Justice Served

by Radclyffe

  “Working on that, Captain,” Sloan said jauntily.

  Henry just grunted.

  “Since the moment we infiltrated the Internet pornography ring,” Rebecca said, “the organization has to have known we might get wind of the bigger picture. We can’t chance waiting until they move this arm of their operation somewhere else. I recommend that we go now.”

  “I concur,” Henry said. “I’ll make the calls.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Clark said. “Since we have jurisdiction, we’ll handle that.”

  “You might have jurisdiction,” Rebecca countered smoothly, in a surprisingly calm tone, “over some aspects of the investigation, but you won’t have anything at all if we don’t find the stash house.”

  “Meaning?”

  Rebecca lifted her shoulder. “Meaning, it’s our show. If you want your team to pick up the dockworkers and the inside men at Port Authority, be my guest.” She turned to Henry. “But it’s my people undercover, and I’m the one who will be leading the takedown team.”

  “Seems fair,” Henry said. “Lieutenant, why don’t you and Clark coordinate the details of the joint strikes. We’ll have an assault team standing by in case you think it’s necessary. You’ll lead the assault on the stash house, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rebecca said, careful to keep the triumph from her voice. She waited until Henry left to make his calls and secure the necessary warrants before turning her attention fully to Clark. “Just how much of this did you already know when you put Jimmy Hogan undercover?”

  “We didn’t know anything,” Clark replied. “We’ve known for some time that trafficking in girls from Eastern Europe and Mexico was picking up, but we didn’t know their points of entry and, more importantly, their destinations once they were over the border. Now and then we’d get intelligence from girls who’d been arrested or who’d run away from abusive owners, and we’d get some hint of how big this had become. Hogan never had a chance to get close.”

  “That you know of.”

  Clark nodded. “I suspect he was closer than he realized, and that’s what led them to take him out.”

  “If you’d told us,” Sloan said through clenched jaws, “we might have found the connections a lot faster.”

  “If I’d known where to point you,” he rejoined, “I would have. Only a team like yours has the street intelligence to make this kind the case.”

  “Yeah,” Watts grunted. “And then when we do, you can take the credit.”

  Clark smiled. “I don’t want the credit, Detective. I just want a good source of information.”

  “Well, this time,” Rebecca said flatly, “you’re going to have to get in line.”

  Monday 11:30 p.m. Seventh and Fitzpatrick

  “It’s gonna happen tonight, isn’t it,” Sandy said as she watched Mitchell strap the ankle holster just above the bottom of her jeans.

  “Probably.”

  Sandy drew her legs up onto the sofa, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her chin on her knees. “You think the guy who killed Trudy will be there?”

  “The lieutenant does.” Mitchell settled beside Sandy on the couch and draped an arm around her shoulder. “I think so too. He has to be a ground-level part of the operation, because every step we’ve made, he’s been right behind us. This guy knows who we are.”

  “Do you think he knows Mitch?”

  Mitchell tightened her hold and kissed Sandy’s cheek. “I don’t know, honey. I don’t think so.”

  “You’re gonna be inside that house alone with her, Dell.”

  “Sandy, I’m not…”

  “I don’t care what you do with her,” Sandy said vehemently, turning to press against Mitchell’s side. She kissed Mitchell’s neck, then her mouth. “Just don’t get your ass shot up.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it,” Mitchell murmured, stroking Sandy’s cheek before kissing her again.

  Finally Sandy drew away and took a long shuddering breath. She stood, extending her hand. “Come on, then. Let’s get Mitch ready to roll.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tuesday 1:40 a.m. Tenth and Arch

  Static filled the interior of the Ford Taurus.

  “Jesus, can’t you clean that up?”

  Sloan heard the uncharacteristic edge of anxiety in Rebecca’s voice as she made some adjustments to the receiver. “Mitch is probably standing behind some kind of barrier—a concrete column maybe, or a steel door.”

  “I thought you could get through anything with that. I’ve got to know what’s happening every second. Christ.” Rebecca looked out the driver’s window at the blacked-out windows of the long, low-slung building. There was very little traffic, and the street was eerily dark. Even the streetlights had been knocked out by gangs using them for target practice. What little illumination there was came from the flickering red fluorescent sign that announced Ziggie’s. The place looked like a black hole, and she had two of her people inside. She flicked a glance in the rearview mirror and checked on Watts, moderately comforted to see him sitting in a similar nondescript department-issue vehicle on the opposite side of the street.

  “Don’t worry, this kind of interference is usually temp—”

  “Hello, new boy. You are late.”

  “Oh,yeah? Have you been missing me?”

  Low throaty laughter. “Give me your hand. Mmm, you feel? What do you think?”

  “I think your nipples are hard because you’ve been imagining my mouth on them.” Mitch’s voice came through the small speakers sounding rough and urgent. “I bet you’re wet too.”

  “Maybe. But maybe not for you.”

  “Oh no. It’s for me. You’re on fire.”

  “You think you know what I want, Mitch?”

  “Give me your hand. Now feel that.” A quick gasp, a deep groan. “Oh yeah, just like that.”

  “You’ve been thinking about me too, new boy.” More laughter, sharp and triumphant. “Yesss. I can feel what you brought me, so big and hard already.”

  “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought you wanted. Jesus, go slow.”

  “Why? You want to come now, I can tell. Come in my hand—do it. Come all over that big cock of yours.”

  “Not here. Not like this.” The sound of quick, panting breaths. “Irina, don’t jack me off here. Come on, baby. You know how much I need to come inside you.”

  “I have a room back there. I want you to fuck me now, new boy.”

  “No. No. I want to touch all of you. I wanna take my time.” A rustle of fabric, a low keening sound of pleasure verging on pain. “You’re so wet, baby. I wanna make you come all night long.” Another whimper. “Take me home where I can make love to you, Irina. Please.”

  *

  In the hallway, Irina arched beneath Mitch’s hands, her head back, her eyes closed, her fingers clamped around his wrist—pushing his fingers deeper between her thighs. Mitch felt her clitoris lengthen and harden, and knowing she was about to come, lifted his fingers and eased the dangerous pressure.

  “Please,” she moaned. “Mitch, Mitch…”

  “I’ll make you come, baby,” Mitch murmured, his mouth against her neck. “I promise. I’ll make you come until you scream. Just take me home with you.”

  Eyes glazed, breasts heaving, she dug her fingernails into his arm. “Let me come now.”

  He moved his fingers from between her legs and cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb gently over her nipple. “Wait, baby. Wait. It will be so much better when I can do you right.”

  Irina’s eyes flared with anger and need. She twisted her fingers in his hair and kissed him, her teeth closing on his lip until he groaned.

  *

  “Come on, come on,” Rebecca muttered, staring at the rectangular metal box propped on the console between the front seats. Her fists were closed tightly on her thighs, and she had to fight the urge to jump from the car and storm into the building. “Give us a fucking address.”

  “He’s almost got her,” Sloan
said quietly, intently. Every few seconds she made minute adjustments to the dials, modulating the sound and damping the background static.

  “Bastard!”

  “Oh, come on, baby, just think about me inside you, how good it will be.”

  “I don’t know— ”

  “They’ll be closing here in twenty minutes. I’ll just follow you home.”

  “No.” Firm and sharp. “No, they will be watching for that.”

  “Who? Who will be watching?”

  “It is not important. You come in an hour.”

  “An hour’s a long time to wait when I’m this hard.”

  Laughter, light and relaxed. “Then you’ll be sure to come, no?”

  “Oh yeah, baby. I’m going to come all right. And so are you.”

  *

  Five minutes later, Jasmine exited the club and walked at a leisurely pace down the street. No one followed, and after one quick scan of the street, she crossed directly to Watts’s vehicle and got in the passenger side. Ten minutes later, Mitch came out the door and strode directly to the car that he and Jasmine had arrived in.

  “He’s got the address,” Sloan said with satisfaction.

  Mitch’s voice came through the speaker clearly. “I’m supposed to park in an alley behind the 500 block of Levick in North Philly. She’s going to let me in the back door in an hour. She didn’t give me the exact address but said she’d flick the light over the door twice when she was ready to open it. She’s careful.”

  “Too careful to be taking a stranger into the stash house,” Rebecca said with a frown, frustrated by the lack of two-way communication. “And that’s what’s worried me the whole time about this setup. Why the hell would she risk it?”

  “Mitch isn’t exactly a stranger. He came with the regulars, and that made him part of the scene. And let’s face it. He’s got her hooked so bad, she’s not thinking straight.” Sloan laughed softly. “Jesus, he’s dangerous.”

  “Still, I wish I could talk to him.”

  “Mitch knows the plan. He’ll be fine, because we’ll be right behind him.”

  “Let’s make sure we are.” Rebecca checked her watch. “We’ll wait another twenty minutes to make sure Irina and the girls are gone. Then we’ll drive ahead and set up a perimeter around that block.”

  “Black-and-whites?”

  “I don’t see any reason for an assault team at this point. They’ll just—”

  Mitch’s voice cut in. “I’m going to drive around for a while, because I don’t want anyone who might be looking to see me hanging out here.” There was a beat of silence. “See you when it’s over.”

  Rebecca watched Mitch’s car pull away, then reached for her two-way. “This is Detective Lieutenant Rebecca Frye, requesting backup at the following location.”

  Her mind was clear, her focus sharp. It had begun.

  Tuesday, 2:46 a.m. North Philadelphia

  Mitchell sat in the car in the dark in the narrow alley that ran behind a series of opposing row houses identical to those that lined every block in North Philadelphia like so many Monopoly houses arranged on a board. Every fourth or fifth building showed a light burning somewhere, but less than a handful had the single lamp adjacent to the rear door lit. Ground-floor garages opened onto the alley with narrow second-floor decks jutting out over them. The back door was tucked beneath the overhang adjacent to the garage. She guessed that the door opened into a room or hallway that led to the stairs to the rest of the house. With luck, the rear entrance wouldn’t be guarded, at least not on the basement level. She could only assume that was the case, since Irina apparently planned to let her into the building that way.

  She checked her watch and peered into the gloom at the far end of the alley. She wondered where the lieutenant would set up the perimeter. She was out there, she was confident of that. She couldn’t see her, or hear her, but she knew that the lieutenant and the rest of the team were behind her. She waited another minute, then got out of the car and carefully closed it as soundlessly as possible. She started slowly down the alley, scanning the rear of the buildings ahead. One light flickered twice in rapid succession, and, after counting down the row from the corner to identify which one it was, she whispered the location. Then she hurried toward it.

  *

  “Shh. You must be very quiet. The others are asleep.”

  “Jesus, it’s dark down here.”

  “Here. Take my hand.”

  “Are you sure we won’t wake everyone up?”

  “They are all upstairs. My room is on the first floor.”

  “This is Frye,” Rebecca said into her radio. “Hold your positions until I give the word.” Then she switched channels. “Watts? You set?”

  “I’m in the middle of the block facing the fronts of the buildings with two uniforms. Nothing happening. You?”

  “Mitchell’s inside, eighth house from the corner. You go on my order.”

  “Roger. Watch your ass.”

  “Thanks. You too.” She clicked off her radio and turned to Sloan. “I want to get closer to the building. I’ll take the receiver now.”

  “Bullshit. I’m coming. You need your hands and your eyes clear. I’ll monitor Mitchell’s transmissions.”

  “You can come down the alley, but you stay back when we go inside.”

  “I’ve got a vest on. I can use a weapon.” Sloan’s voice held a challenge.

  “And you’re a civilian—”

  “I’ve got federal credentials,” Sloan said flatly as she eased her car door open. “And you can use me. Let’s go.”

  “All right,” Rebecca conceded, because Sloan was right. She wanted people she trusted to go in first. Any screwups could cost Mitchell. “But stay the hell behind me when we go through the door.”

  Sloan grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How do you know they’re all asleep?”

  “They are. Don’t worry.”

  “So we’re finally going to be alone? God, I want to feel your skin against me, all over me.”

  “Mitch, there is someone else here. A man—”

  “Christ, a boyfriend? Husband?”

  “No, no Mitch. It is not like that.”

  “What, then?”

  “He…works here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Come on,” Rebecca murmured, her eyes on the rear of the building. “Lay it out for us, Irina. Tell us where he is.”

  “Is this going to be enough for probable cause?” Sloan asked.

  “All she’s gotta do is give some indication that those girls are being detained against their will or that they’re here illegally. Either one will do it for us.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  Rebecca met Sloan’s eyes head-on. “Mitchell’s inside. I’m not leaving her in there, so if we run into reception problems and I can’t tell what’s going on, I’m going to have to take the door. Whether you come along is up to you.”

  “Let me know when you’re having trouble with the receiver, because I’ll be going in with you.”

  “He is upstairs. My room is down here, in the back…come, Mitch, we are almost there.”

  “Is he asleep?”

  “No. He is watching.”

  “Watching? Irina, watching who?”

  “Don’t you know, new boy?”

  “No. Irina, what—”

  “Us. He watches us. So we stay.”

  “That’s good enough. Let’s put Clark to work rounding up the Port Authority suspects, then we go.” Rebecca thumbed her radio. “This is red team. Blue team, go.” She switched channels yet again. “Watts, there’s one guard, upper floor. The girls are up there too. We’ll go in silent from the rear, and once we’re in position, you’ll take the door. Wait for my signal.”

  “What about Mitchell?”

  “Bedroom, first floor. Make sure she’s secure. Protect her cover if you can.”

  “Okay, Loo.”

  Rebecca glanced at Sloan. “Any good with loc
ks?”

  Sloan nodded, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Spycraft 101.”

  “Let’s see just how slick you feds really are.”

  *

  Sloan picked the lock in under sixty seconds. She held the door open, and Rebecca led the way inside, weapon in hand, stepping carefully in the dark.

  “Stairs,” Rebecca whispered.

  A sliver of light at the top of the stairwell gave them direction as they moved stealthily upward. The house was dark and still, so still it was hard to believe that anyone inhabited it. Rebecca’s skin tingled, but her pulse was steady and slow. At the top of the stairs she stopped and edged her shoulder to the corner. “Take left.”

  Without waiting for a response, Rebecca spun into the hallway, her gun arm extended. She had the sense of Sloan moving in tandem with her, facing the opposite direction. The rooms opposite them, their doorways little more than dark yawning mouths, appeared unoccupied. Rebecca pointed with her left hand down the hallway where a staircase ascended to the second floor. Sloan nodded.

  Rebecca saw no indication of motion sensors on the walls or ceiling, no cameras, no light beams crossing the hallways that might trigger an alarm if interrupted. Obviously, no one was expecting visitors. In all likelihood, the guard was there more for intimidation of the occupants than for security. Nevertheless, she approached the stairs carefully, her back to the wall, leading with her weapon as she carefully climbed upward. Two steps below the top, she stopped and pressed her radio to her mouth. “Watts, go.”

  Silently, she counted to ten and then inched around the corner and into the upper hallway. A light shone from an open doorway halfway down, and the muted sound of a television drifted to her. She hand-motioned Sloan to stay behind and cover her. She had just reached the open door to the room when she heard the crack of the front door exploding open. With both arms extended, she swung into the open doorway and swept the room. She caught the blur of motion from the corner of her eye and pivoted in that direction, shouting simultaneously, “Police! On the floor.”