Authors: Radclyffe
“Does she now.” Michael chuckled. “She’s never been anything except completely chivalrous with me.”
They eyed one another for a few seconds, and then burst out laughing together. Michael draped her arm around Sandy’s shoulder and walked her toward the door.
“You’ll think about what I said?”
“I will. I should talk to Dell, you know?”
“Absolutely. Take all the time you need.”
“Thanks,” Sandy said, feeling so much more than gratitude but not quite knowing what to say.
“You don’t need to thank me,” Michael said gently. “We’re friends.”
“Yeah,” Sandy said with a sense of wonder as she stepped into the elevator. “We are.”
*
“Hiya, Frye,” Sandy said as she plopped into a chair across the table from Rebecca in the conference room. On her way through the main room she’d seen Dell bent over a computer with Jason and Sloan, but Frye was alone. Frye never talked to her about street stuff in front of others, especially not Dell. “You look like crap.”
“I’ve heard that two times too many today.”
“You okay or just playing macho cop?” Sandy didn’t add that she’d been scared just about brainless when she’d heard that a cop had been shot in a raid, because Dell had been in on the bust, and she’d felt only a little less terrified when she’d learned it was Frye. Frye was special in a crazy kind of way she couldn’t explain. Frye was a hard-ass and pain in the ass, but she’d never lied to Sandy about what she wanted from her. Even back in the early days when Sandy was working the streets for real and Frye squeezed her for information, she never took advantage like some cops. Frye always paid and treated her like she mattered. She was the first person who ever had.
“I’m okay enough,” Rebecca said. “Everything quiet?”
“As far as I know.” Sandy picked at a chip on the red polish on her thumbnail. “I haven’t been out since things went down the other night. I wasn’t sure—” She glanced through the open door in Dell’s direction, but Dell was busy tapping away at a computer. Dell always got hinky when she was working for Frye. She liked that Dell worried about her, but she didn’t want her to worry too much. She liked that Dell got a little jealous. Okay, sometimes a lot jealous. She liked that feeling of being special and cared about. But she would never make her jealous on purpose. She’d played games to survive her whole life, and she would never do it with Dell.
Rebecca stood. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“Are you kidding me? You look like—”
“You said that already. Come on. We won’t go far.”
Sandy shook her head, but followed Frye to the elevator. Dell looked over once as they walked through the room, then quickly back to her keyboard. Sandy kept her distance while they rode down, aware of the cameras everywhere. But once outside on the street, she looped her arm through Frye’s without being invited.
When Frye gave her a raised eyebrow, she snapped, “You don’t look that steady. I don’t want you falling into the street and getting run over. I’ll never get any dinner, which is what I came here for to begin with.”
“Let’s go to the deli around the corner,” Rebecca said, moving her arm out of Sandy’s grasp to curl it around her shoulder. “Why the hell don’t you ever dress for the weather? You’re shivering.”
“I’m used to it.”
“That’s not what your body is saying.”
“I’m in charge of my body,” Sandy said flatly.
Rebecca said nothing. A few minutes later they slipped into a greasy spoon on the corner of Market and Fourth that smelled like fried onions, strong coffee, and tomato sauce. They claimed a booth at the back and a waitress asked them what they wanted, not bothering to offer them menus. Rebecca ordered a sandwich and coffee, then thought better of the coffee and switched to water. She still had a headache and maybe the caffeine wasn’t such a good idea.
“Just a Bud,” Sandy said.
The waitress cocked her head at Rebecca and Rebecca nodded. Sandy was legal in all the ways that counted. She’d proved herself enough times to deserve a beer.
“So, what’s the deal,” Sandy asked.
“Things have changed,” Rebecca said. “We’ve put a crimp in the supply line by exposing the trafficking operation down at the port. I’m sure there’s plenty of those foreign girls still around, but my guess is whoever is running them is going to be very cautious for a little while. That means a lot more action is going to come to your friends.”
Sandy sipped the beer the waitress brought her. “Don’t you mean
me
and my friends?”
“Not if you’re not hooking, which you aren’t. Right?”
“Jeez, don’t start sounding like Dell.”
Rebecca frowned. “Are you and Mitchell having problems about that?”
“No,” Sandy said quickly, afraid that she might get Dell in trouble somehow. “She’s just, you know…overprotective. Must be a cop thing.”
“Must be.” Rebecca waited until the waitress slapped a heavy white plate with a thick sandwich down on the table. She wasn’t really hungry, but she couldn’t remember the last time she ate. She knew she needed the food, so she forced herself to take a bite. “I want you to find me a replacement.”
“For Dell?” Sandy said, her heart rising in her throat. Man, Dell would lose her mind if Frye let her go.
“No,” Rebecca said in exasperation, trying not to shake her head and make the pounding any worse. “For you.”
“Why? I’ve got the contacts, I like the money, and besides—you know you can trust me.”
“Like I said, the situation is different now.”
Rebecca had thought long and hard about this while she’d been lying in a hospital bed. Any reliable confidential informant was invaluable, and Sandy was not only trustworthy, she was smart and street savvy. She was as much a member of the team as any of them. But she was also the least trained and probably the least capable of taking care of herself. Rebecca had intentionally used her, put her at risk, more than once. It was necessary because she needed Sandy to get the job done, and the job was everything. The job had always been everything, more important than her lovers, more important than her life. But something had changed, and she wasn’t quite sure how or what.
Six months ago, if Sandy had been hurt while gathering information for her, she would’ve been angry. If Sandy had been killed, she would’ve been saddened, hurt. And she would’ve hunted down whoever had done it no matter how long it took. Because that was her job, and Sandy was hers to protect. Now if Sandy got into trouble some night, if she was hurt, Rebecca wasn’t sure she could live with it. She knew Mitchell wouldn’t be able to. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose again. How the hell had she gotten this attached to one of her CIs? And how did she end up with a cop on her team involved with her CI, a prostitute no less? It was a recipe for disaster, completely against protocol. Why hadn’t she put a stop to it? At times like this, she thought maybe she still should.
“Look,” Sandy said, gripping Rebecca’s arm. “I’m careful. I’m smart. And I’ve got friends out there. People I care about, just like you care about Dell and Jason and Sloan. Hell. Even Lard Ass.”
“That’s Detective Watts to you,” Rebecca said, smothering a smile. “I’ll look after your friends. That’s my job.”
“Yeah yeah. You’ll look after everyone. Sure. Look at you. You are as gray as this floor.” Sandy pulled her phone out of her jacket again. “I’m calling your lady to come and get you.”
Rebecca jerked upright and winced. “No! I’m heading home soon.” She looked at her wrist and for the tenth time that afternoon remembered she didn’t have her watch. Catherine must have taken it home from the hospital when she’d been admitted, because it hadn’t been with her personal effects. “What time is it?”
Sandy looked over her shoulder at a round-faced wall clock with a faded Hershey’s ice cream logo hanging on the wall behind the counter. “Almost six thirty.”
“Oh, Christ,” Rebecca whispered. Catherine would be home any minute. She pulled money from her pocket and dropped it on the counter. Thankfully, Catherine had made sure she had cash when she left the hospital. “I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“You’re not driving, are you?”
“No, Watts is my ride. He went back to headquarters to finish up some paperwork. I’ll call him to pick me up outside of Sloan’s.”
Sandy jumped up and wrapped her arm around Rebecca’s waist when Rebecca swayed. “Gimme your frickin’ phone and tell me his number.”
“It’s number two on speed dial.” Rebecca didn’t resist the help. She really did feel like crap.
*
“So,” Vincent asked when Angelo picked up the phone. “You doing anything over there besides pulling your crank?”
“Hell, yeah.” Angelo raised his left shoulder to hold the phone against his ear while he handled the video camera. “Are you sure you don’t have me watching some kind of whorehouse? There’s more action going on in that building than in some of our joints.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Like girls coming and going. Real lookers and real friendly-like. Some of them are dykes for sure.”
“Heard that. You getting ID?”
“They’re not wearing name tags, but I’ve shot some great footage. Real boner material.”
“Just keep it in your pants. The boss wants to know who’s shacked up with who.”
“There’s some little blonde who looks like she’s servicing the whole team. She has to know plenty. We ought to put one of the boys on her.”
“Don’t worry. The boys are gonna be plenty busy soon. See you in the morning, and you better have more than tits and ass on film.”
“Believe me, I’ve got plenty.” Angelo dropped the cell phone on the windowsill and zoomed in on the face of a tall, chiseled blonde in casual clothing who climbed into the passenger side of a Crown Vic. Had to be a cop. When the car pulled away, the skinny little whore in the red leather jacket went back into the building. Man, she was a busy little beaver. He settled back into his chair and laughed at his own joke.
*
“Hey, babe,” Dell said as Sandy leaned against her back and wrapped her arms around her from behind. She shivered when Sandy kissed the side of her neck. Technically, she wasn’t on duty, but she
was
scanning shipping manifests for Jason, looking for discrepancies that might indicate other deliveries of girls from Eastern Europe. “I’m sort of working here.”
“And I’m sort of hungry. Maybe a few other things too.”
Dell grinned, closed the file she was working on, and swirled her chair around. “Yeah? Already?”
Sandy let out an uncharacteristic squeal as Dell pulled her down into her lap and nuzzled her neck. “Jesus, Dell,” she snapped, pushing her away. “What if Sloan walks in?”
“She won’t care.”
“Well, Frye would kick your ass.”
Dell stiffened. “She’s still here?”
“No. Watts is taking her home. She shouldn’t have been here at all this afternoon. What’s wrong with the bunch of you?”
“She’s the boss. She calls the shots.”
Sandy snorted. “Are you gonna take me somewhere for dinner or do I have to go by myself?”
“I’m done here for now. Take off your jacket.”
Sandy punched her. “I said not here. Geez, rookie. What’s wrong with you?”
Dell rose, pulled her leather jacket off the back of a nearby chair, and held it out.
“I don’t want your jacket,” Sandy said.
“You do if you want a ride. You’ll freeze in what you’re wearing.” Dell waited. “Besides, it turns me on when you wear my clothes.”
Sandy rolled her eyes, but she took off her skimpy vinyl number and accepted the black leather jacket Dell slung around her shoulders. “What about you?”
“You’ll figure out some way to keep me warm.”
“If you’re lucky.” Sandy slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip.
“I’m always lucky.” Dell kissed her quickly and held up five fingers as she started away. “See you downstairs.”
When Dell pulled up in front of the building on her Ducati, Sandy climbed on behind her, leaving the heavy leather jacket unzipped. It enclosed them like a tent as she wrapped her arms around Dell’s waist. The only thing between her breasts and Dell’s back was her thin bra and Dell’s T-shirt. Sandy’s nipples got hard.
“I’m not so hungry anymore,” she breathed, licking the rim of Dell’s ear. “Maybe we should just go home.”
Dell grabbed one of Sandy’s hands and cupped it in her crotch. “We’ll pick up some takeout and eat it in bed. Later.”
Sandy laughed and squeezed until Dell yanked her hand away. “Much later.”
*
Angelo craned his neck to watch as the motorcycle roared down the street. Then he shut off his video camera. “Gotcha.”
Catherine slowed as she turned the corner onto her block, a five-minute walk from the hospital. Streetlights in her West Philadelphia neighborhood of Victorian twins were few and far between, making visibility a challenge, but she thought she recognized the dingy gray Crown Victoria idling at the curb in front of her house. She told herself she was imagining things. It couldn’t possibly be a departmental vehicle, and the hulking form behind the wheel couldn’t possibly be William Watts. It was almost 7:00 p.m. and Rebecca must have been home hours ago. William wouldn’t be coming by to discuss business at this hour. He knew Rebecca needed more recovery time.