5. Justice Served - Неизвестный

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the department and have a shot at breaking this prostitution network, or whatever the hell it is, wide open at the same time.”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Catherine kept her voice neutral, a practice that was second nature to her from her many years of practicing psychiatry. She was still adjusting to the fact that her lover’s profession carried with it the daily risk of injury or even death.

Balancing the desire to support Rebecca in her work while dealing with her own fears and uncertainty was a constant challenge. Nevertheless, it was a struggle she kept to herself, knowing that Rebecca was a cop to her core. “To keep the team together?”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.” Rebecca curled an arm around Catherine’s shoulder and rested her cheek against Catherine’s thick auburn hair.

“We’re close to putting all the pieces together—who’s been leaking conÞ dential information and altering sensitive police Þ les, who Þ ngered Jimmy Hogan and Jeff Cruz for assassination, what’s going on with the girls in the skin videos and the sex clubs, and how it all ties into organized crime. If we just have a little more time, we can break it.”

It was impossible to miss the undercurrent of excitement and determination in her lover’s voice. But Catherine, sensitive to nuance and inß ection, heard something else there as well—reservation and frustration. Being next in line for the chairmanship of the Department of Psychiatry, she was no stranger to politics. “You said compromise.

What did you have to give him?”

“It’s not what I had to give,” Rebecca grumbled. “It’s what I had to take.”

“Come sit down and tell me,” Catherine murmured, drawing Rebecca toward the sofa opposite her desk. When they were settled side by side, she turned and rested her Þ ngers on Rebecca’s thigh. “So?”

“Avery Clark.” Rebecca named the Department of Justice agent with obvious displeasure.

“He’s back in the picture?” Catherine exclaimed with surprise.

Avery Clark had been the federal government’s liaison with Rebecca’s team during the initial phases of their investigation into a widespread Internet pornography ring. However, when the joint task force had successfully made a key arrest, Clark had asserted jurisdictional primacy and cut Rebecca and her colleagues out of the information loop. Catherine couldn’t imagine Rebecca or any of the other members of the team willingly working with Clark again.

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“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 Þ nd 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 Þ nd 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

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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 ofÞ cer 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 ofÞ cers—a young ofÞ cer whom she had taken under her wing and whose career she intended to guide. She knew that Catherine would

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Justice Served

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 difÞ cult 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 ProÞ le 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.”

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“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.

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Justice Served

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 Þ fty-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 partner, 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.

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“How long do you Þ gure 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 Þ fth ß oor 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 ofÞ cer’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 boy friend 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

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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 ß at-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 Þ rst time she’d ever joked with him about anything remotely personal. With a happy little laugh, he hustled after her.

v

“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 Þ gure. 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 ß oor, 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.