Authors: Radclyffe
“Make sure you call me, kid.” Watts shrugged into his raincoat. “I thought I’d check to see if we’ve turned up anything on the computer forensics at the pier too.”
Rebecca grinned. “Do that.”
With the room emptying, Rebecca faced Sloan, who closed the door behind Watts and leaned against it. She’d been wondering if this moment would come. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”
Sloan hooked her thumb over the waistband of her jeans. “Hear what?”
“Whatever it is you’ve been chewing on the last couple of days. Trying to decide whether to handle it on your own or not.”
“What makes you think that?” Sloan held Rebecca’s gaze without blinking, her eyes a cold, flat indigo. Storm clouds at sunset on a winter night. When Rebecca said nothing Sloan grinned wryly. “Okay. You know how we’ve been thinking Clark’s ultimate goal is to use us to turn someone in Zamora’s organization?”
“SOP for the feds. They make most of their cases by squeezing the guys they’re trying to put away until somebody cracks and makes a deal. This time we’re the nutcracker.”
Sloan nodded. “So I think someone on the other side is looking for the same thing.”
Everything in Rebecca went completely still. Fury ate at the edges of her control. She would not tolerate an assault on her team. Not on the streets. Not in secret. Not anywhere. “Who?”
“Me.”
“Michael?” Rebecca couldn’t think of any other threat that would be powerful enough to tempt Sloan to cross a line. And she knew with absolute certainty that Sloan had been considering it for the last two days. The question was, what line. Rebecca could not imagine Sloan betraying the team, which left only one option. “How did they get to you?”
Sloan gestured to her laptop and pulled a jump drive from her pocket. “Sit down. I’ll show you.”
Rebecca yanked out a chair at the conference table and Sloan slid the laptop in front of her. Rebecca watched the images of Michael with Kratos Zamora flash by, one after the other. “Son of a bitch.”
“Yes.” Sloan removed the jump drive and slipped it back into her pocket.
“Have a seat.” When Sloan hesitated, Rebecca said, “Don’t fight me on this, Sloan.”
Wordlessly, Sloan sat across from Rebecca.
“Have they approached you with an offer?”
“No.”
Rebecca frowned. “Then what the hell have you been trying to work out for the last few days?”
Sloan shrugged. “Whether I was going to take out Zamora. And if I did whether that would neutralize the threat.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake. Who else knows about this?”
“No one.”
“Michael?”
Sloan shook her head.
“Jesus.” Rebecca wanted to climb over the table and knock Sloan on her ass. The problem was, she understood. And she also understood that Sloan could not be contained by the ordinary rules of engagement. She had not been trained that way and she didn’t have the temperament for it. She was as close to rogue as a member of a team could be and still be trustworthy. But Rebecca trusted her. She trusted her because Sloan was sitting across from her right now telling her she’d been considering her own brand of justice. “Can we prove who sent the pictures?”
“No, and we never will be able to. I can tell you where they came from.” Sloan shrugged. “Well. Not just yet, but soon. But that doesn’t prove who entered the data. And, unless an overt threat is made, they’re just pictures. Michael was at a business meeting. Zamora moves in the same circles. No crime in that.”
“But you think you can get a name.”
“I guarantee it.”
“I don’t want you to take a single breath between the time you know the name and the time you call me with it. Are we clear?” Rebecca watched Sloan’s eyes, because the answer would determine the future of their team and their friendship.
Not a muscle flickered in Sloan’s face until she said, “Crystal, Lieutenant.”
Rebecca shoved to her feet, suddenly very tired. “I’m going to grab a few hours’ sleep. Then talk to Clark.”
“What are you going to tell him about this?”
“I’m not going to tell him anything. If he knew, he’d bury you so deep you wouldn’t see daylight for a year.”
“He could try.”
“He could do it.” Rebecca stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “I want you on this team. I need you on this team. And Michael needs you with her. You’re not alone anymore, Sloan.” She opened the door, then looked back. “And if anyone kicks your ass, it will be me.”
*
Michael stood by the windows and looked out at the river. Sloan was somewhere behind her. The loft was dark, the only light coming from the fireplace. The reddish glow reflected off the walls of glass as if the world were on fire. For a few terrifying moments, Michael felt as if her life was crumbling to ashes. She’d listened to what Sloan told her, trying to take it in. She’d understood the facts, but she had no context for the actions. She had no reference point in her life for such events. She wasn’t frightened by what Sloan told her, but she was terrified by the fact that Sloan had not told her until now.
“What did Rebecca say?”
Sloan stood a few feet away, afraid to cross the gap between them. Michael’s hair shimmered like red gold, and her slender frame looked fragile and so far away. Sloan’s chest constricted with the sudden fear that Michael would somehow slip into the night and she would lose her. “Something along the lines that I’m an ass. That if I didn’t do exactly what she said she’d kick mine.”
Michael turned, hugging herself. “She’s right. On both counts. Except she might have to get in line for the ass kicking part. Behind me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough.” Michael crossed the few feet between them and slapped her palm against Sloan’s chest. “You think so little of me that you don’t trust me to handle a problem? How do you think that makes me feel?”
“Michael, I—”
“Am I your partner, Sloan? Or just the woman who keeps your bed warm?”
Sloan jerked back. “God, Michael! I love you. I love you with all my heart. You’re the only thing in my life that really matters to me.”
Michael cupped Sloan’s face in both hands and kissed her softly on the mouth. Then she drew back and stared into her eyes. “Then treat me that way, Sloan. Not like I might break. Not like I might leave you because I’m angry or because things are dangerous or difficult. Treat me like I’m the woman you want to stand by your side. Forever.”
Sloan started to shake and looked away, but not before Michael saw the glitter of tears on her cheeks. Her anger evaporated, replaced by an enormous, aching need to take away her pain. “Oh, baby.” She pulled Sloan into her arms and stroked the back of her head. “I love you. I love you even when you’re an ass.”
“I’m sorry,” Sloan whispered, burying her face in Michael’s neck.
“I know. And later,” Michael said, pulling Sloan’s T-shirt from her jeans, “I’m going to want to know everything that Rebecca said.” She slid her hands up Sloan’s back, then down the tight muscles on either side of her spine. She kissed Sloan’s neck and dug her fingers into Sloan’s tight butt, dragging Sloan against her body. “And everything that you’re going to do about it.” She sucked Sloan’s earlobe, then bit down until Sloan groaned. “But first, I want to go into the bedroom.”
She insinuated one hand between their bodies and cupped Sloan’s crotch, squeezing the soft denim in her palm. “I want you to make love to me.” She caught Sloan’s lower lip between her teeth and tugged, then slipped her tongue into Sloan’s mouth. She toyed with Sloan’s tongue, teasing and taunting until she was breathless and Sloan’s hands were on her breasts, inflaming her. “What do you say, Sloan?”
“Yes,” Sloan gasped. “I say yes.”
*
“Why offer her Witsec when we can get what we need without it?” Clark drained the glass of bourbon and gestured to the hotel bartender for a refill.
Rebecca sipped her coffee, wondering if Clark actually had a house or if he just moved from one hotel to another. She thought about going home to Catherine that morning, of crawling into bed and having Catherine join her. Falling asleep with Catherine’s arms around her, just holding her. Just being there. For a fraction of a millisecond she almost felt sorry for Clark. And then she thought about Irina and the other girls who were nothing but pawns to him. Players on a game board. She realized in that instant that appealing to his better instincts was pointless. She knew how he saw the world. His was the righteous path, and the end always justified any means. Collateral losses were simply the cost of doing business.
“She has a picture of her sister, but she won’t give it up to us because she doesn’t trust us. If we find the sister, we’ll have more leverage on Irina and we’ll also have another girl on the inside.” Rebecca drank more coffee but it tasted like acid as she said what she knew she needed to say. “New identities and protection for both of them. The cost is nothing compared to how big this will be if we make the case against the Russians. And if we connect them to someone bigger.” Rebecca shrugged. She didn’t need to tell Clark it was a career-making case.
“All right. I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’ll need to have her meet with the federal marshals to convince her.” Rebecca pushed the coffee away. “She’s not your biggest fan.”
Clark snorted. “You’re breaking my heart.” He finished off his bourbon. “I’ll set it up.”
“Thanks.” Rebecca walked out of the bar, the scent of bourbon lingering in her consciousness. She opened her phone and punched in a number. “I’ll be home in twenty minutes. Can you throw some things in a bag—enough for overnight.”
“Where are we going?” Catherine asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere not here. Just us.”
“That’s just what I need.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Rebecca closed the phone and took a deep breath of the chill night air. “Me too.”
Dell put the pizza box on the counter next to the six-pack of beer she’d picked up at the corner deli. The television was turned to a nature show. Irina sat cross-legged on the bed, barefoot in black tights and a cobalt blue sweater. Without makeup and with her dark, wavy hair loose around her shoulders, she looked much younger than Dell had previously thought.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Twenty-three.”
Dell slid a piece of cheese pizza on a paper plate and carried it to Irina, then went back to get extra napkins and a piece for herself. Irina shifted over on the mattress, which she’d covered with a floral print sheet and lime green blanket, and Dell sat on the corner of the bed, her booted feet stretched out in front of her.
“If you had called me, I would have cooked you something to eat,” Irina said.
“You don’t need to do that. But thanks.” Dell took a bite of her pizza as she framed her next question. The topic was sensitive and she didn’t want Irina to close down. “Your sister’s younger, isn’t she?”
“She will be seventeen next month.” Irina crumpled the napkin she was holding.
“Fuck,” Dell muttered, but before she could ask her next question a hand slid along the inside of her thigh and Irina changed the subject.
“You aren’t dressed to go out tonight.”
“No.” Dell methodically chewed her pizza and ignored Irina’s hand. Maybe if she didn’t make a big deal out of it, Irina wouldn’t either. “My lieutenant thinks it’s a good idea for you to contact Olik, though. Call him and tell him you feel safer now, as long as you have Mitch, and you want to come back in.” Dell glanced at Irina. “It’s important that I go with you. Olik isn’t going to hurt you with a witness there, Irina.”
The assurance sounded more confident than realistic. Dell was pretty sure Olik wouldn’t want a boyfriend hanging around, seeing too much. He’d have to convince Olik he could be useful.
Irina’s fingers drifted higher, skimming Dell’s crotch. “If I bring Mitch, Olik will be angry.”
“What will he do?” Dell covered Irina’s hand and placed it on the bed between them.
“I don’t know. He will test us.”
Dell thought of the undercover narco detectives who were forced to sample drugs during drug buys to prove they weren’t cops. Some of them developed a taste for the product they were trying to eradicate. She wasn’t exactly certain what Olik might want, but she couldn’t worry about that. “That’s okay. We’ll be fine.”
“So you say, new boy,” Irina said softly.
Dell pulled the envelope from the inside pocket of her jacket and showed Irina the images Jason had printed. “Do you know any of these men?”
Frowning, Irina took the photos and sorted through them. Once or twice she slowed and Dell noticed her hands trembling.
“What? You recognize someone?” Dell probed.
Irina’s mouth tightened. “I know the big man, Sergei. He is one of Olik’s men.”
“What does he do, exactly?” Dell’s heart raced. This was the kind of information they needed.
“He…” Irina hesitated, as if searching for words. “He makes sure that the girls get to the parties or the movie set or wherever Olik wants them to go. Then he stays to make sure no one bothers them. That the girls behave. That the customers are satisfied.”
“He’s an enforcer—like the guy in the club the other night?”