Justice in the Shadows

by Radclyffe

  “I trust her.”

  “Then I guess you’ll need to ask her about anything that...bothers you.”

  “Did it bother you, when she helped get Blake? When she went into the park wearing a wire?” Mitchell had to ask, even though she knew she was out of line. She couldn’t find a place to put her feelings, and she didn’t think she could handle them alone. She knew the details of that case, at least what had gone into the files. Everyone did. It had been a spectacular sequence of events that everyone in the department had talked about for months. But that wasn’t what she wanted to know. She wanted, no needed, to know if there was some way to live with the fear that gnawed at her when she thought about Sandy alone somewhere and hurt.

  Rebecca’s blue eyes darkened. Everything in her nature directed her to keep silent. She was Mitchell’s superior, not her friend. More than that, she was a cop, and cops never admitted to having second thoughts or doubts or fear. She’d had that credo drummed into her since childhood, and she’d learned to handle her fears and doubts by burying them in a haze of alcohol. Until someone had put her up against a wall and said to her what she was saying to Mitchell now. She took a deep, slow breath and let it out softly.

  “I was so scared I thought I’d lose my mind.”

  “But you handled it.”

  Not very well. Rebecca shrugged. “No choice. It was my job. And Dr. Rawlings wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “I want to be on this team more than anything in my life, except being with Sa—”

  “I got that the first time, Mitchell. Stop telling me things I don’t want to know about.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mitchell straightened. “I’ll talk to Dr. Rawlings.”

  “Your business.” Rebecca held Mitchell’s eyes. “You lose it one more time and you’re gone. I’ll put it in your file, and they’ll bury you somewhere until you quit from sheer boredom.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Rebecca nodded and turned back toward Old City. “Let’s go. Jason says he has work for you.”

  “Sergeant?”

  Rebecca looked over her shoulder, a question in her eyes.

  “Why are you giving me this chance?”

  Because you’re a good cop. Because someone did it for me. Because I recognize the pain in your eyes. Rebecca lifted a shoulder. “Just think of it as a little friendly advice from your Rabbi.”

  Mitchell’s heart lurched, and she felt sick again. Good sick. Happy sick. She tried not to smile, but it was a struggle. Every rookie hoped for a Rabbi—an older, experienced cop to take them under their wing, to sponsor them behind the scenes with the higher-ups. If you wanted to advance in rank, you needed a Rabbi who could help pave the way. Mitchell couldn’t believe that Rebecca Frye had just taken her on. Frye had just made her hers. “Thank you, Sergeant. I hope I—”

  “I already said don’t thank me, Mitchell. Just get me a lead, will you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m on it.”

  *

  At the corner of Front and Arch, Rebecca spied the thin blond in the short leather skirt, shiny black faux-motorcycle jacket, and calf-high, stack-heeled boots lounging against a light pole. Her face betrayed nothing but ennui, but her eyes were alive and riveted on Mitchell’s face. Rebecca sighed and glanced sideways at Mitchell. The officer’s expression was just as nonchalant as that of the woman who watched her, but her gaze was hungry.

  “Christ.” Rebecca pulled her keys from her blazer pocket and stopped by her car. “Five minutes, Mitchell, and then get your ass back upstairs.”

  In a rare breach of protocol, Mitchell forgot to reply as she hurried over to Sandy. She barely heard the Vette revving in the background or the engine roar as Rebecca pulled away.

  “Hi,” Mitchell said quietly, reaching for Sandy’s hand. Their fingers entwined and she held their joined hands between their bodies, out of sight of casual observers.

  “You okay?” Sandy asked.

  “Yeah.” Mitchell grinned sheepishly. “I’m missing a few pieces of my anatomy, but, yeah.”

  “I’m sorry, Dell.” Sandy searched Mitchell’s eyes, looking for the real wounds. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Why? It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was.” Sandy looked down at their hands, then into Mitchell’s face again. “If I’d told you this morning when you asked me what I had to tell Frye, you wouldn’t have been caught by surprise.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mitchell laughed softly. “Then we could have had a big fight at your place, and you would have been pissed off, and I would have been really late. And Frye would still have chewed me out.”

  “Don’t blow smoke at me, Dell.” Sandy slid her hand from Mitchell’s and eased away. “You know it’s not the same thing.”

  “Look, I got hot upstairs and mouthed off to Watts. That’s what Frye was on me about.”

  Sandy looked away, remembering the pain in her girlfriend’s eyes when Frye had come down on her at the briefing. She remembered, too, Frye’s warning about what any kind of relationship with Sandy could do to Mitchell’s career. “You know, rookie, I can’t afford to cross Frye on this deal. If hanging around with you is going to screw it up, maybe we better coo—”

  “Don’t...” Mitchell’s voice broke and she swallowed hard. “Don’t do this to me, Sandy. Please.”

  Sandy had never imagined that someone else’s pain could hurt so much. She looked at Mitchell beseechingly. “Dell, I...I don’t know what to do.”

  “Just don’t leave me, okay?” Mitchell caught Sandy’s hand. “I need you.”

  “You’re nuts.” Sandy’s heart hurt, hearing the words. Hurt in a good way, like something inside of her that had lain cold and buried for longer than she could recall was coming to life. “I don’t want to need you.”

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to.” Mitchell smiled sadly. “I always knew you were the tough one.”

  Sandy brushed her fingers down Mitchell’s chest. “I said I didn’t want to...I didn’t say I don’t.”

  “I love you,” Mitchell whispered, raising Sandy’s hand to her lips. She closed her eyes and rubbed Sandy’s fingers against her cheek. “It feels so right to say that.”

  “Jeez, will you cool it.” Sandy jerked her hand away and looked around nervously. “What if Watts or someone sees us.”

  Mitchell shrugged. “Won’t matter now. I told Frye about us.”

  Sandy gaped. “You what?”

  “I told her I was crazy in love with you, and if she wanted to fire me, to go ahead.”

  “Oh, man.” Sandy hooked her fingers around Mitchell’s belt and dragged her to relative privacy under the overhang of the nearest building. Then she put her arms around Mitchell’s neck and kissed her until they were both breathless. Leaning into Mitchell’s body, she muttered, “I want to rip your clothes off and do...things to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Go. To. Work. Dell.” Sandy kissed the grinning young cop again and backed away a step. “Do you think you could...call me...later? Just so I know, you know, where you are?”

  “I thought maybe I’d see you tonight before I have to go to the Troc with Jasmine.” Mitchell put her hands in her pockets and tried to sound casual. “We could maybe have dinner. Say seven? I could come by your place and we’ll go out.”

  Sandy cocked her head quizzically. “Like a date?”

  “Yeah. Like a date.”

  “Even though we’re...you know, already...sleeping together?”

  Mitchell nodded. “I thought maybe that part could happen later.”

  “Dinner sounds good.” Sandy leaned in, kissed Mitchell quickly, and turned to walk away. “I’ll have to think about the other part.”

  Laughing, Mitchell watched until Sandy turned the corner, thinking how hot she looked in that leather skirt.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sloan savored the warm breath against the back of her neck and the soft hand caressing her abdomen. It was twilight and very quiet in the bedroom.
Michael lay pressed against her, one arm encircling Sloan’s waist. The soft swell of breasts against her back and the whisper of gentle lips on her skin were the most precious sensations she’d ever experienced. The terrible fear that had filled her chest for endless hours disintegrated like ice in the sunlight and flowed from her on a healing river of tears.

  “Sloan. Darling?” Michael tightened her hold, sensing the subtle shift in Sloan’s breathing. “Oh, no, my love, don’t cry.”

  “I’m okay,” Sloan rasped quickly, lifting a hand to brush away the moisture. “Just happy.”

  “Why the tears, then?”

  “It feels so good to have you back.”

  “It’s so good to be back.” Michael kissed the soft spot below Sloan’s ear. “Roll over so I can see you.”

  Sloan complied, keeping Michael’s hand pressed to her abdomen. She turned her head on the pillow to study her lover, who lay on her side, smiling tenderly. “How’s your head, baby?”

  “In this position it seems fine. Almost no headache at all.”

  “That’s good.” The relief that coursed through Sloan was swift and sharp.

  “Mmm. How are you?”

  “How should I be?” Sloan smiled. “I’ve spent the day in bed with you. I’m perfect.”

  “You,” Michael whispered, “are a very smooth operator, J.T. Sloan.” She kissed the tip of Sloan’s shoulder. “But I hardly think I’ve been a stimulating companion.”

  “Ah, you never know.” As always, the sight and scent of Michael so near had stirred Sloan’s passion, but it was the bright, pain-free light in her lover’s eyes that made her ache with gratitude and desire. “Have you been awake long?”

  “A while.” Michael freed her hand from beneath Sloan’s and slowly drew her fingers over Sloan’s breasts, flicking over her tight nipples before drifting down her abdomen. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “You’re waking me now,” Sloan murmured as Michael brushed her fingertips lightly through the soft hair nestled at the base of her abdomen. Desire turned to a desperate ache, and she shivered. “Michael...”

  Michael laughed quietly and traced one fingertip along the valley between belly and thigh.

  “Michael, we can’t,” Sloan warned, edging her hips away.

  “Don’t make me have to follow you, darling,” Michael cautioned. “I seem to do best if I stay in one place. You don’t want to give me a headache, do you?”

  Sloan sighed and grew still. “That’s blackmail.”

  “Is it?” Michael sounded surprised, and then she laughed again. “All right. So I’ve been found out.”

  “We should wait.”

  She lowered her mouth to Sloan’s shoulder again and bit softly, increasing the pressure until Sloan twitched and groaned. “Wait for what, darling?”

  “Until you’re better.”

  “I am better,” Michael insisted, placing her palm gently between Sloan’s thighs, her fingers resting against slick, ready flesh.

  “I won’t be able to come.” Sloan drew a sharp breath as a fingertip circled her clitoris. Her head swam with need. “I’ll be worried about you the whole time.”

  “Oh, this is serious.” Michael’s voice held a hint of playfulness. “All right. You are not required to come. You merely need to submit to my attentions.”

  “Michael,” Sloan said in exasperation, trying desperately to ignore the rush of heat into the engorged prominence beneath Michael’s hand. She thirsted for Michael’s touch, hungered to touch her. But the memory of fear rode hard on her heart, and she fought the desire. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I’ve missed you.” Michael’s tone was serious now, almost wistful. “Because I need to be connected to you. Sloan, I need you back, too.”

  Sloan’s heart turned over in her chest, and she was lost. Lost as she was each time the enormity of Michael’s love washed over her. “Oh God.” Carefully, she turned to face her lover, opening to her. “Anything you want. You know that.”

  “I love you.” Michael smiled tenderly. “I just want to touch you. I want feel your heart beat beneath my fingers. I want to feel your passion flow for me. I want to hear your breath break just for me—”

  “I think you could talk me into coming,” Sloan murmured, very gently caressing Michael’s face, her neck, her jaw.

  “I might like to try.” Michael kissed the fingers that trembled across her mouth while she kept up her slow steady motion between Sloan’s thighs. “But tonight I want you to come on my skin, in my hand.”

  “Promise me,” Sloan implored, her pupils dilating with the surge of arousal mounting beneath Michael’s teasing fingers, “that...ah, God...that...”

  “What, darling?” Michael watched Sloan’s lids slowly close as she pressed the length of her clitoris. “What?”

  Sloan forced her eyes open. “That you’ll stop if...” Her hips jerked and she gasped. “If it hurts...you...anywhere.”

  “Sloan,” Michael soothed, her own heart beating furiously. “Touching you could never hurt me.”

  “I want to touch you,” Sloan whispered.

  “Not this time.” Michael slipped lower, moaning softly at the rush of liquid heat that rose to meet her, soaking her hand.

  “Michael?” Sloan asked, suddenly anxious.

  “I’m all right,” Michael soothed. “Relax, darling. Let me have you.”

  “I love you.”

  Michael smiled. “Then let me watch you come.”

  Sloan rested her forehead on Michael’s, her hand gently cupping Michael’s breast. She kept her eyes on her lover, but she couldn’t see. Love, desire, and need colluded to make her blind. Michael’s presence, alive and beautiful and loving, was more exciting even than her exquisite touch. It was too much for Sloan to hold.

  “I’m...going to...come soon.”

  “Yes,” Michael murmured thickly. “I can feel it. You’re so full, so hard now. So beautiful.”

  Sloan’s hips lifted, and her legs grew rigid in the tangled sheets. A small cry of surprise and wonder escaped her. “Ohh...there...”

  “Yes. Yes, my love.” Michael held as still as she could, letting Sloan move in her palm, drawing the orgasm out along the surface of her skin. As the pleasure peaked, she massaged the spot inside that she knew would push Sloan to come again, a deep and clenching climax that forced Sloan to arch back, stomach jerking with the pounding pulsations. “Yes, that’s right...that’s right, darling. Come for me.”

  Gasping, Sloan slumped down to the bed, her limbs boneless, her chest heaving. “I’m...out of practice.”

  Michael laughed, a husky sensuous purr of satisfaction. “I’ll have to rectify that.”

  Sloan grasped the hand that moved indolently over skin so sensitive she quivered at the slightest touch. “Not all in one night or I’ll never survive.”

  “Mmm, but you’re so much fun to play with.”

  “Are you all right?” Sloan asked worriedly as her senses returned from the stratosphere and she could think again. “Headache? Stomach okay?”

  “I’m fine. Everything is working just fine.”

  Sloan raised a dark brow. “Everything?”

  Michael smiled softly, drawing a finger lightly up the inside of her thigh, then touching the moist tip to Sloan’s lips. “Everything.”

  “God, baby.” Sloan felt as if she’d been fisted in the gut. Hoarsely, she moaned, “Kill me, why don’t you?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” Michael moved closer, carefully, and rested her head on Sloan’s shoulder, drawing lazy circles on Sloan’s belly with her fingers. “What are your plans for tonight?”

  Sloan nuzzled Michael’s ear, then lightly bit the lobe. “I should head downstairs. I left things up in the air this morning.”

  “Mmm. When Rebecca sent you to bed.”

  “Yeah.” Sloan was still pissed about that, but she had to admit that she felt better than she had since the accident. Memories of that night ambushed her, and she closed her ey
es, hoping to chase away the nightmare images. “I love you.”

  Michael felt the sudden tension in the muscles beneath her cheek. “I’m all right.”

  “I know.”

  “Then believe it.”

  Sloan kissed her temple. “I’ll try.”

  “Good.” Michael waited until Sloan relaxed again. “Promise me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “When you find out who caused the accident, let Rebecca handle it.”

  Sloan went rigid. “Has someone said—”

  “No one had to.” Michael lifted her chin and kissed the undersurface of Sloan’s jaw. “I know you.”

  “Michael—”

  “Promise.”

  There was nothing she could do. There was nothing in her, nothing she was, that Michael didn’t own. “I promise.”

  “Thank you.” Michael kissed her again. “I know what that took.”

  “You don’t know how much I love you.”

  Softly, Michael smiled. “Oh yes, darling, I do. You always make me know.”

  “Will you sleep?”

  “If you stay with me a little while longer.” Michael closed her eyes, content in knowing that they were both healing now.

  “Yes.” Sloan drifted, stroking Michael’s arm, and felt the pain slip away on the rhythmic tide of Michael’s peaceful breathing.

  *

  Catherine stretched and sighed. “God, I love sex in the afternoon.”

  “It’s not afternoon,” Rebecca pointed out, leaning up on an elbow and indulging herself in looking at Catherine nude.

  “It was when we started.” Catherine turned her head and caught the gleam in Rebecca’s eye. “What?”

  “You’re incredible.”

  Catherine smiled. “I’m not sure I know how to take that, but thank you.” She turned, running her hand along Rebecca’s side and over her hip. “You’re pretty damn good yourself.”

  “Wonder what Joyce thinks.” Rebecca grinned.

  “About how good you are? Nothing, I hope.”

  “About where you disappeared to.”

  “I hardly disappeared,” Catherine politely demurred. “I merely took some...personal time...before my evening sessions.”