Authors: Radclyffe
“Who’s your friend,” the man said to Darla in crisp English. He had an accent, but his speech was polished.
“This is—”
“Samantha,” Sandy said quickly, cocking her hips to give him a good look at her legs as the skirt pulled up almost to her crotch. “But everyone calls me Sam. Darla says we’re going to a party. I can’t wait. I love parties.”
He looked them over for a long minute, then stepped aside and gestured to the rear of the SUV. Sandy looked down the street, but she didn’t see Dell’s motorcycle or anything resembling a cop car. Used to be Frye showed up in her Corvette, but lately she’d been in a standard issue. There was no sign of an unmarked. Which meant no one was going to know where they went. She took Darla’s hand. “Well, come on, honey. Let’s party!”
Sandy slid into the backseat where another man waited on the far side and Darla crowded next to her, as if seeking shelter. Then the door closed and the Navigator pulled out and headed north. Sandy tried to get a look out the window around the big guy sitting next to her, but all she could see was the sign pointing to the on-ramp to 95 North.
They could be anywhere from Trenton to New York City in an hour.
*
Michael reached out in the dark and switched on the bedside light when she felt Sloan get out of bed. Sitting up, she let the sheet fall to her waist. Sloan stood just inside the bedroom door, pulling on a T-shirt over her boxers. “Can’t sleep?”
“Hey,” Sloan whispered. “Sorry. I thought you were asleep.”
“Drifting. I didn’t drink because I was afraid it might give me a headache, so I didn’t have anything to dull the pain of the evening.”
Sloan laughed. “You too, huh?”
“It did seem endless. I’d forgotten how much I dislike these functions, even if they are for a good cause.” Michael shrugged. “I’m not altogether certain about this particular cause.”
Sloan sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t like the mayor?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know him, but I’m not entirely certain that he’s really the one making the decisions.” She frowned. “There was a very interesting assortment of people there tonight.”
“Some pretty high-powered ones,” Sloan said carefully, not wanting to alarm her unnecessarily. Even though Michael said she was feeling better, she’d only begun to put in regular workdays and she still seemed pale and fragile. The last thing she needed was to worry about things that might not even involve her. Not when Sloan had a feeling
she
was the one who really interested Zamora. If he didn’t want her attention, why send those photos to her computer? They had to be a warning. And if they were, then it was Sloan they wanted, not Michael. “Your neighbor tonight—Zamora. I understand he’s pretty influential.”
“Mmm,” Michael said absently. “He owns a great deal of real estate along both sides of the river, as well as major shares in several investment companies.” She reached for the cup of tea she’d left on her bedside table, and sipped it. “It’s funny you should mention him. He contacted me yesterday about a business proposal.”
“For Innova?” Sloan asked. Michael’s design company had an international reputation, and Michael was often approached with investment opportunities. She didn’t believe for a second that was Zamora’s true intention, but Michael had no reason to suspect him of anything out of the ordinary, so Sloan forced herself to sound casual. “What did you tell him?”
Michael leaned back against the pillows and stroked Sloan’s forearm. “Oh, I told him I’d keep him in mind.” She smiled. “But that right now, I wasn’t looking for partners.”
“He seemed pretty friendly at dinner tonight.”
“With men like that, charm comes naturally. He reminds me of Nicholas.”
Sloan wanted to say that Michael’s ex-husband Nicholas, a low-life cheating embezzler, was a choirboy compared to Kratos Zamora. “Impressed with himself, huh?”
Michael smiled. “He’s certainly self-assured.” She threaded her fingers through Sloan’s and gave her hand a little shake. “I noticed you getting some attention yourself.”
Sloan frowned. “I don’t—”
“The redhead in the very revealing dress.”
“Oh. Her.” Sloan thought about the business card with a telephone number scrawled on the back she’d slid from the front pocket of her pants and stowed in the glove compartment of her car when Michael wasn’t looking. She thought about the fingers grazing the inside of her thigh, drifting over her stomach. “She was just making idle chat.”
“I’ve never seen her before. Who is she?”
“I don’t know. Probably another Society Hill heiress with more money than she knows what to do with. Isn’t that one of the primary requirements for an invitation to fund-raisers like this?”
“Well, the money part certainly is.” Michael sighed. “Will you try to come back to bed tonight?”
Sloan leaned over and kissed her. “I just want to check a few things. I won’t be long.”
Michael cupped the back of Sloan’s neck and held her close for another long kiss. “Wake me when you come to bed.”
*
“That’s our second pass through here,” Rebecca said. “I don’t see her.”
Dell leaned forward from the back seat of the unmarked, craning her neck to see around Watts. This section of Spring Garden was crowded with bars, and foot traffic was heavy. They were almost to Delaware Avenue, and they still hadn’t seen Sandy.
“Maybe she walked up a few blocks. Let’s go around again,” Dell urged.
“Hey, kid, you’re breathing down my neck,” Watts said. “Take it easy. We’ll find her.”
“How?” Dell snapped. “She’s gone already. She could be anywhere.”
Rebecca pulled into the darkened parking lot of a restaurant that had gone out of business and turned off the engine. “We wait for her to call us.”
“I’m going to check the clubs,” Dell said, pushing open the back door. “Someone may have talked to these guys tonight. They might know where the party is.”
“Yo,” Watts yelled, reaching for his door.
“I’ll handle it,” Rebecca said quietly. She slid out of the car and closed her door. “Mitchell. Wait.”
Dell took another few steps, then stopped just short of the street. Rebecca walked unhurriedly over to her. “Step back from the light.”
Together, they moved into the shadows of the boarded-up building.
“Why is it a bad idea for you to start asking around about Sandy in the clubs?”
Dell balled up her fists, her arms rigid at her sides, and looked past Rebecca at the cars streaming by on the street. She didn’t want to answer the question. She didn’t want to think about why she couldn’t do what she needed to do to find Sandy. To look after her. She didn’t want to have to choose anything over the woman she loved, ever again. “I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?”
“I can’t be a cop if it means I have to put everything else in front of her.” She stared at Rebecca, her eyes hot with tears she refused to shed. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”
“What do you think is going to change if you’re not a cop anymore?” Rebecca leaned against the building as if they had all the time in the world to talk.
“I could…”
“What? Spend your time following her around? Checking out her friends? Making sure she doesn’t go anywhere she could get hurt?” Rebecca laughed. “Sandy would hand you your ass in under a week.”
“I could look for her right now. I wouldn’t have to worry about blowing my cover. That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it? I’m supposed to be with Irina now. So I can’t go running around trying to find out if Sandy talked to some Russians tonight.”
“It wouldn’t be a very good idea, no. And chances are slim to none you’d find out anything anyhow.”
“But what if it
did
make a difference,” Dell insisted. “What if I found one of her friends who knew these guys, too, and they could tell me where the party was.”
“What would you do? Crash it? All that would do is probably get both of you beaten up.” Rebecca straightened. “You’ve had a lot thrown at you in a short time. You’re undercover, and that’s always a tough assignment. Sandy is right in the thick of things, and I know it’s hard. Hard and…scary.”
“I let the Army take everything from me,” Dell said hoarsely. “Everything I thought I was, everything I thought I believed in. The woman I thought loved me. I couldn’t do a damn thing to change it.”
“You’re not alone now. You’ve got help. That’s why we’re here.” Rebecca gestured toward the car. “Now we’ve got a lot of work to do and it’s gonna be a long night. I suggest you sit your ass down and wait for her to call. She’ll call.”
“I’m sorry I’m not…” Dell pushed her hand through her hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry if I let you down.”
Rebecca clasped the back of Dell’s neck and rubbed the tight muscles for a few seconds. “You haven’t let anybody down. And you won’t. Not me. Not Sandy. Come on, let’s go.”
Rebecca dropped her hand and walked away, and after a second’s hesitation, Dell followed. As she walked across the cold dark parking lot, she felt the warmth in the back of her neck where Rebecca had touched her. She didn’t understand it, but she wished for that touch to return.
Well, Sandy thought, she was right about one thing. They were in Trenton. She caught a quick glimpse of a sign as they pulled off I-95. She couldn’t see much else with the silent giant next to her blocking most of the window. He hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t touched her, for which she was thankful. Darla had been silent for the entire forty-minute trip too.
“So where is this place?” Sandy asked brightly. She’d tried getting information from the Russian a couple of times, but every question she asked was greeted with a grunt or nothing at all. “Don’t they have hotels in Philly? We have to come all the way up here for a party?” She leaned forward and turned sideways on the seat so she could peer into the man’s face. “Hey. You’re not sleeping, are you? We’re gonna party tonight, remember?”
“I am not sleeping,” he said roughly.
“So where are we going?”
“We will be there soon.”
Sandy debated pushing him a little bit further, but she didn’t think he was going to talk and she was pretty certain if she pushed him too far, she’d find herself on the side of the road. Maybe walking, maybe not moving at all. She settled back down on the seat.
“Is there anything to drink?”
“There will be drinks at the party. But you should not drink.”
“Why not?”
“Because men do not like drunken girls.”
“These guys. They’re your friends? Germans, like you?”
“I am Russian, not German,” he growled, confirming her guesswork.
“Oh, cool.” Sandy felt the car slow and slid her hand into the front pocket of her jacket. Her fingers closed over her cell phone. “Hey, we’re here. Cool.”
A few seconds later, the rear door opened and the first man reached in and grasped Darla’s hand. He guided her out, not roughly, but he kept a grip on her, as if she might suddenly run away. When Sandy climbed out, the other guy was right behind her. She glanced around quickly. They were in the turnaround at the side entrance to a hotel, and she couldn’t see the main sign from where they were. She could make out letters on the glass door of the entrance opposite where they parked. A hand closed around her left arm, marching her quickly toward the hotel. She slid the cell phone from her pocket and held it down by her leg, pushing buttons from memory. When they got almost up to the door, she took a picture, hoping she got the name. Then she carefully slid it back into her jacket. She had a lot more pictures to take.
She stepped into the hotel and put on a bright smile as they waited for an elevator. “This is going to be fun.”
Twenty-second floor, room 2208. She repeated the numbers to herself. She and Darla were sandwiched between the two big men in front of a room at the end of the hall. When the door opened, she felt a hand on the small of her back directing her forward. The suite was huge, with two seating areas joined by open double pocket doors. She counted eight men at first glance and three or four girls about her age. The men all wore shirts and trousers, as if they had just recently come from a business meeting. The girls didn’t wear much of anything at all. Short skirts, thin cotton tops, high heels or thigh-high boots. A couple looked young. Really young. Fifteen, maybe. She knew, because she’d been fifteen when she’d started. But she hadn’t started off in places like this. The first trick she’d ever turned was in a bus station. She’d blown a guy for the price of a ticket to somewhere, anywhere, except where she was.
The night she’d met Dell she’d been giving a routine hand job in an alley when the john decided to get rough. If Dell hadn’t stepped in, she probably would have been able to handle him, but she’d have worn the bruises on her face and body for a long time. Sandy pushed that memory away. She wasn’t that girl anymore. She wasn’t a girl at all.
Next to her, she sensed Darla getting skittish. She had probably expected a fraternity party, with boys and beer and a couple of blow jobs in the bathroom. These were not boys. These were men, and the way the men looked at them made it clear they considered the girls on a par with the trays of hors d’oeuvres sitting around the room. She was surprised that most of them were speaking English. For some reason, she’d expected them to be foreign, like the guys who brought them, but they weren’t.