Justice Served

by Radclyffe

  “Oh yeah, he’s back. And how.” Rebecca blew out an exasperated breath. “No Clark, no team.”

  “Ah, so no choice.” Catherine squeezed Rebecca’s thigh sympathetically. “Sorry. But you’ll find a way to make it work.”

  “Probably, but I don’t know how I’m going to convince Sloan of it.”

  JT Sloan was the civilian computer consultant and a past DOJ agent herself whose history with the government was still shrouded in mystery. Whatever the unhappy association had been, Sloan’s animosity toward the agency had grown exponentially when her lover Michael had been nearly killed in an assassination attempt. Sloan had been the intended target and, nearly wild with grief and guilt, she had attributed the tragedy in large part to Clark’s withholding of critical information from the team.

  “Sloan won’t be a problem if you present it to her correctly.”

  Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Your suggestion, Doctor?”

  Catherine smiled softly. “Darling, what is the most important thing in the world to Sloan?”

  “Michael,” Rebecca answered immediately.

  “Yes. Sloan wants to find the person who hurt her lover, but even more than that, she doesn’t want to hurt Michael any further. You and I both know that the safest place for Sloan is on your team, not running around by herself. And Michael knows it too.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair,” Rebecca said, frowning. “Using Michael against Sloan.”

  “I love how honorable you are, but there’s nothing dishonorable about this.” Catherine leaned forward to brush her mouth over Rebecca’s. “You’re not using Michael. You’re just offering Sloan the solution that’s best for everyone.”

  Rebecca sighed. “You’re right, but I’ll bet she doesn’t see it that way.”

  “She will. Just give her a little time.” Catherine rested her cheek against Rebecca’s shoulder and wrapped an arm loosely around her waist. “So it will be the whole team together again. Sloan and Jason on the computers, you and Watts on the street, and Dellon? What about Dellon and Sandy?”

  “It depends on how quickly Mitchell recovers and if there are any problems as a result of the stabbing. You know she’s going to need to be cleared by psych now.”

  Catherine, a civilian psychiatric consultant to the police department, stiffened nearly imperceptibly. “Yes. It’s departmental policy after an officer is injured in the line of duty.”

  “So that could really hang her up—the paperwork and everything.”

  “You’re not suggesting that I facilitate getting her back to work prematurely, are you?” Catherine’s tone was still mild, but the question was edged in steel.

  “I know better than that,” Rebecca answered evenly. She kissed Catherine’s forehead. “I want her to see you. I told you that before she was even injured. She’s got some problems with her temper, and it’s going to get her into trouble. This might be the perfect opportunity to get that all sorted out.”

  Catherine tilted her head and regarded her lover intently. “I do believe you’re becoming a fan of psychotherapy.”

  Rebecca blinked and then laughed. “Well, maybe a fan of a certain psychiatrist.”

  “Oh, aren’t you clever,” Catherine murmured as she kissed Rebecca’s neck. Tightening her grip on Rebecca’s waist, she moved her lips to the corner of her lover’s mouth before remembering where they were and what time it was. With a faint groan, she drew away. “Now I remember why it’s a bad idea for you to visit me in the middle of the day.”

  “Seems like a really good idea to me.” Rebecca’s voice was husky and low.

  Catherine moved back even further. “You might be able to recover from a quickie and head right back to work, but I don’t think that I can.”

  Rebecca grinned. “Wanna try?”

  Laughing, Catherine rose and held out her hand to her lover. “Tell Dellon I said hello and that I’ll be over later to see her.”

  Catherine was the only one who called Mitchell by her full name, and it always gave Rebecca pause. It was a little disquieting, knowing that her lover had a very private and singular relationship with one of her officers—a young officer whom she had taken under her wing and whose career she intended to guide. She knew that Catherine would never discuss the details of her therapeutic relationships with anyone, but nevertheless, now and then, she wondered just what Mitchell said to Catherine in the quiet intimacy of their hours together.

  “I will,” Rebecca said, before adding, “Mitchell’s being promoted. She’s going to get her detective’s shield.”

  “Rebecca, that’s wonderful! Did you have something to do with that?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Absolutely not. Mitchell earned it, on the last operation and on this one. She’s been an important part of the team, and she handled herself well under difficult circumstances.”

  “I’m so happy for her. It will mean so much to her.”

  “Yeah.” Rebecca hesitated. “So am I.”

  “What?” Catherine asked, not following.

  “Being promoted. Detective lieutenant.”

  Catherine stared. “And you’re just telling me now? Rebecca! And you said yes?”

  The possibility of Rebecca being promoted had been something the two of them had discussed before. Catherine had been in favor of it, secretly hoping that a more supervisory position would keep Rebecca off the streets and further away from potential harm—precisely why Rebecca had resisted.

  Rebecca nodded.

  “What part of this are you not telling me?”

  “I more or less had to accept in order to keep the team together. And in exchange, I get to head the High Profile Crimes Unit within the division.”

  “I see,” Catherine said slowly. “So in this case, a promotion doesn’t mean a desk job.”

  Silently, Rebecca shook her head, watching Catherine intently.

  Catherine walked behind her desk, sat down, and folded her hands in the middle of her blotter. After a few more seconds of silence, she said, “Congratulations. I’m very proud of you. And I’m glad you aren’t being forced into a position where you would be unhappy.”

  “But you’re not happy, are you?” Rebecca asked quietly.

  “I am happy. I’m happy for you.” Catherine lifted one hand and smiled. “I just need to rearrange my thinking a little bit.”

  Rebecca glanced at her watch. “We only have a few more minutes.”

  “That’s my line, darling.”

  “Catherine,” Rebecca said intently, moving around the side of the desk and leaning down over her lover. “I love you.”

  Catherine reached up and stroked Rebecca’s cheek. “Go to work, Detective. Everything is all right.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Of one thing, Catherine was certain. She needed Rebecca more than she needed air, and Rebecca needed a clear mind to do the work she did safely. Whatever misgivings or disappointments she might have, she would not burden Rebecca with them now. “Of course I’m sure. I love you. Call me later?”

  Rebecca kissed her swiftly. “You bet. I’ll even bring home dinner.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Catherine called as the door closed behind her lover. Then she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She too needed to be focused for the work she did, and she resolutely forced down the nagging kernel of fear beginning to grow in her depths.

  Chapter Two

  Rebecca discovered Detective William Watts waiting for her in the crowded main lobby of University Hospital. He slouched against the admissions counter chatting up the receptionist, who was laughing at something he had said. Rebecca mentally shook her head, wondering what it was about the large, often crude cop that some people found so appealing. She knew that Catherine, whose judgment she considered impeccable, liked him. When the out-of-shape, interminably shabby fifty-year-old detective had been assigned to work with her after the murder of her longtime partner, Jeff Cruz, she had resisted vehemently. Jeff had been her friend as well as her pa
rtner, and no one could take his place on or off the job. Plus, Watts had a reputation for being a slacker.

  Although seemingly totally engrossed in his conversation, Watts greeted Rebecca without looking away from the young woman on the other side of the desk. “How’s it hangin’, Loo?”

  Rebecca gave a start. How’s it hanging. Jeff’s greeting.

  “Better than yours,” Rebecca heard herself say, just as she had countless times to Jeff.

  “Yeah,” he sighed as he straightened, then swiveled to face her. “I don’t doubt it.”

  She didn’t reply but merely continued wending through the crowd toward the elevators at the rear of the lobby, Watts trailing behind. She’d been paired with Watts almost as long as she had known Catherine, and during those tumultuous months she’d learned that her initial impression of the detective had been wrong. Beneath his façade of insouciance, Watts was a sharp and thorough cop. He was also trustworthy and solid under pressure. Without her knowing it, and certainly without her intending it, he had become her partner. And she still wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  “How long do you figure until we can get the team up and running again?” he asked as they stepped into the elevator.

  “Today.”

  He grunted but said nothing.

  Rebecca waited until they reached the fifth floor and exited, out of earshot of the other passengers, before elaborating. “As soon as we see how Mitchell is doing, we’ll head over to Sloan’s place and have a strategy meeting.”

  “She’s going to be pissed about Avery.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What if she won’t play ball?”

  “She will.” Rebecca pushed open the door to room 503 and stopped so abruptly that Watts nearly climbed up her back. “Christ. I don’t see this.”

  “What?” Watts snapped, craning his neck to peer around Rebecca. “Whoa. I’m seein’ it. Hey, move over so I can get a better look.”

  Sandy lay in Mitchell’s hospital bed curled against the officer’s right side, her head on Mitchell’s shoulder and a hand on Mitchell’s stomach under her police-issue T-shirt. Mitchell, the sheets askew and the tops of her lean thighs bare below white briefs, had apparently been dozing with her cheek pillowed against the top of Sandy’s head. Now she blinked sluggishly in Rebecca’s direction. “Hey.”

  “We’ll be back in a minute,” Rebecca grated. “Get yourselves together.” Then she backed from the room, forcing Watts out into the hall as the door swung shut.

  He emitted a long, low whistle. “Looks like the kid is taking her undercover gig as that little hooker’s boyfriend to heart—can’t say as the work looks too hard to take, either. Man, what I wouldn’t give for that assign—”

  “Let it go, Watts.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, I always say never pass up a tasty morsel if it’s free.”

  “Sandy’s my CI,” Rebecca said with an edge to her voice, “and she put her life on the line the other night. Show her some respect.”

  “Yeah, she did,” Watts said with a sigh. He hunched his back, hooked his thumbs over his belt, and rocked on his heels while contemplating the closed door. “I’m just a little peeved that the only ones getting any action around here are the women.” In a barely audible undertone he muttered, “With the other women.”

  “Pay attention,” Rebecca said with a perfectly straight face. “Maybe you’ll learn something. You never know, even you might get lucky. “

  Watts stood flat-footed, his mouth open, staring at his lieutenant’s back as she rapped once sharply on the door and then shouldered through. It was the first time she’d ever joked with him about anything remotely personal. With a happy little laugh, he hustled after her.

  *

  “So the doc says I can go home today,” Mitchell announced, propped up in bed now with the sheet pulled to her waist and Sandy perched on a chair within arm’s reach.

  “That’s great.” Rebecca leaned both hands on the footboard of the bed, a frown forming between her eyes. “Where are you going?”

  “Uh, Sandy’s, we figure. I’m supposed to have a place in the same building…I mean, I do have a place there.” Mitchell thought of the tiny studio apartment she’d rented down the hall from Sandy’s. It was empty save for a bare mattress in the middle of the living-room floor, and she’d never slept there. She’d just assumed that staying with Sandy meant in Sandy’s apartment. Realizing that maybe she’d jumped the gun, Mitchell cut her eyes to her girlfriend.

  “I already told the super that Dell and I kinda have a thing going,” Sandy said with a dismissive shrug. “And we kinda made it a point to be seen around the neighborhood this week. It will look natural for her to stay with me.”

  “It’s important that people not know about your injury,” Rebecca pointed out. “It’s not likely that anyone will associate you with what happened with the sting, but we don’t want to take any chances.”

  Mitchell’s eyes brightened and excitement rippled in her voice. “So I’m going back undercover?”

  “Let’s say it’s a possibility,” Rebecca equivocated. She wasn’t certain how soon Mitchell would be streetworthy, and she had a feeling that the investigation was going to move quickly. The data Sloan and her associate Jason McBride had gathered on the Internet sex video subscribers had led to dozens of arrests in the last two days. The people behind the prostitution and pornography operations had to be getting nervous.

  “You can’t even walk yet, Dell,” Sandy objected quietly.

  “Just a couple of days,” Mitchell said, her eyes riveted to Rebecca. “Dr. Torveau said I’d be good in just a few days.”

  Sandy jerked upright in her chair, a flush rising in her cheeks. “She did not—”

  Rebecca held up a hand to forestall the storm. “There’s no point arguing about it now. When I have the plan mapped out, I’ll let you know if you have a part.” The truth was she needed both Mitchell and Sandy on the streets, but she wasn’t about to send a young, inexperienced officer—who was also less than 100% emotionally and physically fit—into danger. “There’ll be some paperwork to take care of before you can get back to duty, Mitchell.”

  Mitchell dropped her head back against the pillow with a groan. “Oh man. Not the shrink again.” Then, as if realizing what she had said and to whom, she hastily added, “I mean, Dr. Rawling’s terrific, but—”

  “It’s SOP, Detective,” Rebecca said, “so just suck it up and get it done.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but until—” Mitchell faltered, her jaw working but no sounds emitting. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry? What did you say?”

  Rebecca grinned and Watts guffawed.

  “Congratulations, Mitchell,” Rebecca pronounced. “You’ve earned yourself a provisional promotion. Detective One.”

  “For real?” Without thinking, Mitchell held out her hand to Sandy, who took it while edging closer to the bed.

  “You’ll need to take the exam next time it’s offered to satisfy all the requirements, but yes, it’s for real.” Rebecca didn’t try to hide her pleasure. “Well done.”

  “Yeah, nice going, kid,” Watts chimed in. He gestured toward Rebecca with his chin. “The Loo here deserves some congrats too.”

  “Lieutenant?” Mitchell echoed, before grinning broadly. “That’s great!”

  “Thanks,” Rebecca said quietly.

  “And the team is staying together?” Mitchell asked anxiously. Being laid up made her worry that the investigation would move on without her—something she fervently did not want to happen.

  “Let’s say we’re restructuring.” Rebecca went on to describe the High Profile Crimes Unit in general terms, leaving out the political machinations behind the scenes. “So, Detective, bottom line is that you’re on medical leave until cleared by both Dr. Torveau and the department. Then we’ll talk about assignments.”

  “Oh man,” Mitchell whispered. “Detective.” Her eyes tracked from Rebecca to Watts and then to Sandy. “What do you think?”


  Sandy’s expression was unreadable as she quietly said, “I think you’ll be a bigger pain in the ass now than ever.”

  Mitchell grinned. “Yeah. Most likely.”

  *

  The room was very quiet after Rebecca and Watts left. Sandy still sat beside the bed. Her small hand, the nails tipped in a red so dark it might have been blood, rested motionless on the white sheets next to Mitchell’s thigh. Mitchell hooked her index finger around Sandy’s thumb and shook gently. “You mad?”

  “No. Why?”

  Mitchell eased the rest of her fingers over the top of Sandy’s hand and closed them. Sandy did not return the pressure. “Before they showed up, you seemed pretty warm and cuddly. It’s kinda cold in here now.”

  “You know, Dell, I have to do sex pretty much twenty-four hours a day. Sometimes I’m just not in the mood, okay?”

  A muscle in Mitchell’s jaw twitched, but she kept her hand on Sandy’s. “That’s a fucked-up thing to say to me.”

  Sandy slowly turned her head and met Mitchell’s eyes. The sharp retort died on her tongue when she saw the undisguised pain in the deep blue eyes. She closed her own and took a long, wavering breath before opening them again. “I’m sorry.”

  “Okay,” Mitchell said quietly.

  “I want you all the time,” Sandy murmured.

  “Same here.” Mitchell lifted Sandy’s hand to her cheek and rubbed it against her skin. “You pissed off about the promotion?”

  Sandy shook her head.

  “About me staying with you?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, honey. Just tell me.”

  The silence dragged on so long that Mitchell couldn’t stand it. “Sandy?”

  “It’s the undercover thing.”

  Mitchell’s brows furrowed. “I thought you liked Mitch,” she said, referring to her undercover persona. She bit the tip of Sandy’s index finger playfully. “He likes you.”

  “It’s not Mitch. You know what Mitch does to me.” Sandy swiveled on her chair, gripping Mitchell’s hand hard. “In case you haven’t noticed, since all this started, somebody popped Frye’s partner in broad daylight, and then somebody else tried to run down Sloan and almost took out her girlfriend instead. You got knifed two days ago and just about bled to death. These guys aren’t fucking fooling. You go poking around down at the clubs, and the next time that blade is going to be in your chest.”