Authors: Radclyffe
“I’m touched by your faith,” Talia said with a faintly mocking lilt. “Yes, given enough time. But I can guarantee that Sloan’s primary agenda right now is to make the central files as impregnable as possible. It would be so much nicer if she were helping us get in rather than working to keep us out.”
“What kind of leverage do we have?”
“This.” Talia reached into her purse and withdrew the photograph of Sloan and the blonde in the ambulance. She’d added another clipping after searching newspaper archives that morning.
Kratos took the two photographs and stared at the woman who had caught his attention in the surveillance videos. The caption said her name was Michael Lassiter.
Michael.
She was wholly feminine, and the androgyny of her name only heightened her allure. Enjoying his instantaneous erection, he brushed his thumb along the outline of her body. “Sloan’s lover?”
“It would appear so.”
“We can’t touch her.” He shook his head. “Not after all the attention our Russian friends stirred up recently.”
Talia laughed softly. “You can’t honestly think I was suggesting something as crude as that, can you?”
Kratos frowned. “What then?”
“How would you like to get to know Ms. Lassiter personally?”
“I’d like nothing better,” he said, his gaze drifting to her mouth. “
Almost
nothing.”
*
Avery Clark didn’t keep Rebecca waiting long, once she’d found his office in the warren of hallways lined with nondescript wooden doors and frosted glass windows. She announced herself to the lone secretary in the tiny waiting room and had just settled into an uncomfortable, thinly upholstered chair against the wall when Clark himself opened another unadorned door at the rear of the room and gestured her inside with a surprisingly friendly smile.
Rebecca followed him into the inner office and closed the door, waiting for him to walk around behind his plain gray metal desk before she sat in yet another uncomfortable chair in front of it. With his jacket off and his white shirt sleeves rolled up, Clark was standard government issue—somewhere between thirty-five and forty, brown hair, dark steel-framed glasses, conservative haircut, conventional suit, dark tie, plain shirt. Wedding ring, hip holster, sharp eyes.
“Lieutenant,” he said, settling into the fake black leather desk chair. He tilted back slightly and swiveled a few degrees from side to side. “Back to work already? Glad to see that injury isn’t slowing you down.”
“Thanks,” Rebecca replied, wondering just how glad Clark really was to see her back on the job. Her headache had ratcheted up the moment she’d walked into the federal building. She doubted the dull throbbing behind her eyes had anything to do with her injury. She’d never liked the politics of law enforcement, but now that she’d been promoted, she had no choice but to navigate the murky waters populated by self-interested elected officials, federal agents, and local police. Power and control were the sought-after prizes, and public perception often more important than results. It wasn’t a game she liked, but she had to play.
“I appreciate you all helping us out,” Clark said.
“We didn’t exactly have a choice on that, since you went over our heads with the plan.”
Clark shrugged, his smile still in place, his expression a mixture of false innocence and self-satisfaction. “Time was of the essence, so I just wanted to avoid getting bogged down in red tape. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
“What I’d appreciate,” Rebecca said, holding his gaze, “is a look at the statements from Irina Guterov and the other girls in that house, along with whatever you have on the Russian connection to local crime. You want us to do your legwork and the brass agrees. I don’t intend to do it blind.”
“Well,” Clark said as if he were thinking, “the girls didn’t really give us much. They don’t know very much. Most of them don’t even speak English.”
“Irina does.”
“True, which is why we can use her.” Clark’s eyes narrowed. “Girls like Irina are not that easy to replace. The Russians need women like her to indoctrinate the new girls into the system. The fresh ones have to be taught how to behave at private parties, what to expect when they go to a video shoot, how to handle johns at the clubs. They’re going to want her back, and soon.”
“I agree.” Rebecca crossed her legs, letting her arms drape casually along the wooden armrests. His casual dismissal of the plight of the girls, all victims, even Irina, grated on her. But she hadn’t come to fight a battle she couldn’t win. “What makes you think we can trust her?”
“She doesn’t want to go back to Russia.” Clark shrugged. “And then there’s the matter of her sister. She wants to find her. She wants to protect her. All things considered, we’ve got serious leverage.”
“Where is her sister?”
Clark shook his head. “No idea. The sister arrived here after Guterov. Not that long ago, apparently, as some sort of reward for Guterov’s cooperation in running the other girls. Except the Russians didn’t put them together the way they promised.”
“Using a little leverage of their own,” Rebecca mused. Keeping Irina obligated to them—first with promises to bring her sister to this country, then by stringing her along and keeping them apart.
“Yes. Threats against families are one of the traditional means of controlling these girls.”
“So the sister might not even be in the city.”
“Possibly, although she probably is. They don’t cycle them out of here that quickly, and I suspect they’d keep her close in case Guterov threatened to stop working if they didn’t produce her.”
“I don’t want Irina trading my officer for her sister,” Rebecca said. “Now that she’s back on the streets, she might be tempted to do that.”
Clark looked unconcerned. “She knows we can pick her up and deport her.”
“Not good enough. I want incentive for her to stay on our side. I want Witsec for her and her sister.”
Clark pursed his lips. “Witsec is expensive. It’s getting pretty selective these days, too, especially when we’re trying to persuade people to testify against terrorists.”
“Get them to make an exception. My undercover officer has to be protected.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“I want an answer soon or I’ll pull my people out.”
“Your captain won’t be happy about that. Neither will the commissioner.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Clark studied Rebecca and whatever he saw in her face must have convinced him she wasn’t bluffing. He nodded. “I’ll get back to you.”
“So tell me about Kratos Zamora.”
“He’s a businessman. A very wealthy one.” Clark spread his hands. “And a staunch supporter of the present administration.”
“What’s your interest?”
“His family may be doing business with persons of interest to us.”
“His family? Or him?”
“That’s what I was hoping you could help us with.”
Rebecca’s internal temperature soared to just below boiling, but she didn’t move an inch. She reminded herself that just because she and Clark were supposed to be on the same side didn’t make them teammates. “Help how?”
“You can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep. And the people they do business with.”
“His business interests should be a matter of record. One thing you federal types are good at is chasing paper trails.” Clark’s expression shuttered closed, but Rebecca didn’t care if he was insulted. He wanted to use her and give nothing in return. “Besides, his brother heads the family.”
“That’s what Kratos would like us to believe,” Clark said. “We’re not so sure. That’s why we want a more personal look at him. Business gets discussed at events like this fund-raiser tomorrow night. Alliances are forged. We want to know who’s in his inner circle.”
“Why don’t you put your people on him?”
“Because he’s smart and he’s careful,” Clark said, frustration evident in his voice. “All we need is an initial legitimate business connection. Then we can insert our people and run with it.”
“I can’t help you. Sloan has plenty of connections in the private sector, but if the Zamoras don’t know about her working with us, they would soon enough.”
“I wasn’t thinking of Sloan.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Who then?”
“Innova Design is one of the biggest companies on the East Coast. And Michael Lassiter—”
“She’s a civilian,” Rebecca snapped. “She nearly died already and she’s completely untrained.”
“I don’t expect her to do undercover work,” Clark shot back. “All we need is the initial overture and then we’ll put our people inside her firm.”
“No.”
“Think about it.”
“I already have.” Rebecca rose. “And the answer is still no.”
Since Joyce, Catherine’s secretary, had gone to lunch, Catherine checked the waiting area herself a few minutes after one. As she expected, her special appointment was waiting. “Dellon. Hello, come on in.”
“Thanks for seeing me.” Dell followed her into the office, removed her windbreaker, and took her customary chair in front of Catherine’s desk. “The lieutenant thought we should talk.”
“What do you think?” Catherine settled into a chair facing Dellon. The first time they’d met, Dellon had sat nearly at attention in her seat, feet firmly on the floor, eyes straight ahead. Today, she was a little more relaxed, her back still not touching the chair, but her shoulders no longer rigid. In her black street clothes, with her black hair and dark eyes, she was wildly attractive. Catherine could imagine her capturing the eye of any number of females, of any age. That kind of sexual magnetism could pose a problem, especially in the kind of work she was doing.
“I think if the lieutenant thinks it’s a good idea, it is,” Dell said.
“That is a very diplomatic answer.” Catherine laughed softly. “So how are you?”
Dell grinned and interlaced her fingers, resting her hands between her thighs. “I think I’m doing okay, but…there’s a lot going on, you know?”
“I know some of the details of the operation. Why don’t you tell me how you see it.”
“The assignment’s great,” Dell said enthusiastically, filling Catherine in on the basic details. “It’s good. It’s what I want to do. I feel like…”
“Like what?” Catherine asked after a minute of silence.
“Like I’m doing something that no one else can do. ’Cause I’m really good at this undercover thing.” Dell smiled. “Well, Mitch is, anyhow.”
“Is Mitch a police officer too?” Catherine leaned closer as Dell stared. “By that, I mean does Mitch make decisions from the same set of rules and regulations that a police officer would?”
Dell frowned. “Um.”
“You know this is private, don’t you?” Catherine said gently. Dellon had matured since their first meeting. She’d filled out, metaphorically, from a heartbreakingly innocent young officer into a confident detective. Catherine was glad to see the changes, because she knew Dellon would be safer on the streets, but growth spurts like that could leave someone off balance. And that could be dangerous.“Even though your lieutenant thinks it’s a good idea that we talk, what we discuss here is between us.”
“Yes ma’am. I know that. It’s just…I never thought about it before. Mitch…yeah, Mitch is a cop. I mean, when I’m Mitch, I still think like a cop, even if I have to do things I might not do when I’m not undercover.”
“What kind of things?”
Dell stared at her hands. “The things I do with Irina. I wouldn’t do them with her, with anyone.”
“When you’re intimate.”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel guilty about it?”
Dell searched Catherine’s eyes. “Should I?”
Catherine smiled and waited.
“I don’t feel guilty about Mitch acting like Irina’s boyfriend. I mean, when you’re undercover, you have to be into it. It’s gotta be real. If it isn’t, it won’t work.”
“That makes sense,” Catherine said. “So when Mitch and Irina act like lovers—when they’re physically intimate, that feels okay.”
Dell nodded. Then after a second, she shook her head.
“Yes and no? A little of both?”
“It’s okay we kiss and fool around.” Dell slowly met Catherine’s gaze. “It’s not okay that I…want to.”
“You want to be intimate with Irina.” Catherine waited until Dell nodded again. “Do you want to make love with her?”
“Sometimes. I mean, I get turned on and part of me wants to keep going.”
“What about when you’re not actually being physically intimate with her? Do you think about making love with her when you’re not with her? Do you look forward to seeing her and hope you have a chance to have sex?”
“No.” Dell straightened her shoulders and set her feet squarely on the floor. “No, I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t love her.”
Catherine wanted to smile, but she kept her expression neutral. Oh, she could see this one breaking hearts everywhere she went. “So let me see if I understand. You find her physically attractive, but you’re not in love with her and you aren’t interested in having a sexual relationship with her.”