Justice in the Shadows

by Radclyffe

“Yeah. Me, too. Do something about it, will ya?”

  Do something about it, will ya? Do something...Something inside snapped. Mitchell stood abruptly on shaking legs, stripped off her jacket, and threw it behind her. Then she reached down for the bottom of Sandy’s top, curled her fingers in the thin fabric, and dragged it up and off. Swiftly, she knelt before the sofa and, with one arm around Sandy’s waist, pulled the startled young woman toward her, forcing Sandy to spread her legs to accommodate Mitchell’s body. Tight between Sandy’s open thighs, Mitchell leaned forward and put her mouth to Sandy’s breast, closing around the nipple with her teeth as she caught and squeezed the other between her fingers.

  Sandy gave a startled cry, drove her fingers into Mitchell’s hair, and pressed her breast harder to Mitchell’s mouth. “Oh my God. Dell.”

  Mitchell was on fire. All day, the memory of being with Sandy—her smell, the softness of her skin, her surprised cries of pleasure—had simmered just below the surface of her consciousness. All day she’d wanted her, and now, now she couldn’t touch her enough. She slid the arm that encircled Sandy’s waist lower and pulled Sandy’s hips even closer against her body. Her own hips rocked steadily, aching for contact, but she didn’t want to give up the pleasure of Sandy’s breast in her mouth.

  “Dell,” Sandy gasped, tugging at Mitchell’s hair. “Dell, take your shirt off. Come on, baby...let me feel your skin.”

  With her lips still around Sandy’s nipple, sucking the hard knot of flesh relentlessly, Mitchell began tearing at her clothes, pulling her shirt from her jeans, fumbling at her fly. Sandy’s hands joined hers and finally she had to release Sandy’s breast long enough to lean back and remove her shirt. In the next instant, Sandy’s hands were on her, running over her breasts and abdomen, pushing below the edge of her jeans. Everywhere, everywhere she burned.

  “Sandy.” Shivering with need, Mitchell looked up into Sandy’s eyes. “I want to taste you. Please...is it okay?”

  Sandy’s eyes widened. Her hands trembled as she framed Mitchell’s face. “You have...such a fabulous mouth.”

  “Lie back,” Mitchell said, her voice suddenly gentle. “Let me undress you.”

  “You first,” Sandy murmured, her palms flat against Mitchell’s belly, pushing down inside the waistband of her jeans. “Off...off...take these off.”

  Still kneeling, Mitchell worked the denim down, groaning as Sandy’s hands moved lower as her body was bared. “Do not...go there,” she warned as she stood to kick off boots and jeans. Despite her warning, she couldn’t help thrusting against Sandy’s palm. The pressure against her engorged clitoris made her head light. She pulled away, her stomach board-hard with arousal.

  “Hey!” Sandy protested.

  Mitchell grinned, put her hands lightly on Sandy’s shoulders, and pushed her back so that she reclined with her legs over the edge of the sofa. “Be patient.”

  “Screw you, rookie.”

  But there wasn’t much threat behind the words, and the fingers that trailed down Mitchell’s arms shook. Carefully, Mitchell slid the tight black slacks down and off, then drew her fingertips up the inside of Sandy’s legs, slowing as she reached the apex, resting her palms on the soft skin high on the inside of smooth thighs. Slowly, she lifted her eyes. Sandy, heavy-lidded and breathing quickly, was propped on her elbows, watching her.

  “Okay?” Mitchell’s voice was hoarse.

  Sandy nodded, placing one hand behind Mitchell’s neck. “Uh-huh. Better even.”

  Mitchell let Sandy guide her head down, closing her eyes as she immersed herself in the warm, wet welcome. The first kiss drew a sound of surprised pleasure, the next a long sigh, and when she carefully traced the delicate folds and firm prominences with her tongue, a sob of joy. Sandy’s fingers on the back of her head pulled her closer, and Mitchell took the tender clitoris between her lips. As she played the nerve bundle with her tongue, she unconsciously lowered one hand to stroke herself, desperately seeking relief from the pressure pounding between her thighs.

  “Ohh,” Sandy gasped, jerking nearly upright, both hands on Mitchell’s head now, holding her close, just holding on. She watched Mitchell pleasure her and felt the orgasm coming fast. “Dell...Dell, I’m gonna come.”

  Mitchell swiftly forgot her own needs, bringing both hands beneath Sandy’s hips, holding her fast as she carried her higher. Breath suspended, she followed the rise and fall of Sandy’s hips, timed her strokes to the pulse beating between her lips, and thrilled to the sensation of her lover climaxing in her mouth. She didn’t stop the gentle ministrations until Sandy, moaning softly, pushed her away.

  “Stop.” Sandy shuddered. “I’m gonna freakin’ explode or something.”

  Pleasantly exhausted, Mitchell rested her cheek against Sandy’s leg. “That’s nice.”

  Sandy grabbed a handful of Mitchell’s hair and tugged weakly. “C’mere.” She leaned back, swung her legs onto the sofa, and guided Mitchell down on top of her. She edged one leg between Mitchell’s thighs. “Oh, you’re really wet.”

  “Yeah. You make me so hot.” Mitchell turned her face to Sandy’s neck and kissed her. She wanted to come, but she never wanted the excitement to end, so she held very still, holding back. “You feel so good.”

  Sandy put her mouth to Mitchell’s ear and whispered, “Come on my leg.”

  The words shot through Mitchell like a bolt of lightening, triggering her nerve endings, everything going off at once. Her control shattered, and she came with a shout.

  “That’s it, baby, that’s it,” Sandy soothed, stroking the length of Mitchell’s back. “You’re so sexy, Dell. God.”

  “You kill me,” Mitchell mumbled.

  “Mmm. I like that.” Sandy tightened her hold, feeling at once incredibly strong and incredibly vulnerable. Mitchell did scary things to her.

  But when Mitchell sighed, “Yeah, me, too,” all Sandy really felt was happy.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Will you stop fidgeting?”

  “It tickles.”

  “Aww.” Sandy drew the brush along Mitch’s jaw. “I bet you didn’t give Jasmine a hard time.”

  “Jasmine wasn’t standing between my legs.” Mitch shifted on the stool, and Sandy pushed closer, making Mitch gasp. Maybe it had been a bad idea to get fully dressed before this part. He still wasn’t used to accommodating the extra equipment, and Sandy seemed to delight in leaning into just the right spot to make him squirm.

  “Good thing,” Sandy muttered. “She’s way too hot.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Shut up, Mitch. You’ll ruin my line.” Sandy switched to a pencil and widened the already dark brows. “So, where you goin’?”

  Mitch hesitated, suddenly uncertain how much to disclose. Somehow, work and Sandy had gotten all tangled together.

  “What?” Sandy grew still. Her voice cold, she said, “I’m good enough to fuck but not enough to trust, is that it?”

  For once, Mitch anticipated Sandy’s quick withdrawal and grabbed her around the waist just as she tried to move away. “Will you just wait a minute? Jesus, Sandy.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not used to having a girlfriend, okay? I never talk about work to anyone, so it feels weird.”

  “You sure that’s it?” Sandy relented a little, relaxing in the circle of his arms, surprised by the honesty she couldn’t discount. She looked into his eyes, Dell’s eyes, the eyes that no amount of make-up or drag gear could change. They were soft, deep, tender. Sandy sighed. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”

  “S’okay.” Mitch loosened his grip but still kept his arms lightly around her waist. “You smell good.”

  “Don’t change the subject.” But her voice had softened, and she leaned over to kiss him quickly. “So—where you goin’?”

  “Jasmine is taking me to the Troc. Depending on how things go, I might go out clubbing with some of the kings later. The sooner the better, Frye says.”

  “Frye.” Sandy snorted. “What a major pain in the butt.” Her t
one, however, was quietly affectionate.

  “You saw her earlier, huh?”

  It was Sandy’s turn to hesitate. For some reason she couldn’t quite figure, Mitchell had a bug up about Frye. And because she wasn’t sure why, she didn’t know how much to say.

  “What? You can’t tell me?” Mitch’s voice deepened with anger.

  “What difference does it make?” Sandy countered. “You know about the CI thing, so you know I see her.”

  “See her. See her, like talk see her, right?”

  Sandy burst out laughing, pushing playfully into Mitch’s body with hers. “You don’t think Frye and I are screwing, do you?”

  Mitch blushed. “Well, no, but...”

  “But what, Mitch? She’s never laid a hand on me, even when I offered.”

  “What?”

  “It was a long time ago. I was trying to get her off my back, and I...well, you know...tried to buy her off.”

  Mitch rested his forehead between Sandy’s breasts and closed his eyes. You asked, asshole. He felt Sandy’s fingers tentatively stroke the back of his neck.

  “You mad?” Sandy asked.

  “No.”

  “Sure?”

  More than anything else the slight tremor of uncertainty in Sandy’s voice cleared his head. He hated it when she was scared. He much preferred her pissed off. “No, it’s fine. I understand.”

  “Even if I wanted to screw her, which I don’t, idiot, she’s seriously hooked up with that doctor.”

  Mitch raised his head. “Huh?”

  “Duh.” Sandy kissed him again. “You are so clueless. The shrink...Rawlings.”

  “How do you know that?” Mitch’s stomach dropped. The sergeant and Dr. Rawlings? Oh man, what have I said to Dr. Rawlings about Frye?

  Oblivious to Mitch’s shock, Sandy shrugged. “Because Frye was here the night she had a...relapse thing...and I had to call Rawlings. Believe me, they’re together.”

  Frye was here? In your apartment? And she and Dr. Rawlings...oh, fuck. Mitch groaned and put his cheek back on Sandy’s breast. “Shoot me.”

  “Uh-uh, baby. Not until I get you into bed.” Sandy reached down and gently squeezed Mitch’s crotch. “Just make sure you don’t spend it anywhere else tonight.”

  Mitch got wet and hard. Shit. “If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m gonna spend it right here.”

  “Mmm. I can do fast.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Liar.” Sandy reached down between his legs again.

  “Not right now, anyhow.” Mitch grabbed her hand. “Will you give me a break?”

  Sandy laughed again. “No freakin’ way.” She kissed him, seriously this time, until she felt him start to rock against her, then she stepped back. “See ya later then, stud.”

  “Jeez, you’re a tease.”

  “Mmm, you complainin’?” What he didn’t know was how bad off she was. She wanted to lick his neck. She wanted to kiss him until he was ready to come in his pants, and then she wanted to reach inside his pants and find him and Dell all mixed up together. I’m gonna make myself nuts in another minute, ’cause we don’t have time.

  “You hear me complaining?” Mitch murmured, sliding off the stool and pulling her close. He brushed his lips over the edge of her ear. “I’m sorry I can’t stay. Man, I want to.”

  “Sure. So go already, since you’re no good for anything else right now.” She kissed him one last time to soften the words.

  “I’ll be good later.”

  “Promises, promises.” But she was smiling as he walked out the door.

  *

  “All set?”

  “Fine.” Jasmine, in figure-hugging deep red slacks, a scoop top, and a short, shiny, black vinyl jacket, had both arms around Mitch’s waist, holding on from behind on the motorcycle. “Sandy did a fabulous job. You look great. Are you ready?”

  “As I’m ever gonna be.”

  Jasmine laid her cheek against the worn leather. “Then let’s go, hot stuff.”

  Mitch kick started the bike and pulled into traffic. It was after midnight and the streets were fairly empty. It took less than twenty minutes to ride cross-town to the Troc. He found curbside parking and shut off the engine.

  “Nice ride,” Jasmine commented as she slid one leg over the seat and stood up.

  “Yeah.” Mitch took a deep breath and dismounted. Time to go to work.

  “You okay on the background stuff we reviewed?” Jasmine hooked a hand around his forearm as they walked.

  “Uh-huh. I did some web surfing today to look at some of the drag king troupes, too.” Mitch shrugged. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll be with you tonight, and we’ll just hang out. Tomorrow I’m performing, though, so you’ll be on your own for a while then.”

  “I can handle it.”

  Jasmine slid her arm around Mitch’s waist as they reached the door of the club. “I have no doubt.”

  Immediately inside the door, a burly guy in a tight black T-shirt and black jeans stood with arms folded across his massive chest.

  “Hi, Ronnie.”

  “Hi, Jas.” He leaned over and delicately kissed her cheek. “You look gorgeous.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled. “Ronnie, this is Mitch.”

  He held out his hand. “Yo.”

  “Hey,” Mitch said, shaking the huge hand, which was firm but surprisingly gentle. It was larger and darker inside the club than Mitch had expected, and he blinked rapidly, trying to get his bearings.

  “Is Kennie here?” Jasmine asked.

  “Sure. He’s in the back with a few of the other guys.”

  Jasmine took Mitch’s hand. “Thanks.”

  “Bye, beautiful.”

  “Ronnie the bouncer?” Mitch asked as they wended their way through the tables, about half of which were occupied with small groups, couples, and the occasional lone drinker.

  “One of them. He also owns a piece of the place.” Jasmine held aside a heavy black curtain strung across an archway to one side of an elevated stage. “The dressing rooms are back here. A small lounge, too. That’s probably where the guys are.”

  Mitch took a deep breath. Show time.

  The lounge was a paneled, low-ceilinged space with a sofa, a couple of overstuffed chairs, a coffee table and a pool table. Two drag kings stood, cue sticks in hand, intently studying the lie of the balls on the faded green felt. A third sat with his booted feet propped up on the table, watching the game, a beer bottle in one hand. All three were dressed in jeans, T-shirts, and boots, and all had the smooth-faced, androgynous features of the drag kings Mitch had seen on the Internet. One had a small trim mustache that looked real, one had convincing sideburns, and all of them were flat chested.

  Mitch couldn’t help a quick glance at their crotches, wondering how he measured up. Nothing too obvious. Guess I’m okay there.

  The seated guy rose as they walked around the pool table toward him. He was Mitch’s height and a few pounds heavier with a small tattoo, a kanji symbol from the looks of it, low on the side of his neck.

  “Jasmine! Hey, didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

  Jasmine dipped her head and kissed him on the mouth. “Hi, Kennie.” She tugged Mitch forward. “Ken, this is Mitch. Mitch, Ken Dewar, the troupe leader of the Front Street Kings.”

  “Hey,” Ken said, extending his hand.

  The drag king with the mustache snorted. “Yeah, make him sound important, why don’t ya.”

  “Aww,” Jasmine soothed. “We all know how special you are, Dino.”

  “Uh-huh.” He grinned. “Hiya, I’m Dino.”

  “Mitch.” Mitch shook hands all around. The third guy Mitch recognized from the Front Street Kings’ website. Phil E. Pride.

  “Mitch just moved up here from DC. I thought you guys could show him around.”

  Ken lifted a shoulder and looked Mitch over. “You perform, Mitch?”

  Mitch shook his head. “Nope. No talent. At least not on stage.”

&
nbsp; That drew a laugh.

  “What brings you up here?”

  “A girl.”

  Ken raised an eyebrow and glanced at Jasmine.

  “Oh, not me, Ken.” Jasmine smiled sweetly. “You know I adore every one of you, but you’re all way too much man for me...” Everyone laughed. “Besides, I’m allowed to flirt...a little...but I am oh so already taken.”

  “I keep hoping,” Ken said.

  “I’m going to go talk to some of the girls,” Jasmine said. She squeezed Mitch’s arm. “I’ll see you later, stud.”

  “Okay.”

  Mitch took the seat opposite Ken in one of the lumpy chairs and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I haven’t been here very long, and I’m trying to get a sense of the scene. It’s tough, you know...on your own.”

  “Most kings hang here, because of our shows. There’s seven of us in the troupe, and maybe that many regulars who aren’t performers.” Ken reached for his beer. “You looking for a job?”

  “I could use one. I’ve got a straight day gig, but it doesn’t pay much.” Mitch grinned. “Like I said, I’m not looking to perform. I used to be a bouncer, and I can do almost anything around a bar.”

  “They’re always looking for bar backs. Ask Ronnie—did you meet him?”

  “Yeah. On the way in.”

  Ken propped his feet up back on the coffee table. “So—you’re friends with Jasmine.”

  “Yep.” Mitch waited, sensing Ken considering that fact.

  “You interested in the club scene or is the thing with your girl serious?”

  “It’s serious,” Mitch replied. “But I’m not married.”

  And just like that, he was in.

  *

  Sloan looked up from the monitor when the lights in the main lab came on. It was three a.m. She was rapidly considering her options—excuses, evasion, escape—when a redhead with sea-green eyes stuck her head through the doorway of Flanagan’s office, making her potential choices moot.

  “Hello,” Sloan said.

  “You’d be Rebecca’s friend, I take it.”

  “Yes.” Sloan saw no point in denying the truth.