Justice in the Shadows

by Radclyffe

  “Yeah,” Watts agreed. “And we still need to plug our leak.” He glanced at Rebecca. “In a manner of speaking.”

  She just nodded. “Sloan? Anything on that?”

  Sloan hesitated then blew out a breath. “I’ve got two very good possibles as the identity of our traitor.” She stood, too restless to sit. “Margaret Campbell, age twenty-nine, joined the DA’s office three years ago. Single, one child.”

  “Divorced?” Watts asked, suddenly serious.

  Sloan shook her head. “Never married.”

  “A woman,” Rebecca mused. “In the middle of a porn operation?”

  “She doesn’t have to be part of the porn network itself,” Sloan pointed out. “She just needs to be tied to whoever is behind the pornography racket.”

  “And is she?”

  “Counselor Campbell used to dance in a strip club in Manhattan. Since it was during the time she was a law student at NYU, I’d guess she did it to pay the rent.”

  “How the hell did you find that?” Watts blurted.

  Sloan lifted a shoulder. “There are no secrets, not if you know where to look. She didn’t come from money, but she had no school debts—or very few. The tuition money didn’t come from scholarships, either. How do women make money that doesn’t show up on their tax returns or credit reports?”

  “So,” Watts said, “you figure what...she got into trouble while working the wrong side of the street and owes someone now?”

  “Could be.” Sloan leaned against the counter and jammed her hands into her pockets. “Zamora or someone in his organization could be squeezing her.”

  “Or she could have discovered that serving justice doesn’t pay very well,” Watts remarked.

  “Money’s the oldest motive in the world.”

  “Anything else that doesn’t look kosher?” Rebecca asked. She’d worked with Campbell a few times. Tough and competent. But she didn’t know her. And she’d learned not to trust anyone she didn’t know. “Like big cases she lost that might have been mobbed up?”

  “None that I found, but I haven’t exhausted the search.”

  “And the other one?” Rebecca asked.

  “The other ADA—George Beecher.” Sloan rolled her shoulders and swallowed the rest of her champagne. “On the surface, he doesn’t fit our profile at all. Thirty-two, been with the DA’s office four years. Ivy Leaguer, comes from old money, owns a condo on the waterfront—which he can afford.”

  “So why do you like him?”

  “When he was twenty, Counselor Beecher was charged with raping a co-ed at a fraternity party.”

  Watts straightened abruptly. “Charged—but no conviction?”

  “Charges dropped. Could be the victim recanted, could be she was paid off, could be she just didn’t want to go through the indignity and humiliation of a trial.” Sloan’s features hardened. “Justice is not necessarily kind.”

  “Then his record should have been expunged,” Watts pointed out. “You’re fucking scary.”

  Sloan just smiled. “Like I said—he’s clean on the surface, but that little bit of history puts him on my list.”

  “So what now?” Rebecca persisted.

  Sloan looked at Jason. “Time estimate?”

  “Depends on if we get lucky. A few days, could be a few weeks.”

  She turned to Rebecca. “We have to...access...the home and work computers of both subjects, look at phone records—including mobiles—dig out every bit of electronic data available, and do it without alerting whoever launched that worm in the first place.”

  “And we’d have to tail them,” Watts added. “You know there have to be face-to-faces at some point.”

  Rebecca rose and walked to the windows, surveying the familiar view. She was surprised at how hard it was to say what she had to say next. The group behind her was silent. At last she turned.

  “I don’t see how I can sell it,” she said, her face devoid of expression. “We’ve got suspicions and conjecture and gut feelings, but no hard evidence. And our bust tonight has made my captain very happy because we salvaged something out of that federal FUBAR. He’s made the brass happy because the numbers look great. City Hall is happy because we made the national news. Everybody’s happy—end of story.”

  “But the case isn’t finished,” Watts complained.

  “That’s the way we see it—but to the powers that be, it’s all wrapped up with a nice little bow.”

  “Well,” Sloan said calmly. “We all know how politics work. It was a pleasure working with you, Sergeant. You, too, Watts.”

  Rebecca regarded Sloan thoughtfully, then said to Jason and Watts, “You want to give us a minute?”

  Watts picked up the champagne bottle and gestured to Jason. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.” He cocked his head as Jason rose. “Although I kinda wish you were wearing that little red number.”

  Jason’s perfect eyebrow arched. “And you think Sloan is scary?”

  As the two men left, Rebecca walked over to Sloan. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

  “Would you, if it had been Catherine?”

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a cop.”

  “Your point is?”

  “God damn it, Sloan—”

  “I promised Michael that if I found the person responsible, I’d tell you.” Sloan held Rebecca’s frustrated gaze. “I don’t lie to her.”

  “You’ll be putting yourself and Jason and probably Michael and Sarah at risk—”

  “I can take care of them.”

  “Not alone.”

  Sloan’s jaw tightened. “I appreciate your concern.”

  “Don’t go rogue on this, Sloan.”

  “Then figure out how to sell it to your captain, Sergeant.”

  *

  “I thought I heard you come in,” Catherine said, sitting on the arm of the overstuffed chair and threading her arm around Rebecca’s shoulders.

  “Sorry. I thought you were asleep.”

  “Are you coming to bed? It’s late, darling, and you’re exhausted.”

  Rebecca leaned her head against Catherine’s shoulder, rubbing her cheek over the soft silk of the ivory camisole. “I’m still keyed up, I guess.”

  “You looked very calm on TV,” Catherine murmured, rubbing the tense muscles at the base of her lover’s neck. “In fact, you looked fabulous.”

  “Oh, I bet.” Rebecca laughed at the suggestive tone in Catherine’s voice and some of the knots in her stomach began to unwind. “I had to borrow a jacket from one of the guys.”

  “I didn’t think that was your usual style, but I’m sure no one else noticed.”

  “God, you feel good.” Rebecca closed her eyes, lulled by the gentle hands and the sweet seductive fragrance of Catherine’s skin.

  “So do you.” Catherine reminded herself that Rebecca had been working for nearly two days straight, but her body didn’t seem to be listening. She slid her fingers beneath the collar of her lover’s shirt and stroked the skin above her left breast.

  Rebecca groaned, feeling the familiar ache settle between her thighs. “I need to shower.”

  “And then you need to sleep.” Catherine’s voice was breathy with desire.

  “I will,” Rebecca promised, pulling Catherine into her lap. As she kissed her, she slipped her fingers beneath the sheer material and cupped Catherine’s breast. She moaned in appreciation as the nipple hardened instantly against her palm. “Later.”

  Catherine wrapped her arms around Rebecca’s shoulders and fisted the hair at the back of her neck, losing herself in the pleasure of Rebecca’s mouth. When she felt Rebecca’s hand drift lower, across her abdomen and under the edge of her silk pajama bottoms, she stopped the questing hand with her own. Gasping, she warned, “If you start, you’ll have to finish. You know I can’t hold back when you do that.”

  “I was planning on finishing,” Rebecca growled, brushing her fingers over the inside of Catherine’s thigh. “Ah God, you’re wet.”
<
br />   “Then go shower and come to bed,” Catherine said urgently. She pushed away and stood on trembling legs. “Because I want you to finish with me.”

  Rebecca’s eyes darkened, and she rose quickly, all thoughts of fatigue, of frustration, of powerlessness gone. Now, there was only Catherine.

  Chapter Thirty

  Rebecca. Rebecca, darling, it’s time to get up.”

  Groaning, Rebecca turned onto her back, opened her eyes, and blinked against the light, which seemed awfully bright even though the lamp on the dresser was turned down low. It took her a second to focus on Catherine, who stood beside the bed in a two-piece deep plum-colored silk suit, the jacket of which was buttoned over apparently very little.

  “Nice.”

  “What?” Catherine asked, perplexed.

  “The jacket.”

  Catherine glanced down and blushed, noting where Rebecca’s gaze was fixed. “This is my going-to-work suit. It is not supposed to be seductive.”

  “Sorry, but it is.”

  “To you, maybe,” Catherine commented with a laugh.

  “Not maybe—definitely. Any chance you could come back to bed?”

  “None.” Catherine leaned over and kissed her, then stepped back out of touching range. She didn’t trust her lover, or herself. “Besides, I thought I’d taken care of that particular urge of yours not too long ago.”

  “You did, spectacularly, but that was last night. Today’s a brand-new day.” Rebecca sat up against the pillows, carelessly unconcerned about her nakedness as the sheet fell away. “What time is it?”

  “Seven.” Catherine’s eyes flickered over the scar so very close to Rebecca’s heart and her own heart missed a beat. God, it was so close.

  “How come you’re up and I’m not?”

  Catherine forced a smile. “Because I need to leave for work, and you need to sleep.”

  Rebecca patted a spot on the bed next to her. “Stay for just a minute.”

  “Mmm—okay, but you’re not allowed to touch.” Catherine sat on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs, her skirt sliding to mid-thigh.

  “I’m not very good with authority figures.” To prove her point, Rebecca leaned forward and kissed the cleft between Catherine’s breasts. “Or...” Rebecca ran her finger under the hem of the skirt, “orders.”

  Deftly, Catherine captured Rebecca’s fingers and moved them. “I’m in doctor mode and therefore immune to your charms.”

  “So this is what happens to romance when we live together, huh?” Rebecca’s eyes were dancing.

  “We’re not living together,” Catherine said softly, her eyes searching Rebecca’s face.

  “I seem to remember you asking.” Rebecca’s blue eyes were serious now.

  “I did. Yes.” Catherine traced her fingers along Rebecca’s jaw and down her neck. “And I sincerely doubt that seeing you like this more often would dampen my ardor.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Rebecca’s voice was husky.

  “I can assure you, my love, that fifty years from now I’ll look at you and want you just as much as ever.”

  “Those seem like pretty good terms to me.”

  “I want you to be sure.” Catherine’s voice was gentle, her smile wistful.

  Rebecca leaned forward, her hands framing Catherine’s face, her thumbs brushing the elegant cheeks. Her mouth was very near to Catherine’s when she murmured, “I’m certain that I could never love anyone more and that I will never stop loving you.”

  Catherine’s lips curved into a smile against Rebecca’s mouth. “Those seem like the perfect terms to me.”

  *

  “Well, well, well,” Captain Henry said with undisguised delight. “The detective of the hour. Sit down, Sergeant...or should I be the first to say, Lieutenant?”

  “Sir?” Rebecca sat in the familiar chair and crossed her trousered legs.

  “You’re not going to be able to refuse the promotion this time, Frye. I’ve already had a call from the chief who said he speaks for the commissioner, and they both want your promotion made effective immediately. The department needs good officers, and you’ve earned this.”

  The department wants to be able to point to a few women of rank, come election time. Rebecca chose her words carefully. She wasn’t entirely certain she wanted a promotion, especially not if it meant she’d be riding a desk at One Police Plaza. But perhaps she could play this to her advantage.

  “I’m a street cop, Captain. I don’t want to sit in an office and push paper.” She held his gaze. “There’s still work to be done on the case my team’s been investigating.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Organized Crime is going to work with the DA firming up the cases against the distributors. They’ve all lawyered up at this point anyhow, so there’s nothing that you need to do there. The paperwork on the individual arrests can be handled by some of the detective-ones and our clerks.” He leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk. “Look, Sergeant, I’m expected to deliver you to the promotion ceremony in person. The press department is ready to announce it. Don’t jam me up on this.”

  “I wasn’t talking about tying up last night’s loose ends, sir. I was talking about the other aspects of my investigation which are still open—including the source of an inside leak that fingered Sloan and maybe Jimmy and Jeff.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Those are serious allegations, Sergeant.”

  “Yes sir, I’m aware of that.” She played her final card. “You might be interested to know, Captain, that whoever’s been pilfering files and leaking the details of confidential police operations made things look like you were the source of the leak.”

  His mahogany features darkened dangerously, and he said stiffly, “How?”

  “Computer intrusions that track back to you. It’s complicated—I’d need Sloan to lay it all out for you.”

  “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

  “Because until very recently, I didn’t have enough facts to bring them to you.” She didn’t see any reason that he needed to know everything that she knew, or when she knew it. Or that for a while she had seriously suspected that he was guilty.

  “And now you do?”

  “Nearly the whole package. With the right team, I can give you a direct link to Zamora—the same person who’s responsible for setting up Jimmy Hogan and Jeff Cruz. We’re close, Captain.” And while I’m at it, I’m going to find out where Zamora’s people are getting the girls to keep his sex businesses running.

  He studied her contemplatively, and Rebecca knew that he was figuring his angles just as she was working hers. She wondered what the price would be.

  “Let’s say, hypothetically, I approved a special high-profile case unit within our division, with you as the lead, reporting directly to me. You’d accept the promotion?” He tried to read her response, but saw only the cool blue gaze. The chief had already floated the idea to him, but Frye didn’t need to know that. Or why the offer was on the table.

  “I get to choose my own people, and,” she added quickly, “I want official department recognition for my civilian consultants.” If I can talk Sloan into doing anything official.

  He leaned back, a shadow of a smile on his face. “We might be able to work something out. Of course, there might be a few conditions.”

  She waited, because there always were—and it was his move.

  Henry picked up the phone and punched an extension. “Send him in.”

  Rebecca turned her head at the sound of the door opening behind her and met the opaque gaze of Avery Clark, the Department of Justice agent who had headed the defunct joint task force and who had usurped the evidence and the arrest that belonged to her team.

  “Congratulations, Detective Sergeant. Very nice job,” Clark said with apparent sincerity.

  Rebecca inclined her head slightly.

  “I’d like to know how you identified the suspects so quickly. Commendable.”

  “You can read my report for the details.”


  “I’m sure it will be quite illuminating.” He took the seat next to hers and nodded to Captain Henry.

  “Agent Clark contacted me last night about the scope of your investigation, Sergeant. He said he was impressed.”

  “I’m flattered,” Rebecca said sarcastically.

  Clark turned in his seat to face Rebecca. “You made a dent in Zamora’s organization, and I’m willing to bet that you’ve got more leads cooking. We’re very interested at Justice in what you might be pursuing.”

  “I don’t work for the Justice Department.”

  “I lost a man, too, Sergeant.”

  “And if my team had been allowed to work the evidence from the last arrest, we’d be closer to knowing who’s responsible.”

  “But you’re still close, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

  Rebecca said nothing.

  “I’m not asking for joint jurisdiction,” Clark continued. “I’m asking for cooperation and a sharing of intelligence.”

  Rebecca grimaced. “I think you’ve already proven that sharing is not high on your list.”

  “Sergeant,” Henry said blandly, “I think that the chief would look favorably upon the development of a major crime unit that interfaced with a federal unit. It’s got selling power.”

  So that’s the deal breaker. If I want to keep the team together, I’m going to have to play ball with the feds. A muscle in Rebecca’s jaw tightened. “Watts gets promoted to detective third grade, and Mitchell gets her shield.”

  “I think we can manage that, Lieutenant.”

  Clark stood, as did Rebecca. He held out his hand. “Let me be the first to congratulate you, Lieutenant. I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon.”

  “I’m sure.” She shook the offered hand and turned to Henry. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Lieutenant.” He watched her walk out, pleased with the morning’s work.

  *

  When Rebecca stepped into the squad room, Watts jumped up and hurried over to her.

  “Well? What’s the word?”

  “Not here, Watts. Let’s take a ride.” She kept walking, waving her thanks to the frequent calls of congratulations from other detectives.