Watts cleared his throat. “Marks and Horton. They got assigned the Cruz and Hogan hits on a random rotation. It could have been any two homicide dicks who caught it. They have no other connection to anyone in the case other than that, and I’ve never heard even the slightest hint that either of them is dirty.”
“Neither have I.” Rebecca knew that Watts was biased against the leak being a cop, but she tended to agree with him that Marks and Horton were low on the list. “Jason? What do you have?”
Jason spoke from memory. “Mitchell and I have run preliminary data searches on the entire list—at least the easily accessible information. Military and employment histories, arrest records, and basic financials—credit reports, mostly. I don’t have the in-depth bank and investment statements yet, but I should within the next twenty-four hours.”
“Anything stand out?”
“Marks and Horton don’t raise a blip—nothing to suggest they live beyond their means or have ever been anything but ordinary cops. Horton had one reprimand for excessive force in his jacket, Marks had one commendation.”
“Jesus H...” Watts blurted. “How’d you get to those records?”
Jason regarded him impassively.
Mitchell flushed, thinking about her own personnel file. She’d never be free of the disciplinary action, even though she’d been cleared. Then she flashed on Sandy and the scar on her forehead from where the guy had struck her, and she no longer cared.
Rebecca drew a line through the names of the two homicide detectives. “Who else can go?”
“Dr. Rawlings,” Mitchell said clearly. She glanced briefly at Catherine, who smiled back. “I didn’t tell her anything about the detail—only that I was on it. I did not discuss the nature of the operation or the timing of the raid.”
“There was nothing in any of my notes or reports that specified what Officer Mitchell was involved in professionally at the time of our sessions,” Catherine advised quietly. She had arrived just before the meeting had commenced, and she and Rebecca had not spoken except for a moment when Rebecca had hurriedly informed her that Sloan had returned unharmed. “Even if someone had invaded my private files, there would be nothing to find.”
“Fair enough.” Rebecca crossed out Catherine’s name.
“If I might add,” Catherine said steadily, “I’ve known Rand Whitaker professionally for many years. Although anything is possible, I can’t see him being involved in anything nefarious.”
“He’s got a house in the Hamptons, drives a vintage Ferrari, and owns a huge estate in Merion. He doesn’t get all that on what the PPD pays him as a consultant,” Jason pointed out. “His lifestyle alone is suspect.”
“In addition to that, he’s got too many potential avenues of access to information to eliminate him at this point,” Rebecca said flatly. “He stays on the list until we get the in-depth financials, at least.”
“That seems reasonable.” Catherine didn’t argue, because she could sense Rebecca’s strain. Whatever had happened after they’d parted that morning, it was serious. Rebecca was clearly disturbed, and since this was her area of expertise, Catherine saw no reason to refute her opinion.
“Adams, the clerk, was hired by the department after the information from Flanagan’s reports went missing. Since we’re assuming that the person who set up Sloan is also behind that, she can go,” Jason recommended. “Postulating two inside sources of our leaks isn’t reasonable.”
“Agreed. We’re down to five, then,” Rebecca said to Jason. “You need to run the ADAs and the judge.” She took a deep breat
h. “And we need everything you can get on Captain Henry. As soon as Sloan is able, I want to talk to her.”
“I think she’s out of commission for the rest of the day.”
“Tonight then. I want to know what she’s got on Henry and how sound she thinks it is.”
“I’ll call you the minute she surfaces.”
“Fine,” Rebecca said, her tone clipped. If Sloan had been a cop under her command, she’d have suspended her. As it was, all she could do was shut her out of the investigation. And doing that was going to be a headache. First, because she knew Sloan would fight her, and second, because as angry as she was at Sloan’s stunt the previous night, Rebecca understood her motivations. “She’s going to have to give us a solid reason to go after him. He’s a ranking officer with a good rep.”
Jason took a breath and carefully did not look at Watts. “Henry’s credit cards are maxed out, he has a second mortgage on his house, and he’s got nothing showing in the way of assets. He’s borrowed against his retirement fund as well. Money could be a motive for him to turn.”
“A lot of cops sail close to the wind,” Watts growled. “The city doesn’t exactly pay like the private sector.”
“Any indication of where his money is going?” Rebecca found the prospect of investigating her commander distasteful, not only because it went against everything she’d been trained to believe in, but also because she respected the man as a cop. Still, cops turned every day. The pay was bad, the thanks almost nonexistent, and temptation everywhere.
“No sign yet.” Jason kept his voice level, ignoring Watts’s dig. “Gambling, drugs, or a mistress would be the best guesses. Any hint of those?”
Rebecca glanced at Watts, who shook his head. “None that I’ve ever heard. He’s married, has a couple of kids, I think. Always seemed like a straight arrow.”
“I’ll have more tomorrow,” Jason said.
“Make it today. I want you all over that suspect list. I want everything there is on them, ASAP.”
“Understood.” Jason didn’t even bother to mention how hard that would be without Sloan. He didn’t think the time was right to remind the detective of that, not after the little standoff the two had had earlier. The first day he’d seen them together, circling each other warily, he’d been reminded of two alpha females claiming their territories. He had a feeling he’d be seeing it again soon.
