3. In Pursuit Of Justice

“Okay—dinner then.”

Sandy snorted in disgust. “Fine. Chen’s. Come on.”

They moved quickly through back streets that were so narrow they might have been alleys except for the historic townhouses lining them. The residents of Society Hill, as the area was called, issued constant complaints to City Hall regarding the Tenderloin and its undesirable activity. Unfortunately, the seedy par of town bordered some of the most expensive real estate in Center City. Every six months the police swept the area nightly for a week or two trying to reduce the nightlife, but it always returned.

Rebecca kept a careful eye out for anyone following them or lurking in the shadows as they hurriedly along. Ten minutes later they emerged on South Street, another pocket of late night activity, although here the crowd was younger and the excitement centered more on alcohol and drugs than sex. Chen’s House of Jade was a hole in the wall restaurant that looked like a Board of Health citation waiting to be served, but the food was good and the proprietor discreet.

Rebecca and Sandy took a booth in the back beneath flickering fluorescents, and a smiling waitress materialized with a pot of steaming tea and a bowl of crisp noodles before their butts had hit the cracked vinyl seats. She began to hand them menus, but Rebecca shook her head and Sandy said, “Moo shu pork with extra pancakes. And a Tsing Tao.”

Then they were alone, staring at each other across the stained Formica surface. Automatically, Rebecca took inventory, her eyes flickering over the blond’s face and then down to her bare arms. The pretty young woman’s eyes were clear and her arms bore no track marks. The detective was glad. She liked the spunky kid.

“What happened to your head?” Rebecca asked.

Sandy shrugged and lightly traced the fresh red scar on her forehead. The suture marks still showed along the edges of the cut. “I fell.”

“Did someone help you fall?” Rebecca asked casually, plucking a twisted, crispy fried noodle from the bowl. There were a dozen reasons why a woman in Sandy’s position could end up dead—turf issues from veteran prostitutes who didn’t want her moving in on their corners; angry pimps who didn’t think the nightly returns were high enough; a trick gone bad. But Sandy was Rebecca’s informant, and the cop protected her own. It was one reason why Sandy helped her, although unwillingly sometimes, with street Intel.

“I already said. Accident.” She studied the cop, noting the shadows under her eyes. Her normal leanness bordered on gaunt. “I didn’t think you’d be back.”

Rebecca was silent.

“I heard—well, everyone heard, about what happened to you the day after Anna Marie got—killed.” The last time Sandy and the tall cop had seen one another, Sandy’d been crying on Frye’s shoulder and her best friend had been lying upstairs in a rat-hole hotel dead. She could still feel the safe, solid feel of the cop’s arms around her. Shaking her head to dispel the memory, she added, “I’m glad you blew that fucker away.”

“So am I.”

Sandy looked at her in surprise, her skin prickling at the cold hard flatness of the cop’s voice. She was starting to wonder if she hadn’t been wrong about a lot of things about cops. Frye wasn’t like those prick bastards who hassled her and her friends for sex in exchange for not running them in on prostitution charges that they all knew wouldn’t stick past night court. Frye was different; she cared, just like— The waitress interrupted her musings as she deposited an enormous platter of steaming moo shu on the table between them along with pancakes and sauce.

“More beer?” the waitress asked Sandy, who shook her head no. Looking at Rebecca, she asked, “How about you?” The word detective hung in the air.

“No—I’m good.”

As Rebecca watched her companion pile food on her plate, she remarked, “I’m looking for somebody selling young stuff.”

“Everybody sells young stuff. That’s what sells. Or haven’t you noticed?”

“I’m talking about the real thing, not the eighteen year olds pretending to be thirteen.”

“Don’t know anything about it.” Sandy rolled another pancake and sipped her beer, keeping her eyes on her plate.

“This is probably a big, well-run operation, not some pimp selling chickens out of an apartment in the slums,” Rebecca continued unperturbed. “Maybe a well-organized operation.”

Sandy raised her gaze to Rebecca’s. Their blue eyes met, but try as she might, she knew that she couldn’t match the hard stillness of the cop’s cold stare. Sandy blinked, then said softly, “Are you fucking nuts? I don’t know anything about that, and I don’t want to know anything about it. If this is organized , then asking about it gets you dead. Look at what happened to your cop friends last spring.”

Rebecca’s expression became granite. “What did you hear?”

“Just that they were poking around where they shouldn’t have been poking—in somebody important’s business. And that somebody shut them up.”

“You get this important person’s name?”

Sandy shook her head. “Uh uh.”

“Who did you hear this from?”

“Can’t recall.”

“Try.”

“Are you looking to get offed, too?” Sandy hissed, leaning forward across the small tabletop. “What is it with you?”

For some reason, Rebecca answered. “One of them was my partner.”

“Well, now he’s dead. End of story.”

“No,” Rebecca said quietly as she pulled her wallet from her back pocket. “Not yet.” She laid four twenties on the table. “Ask around. Be careful, though.”

“Yeah, right. Thanks.” Her tone was not grateful. “Listen,” she said quickly as Rebecca slid across the seat and stood up.

“What?”

“A friend of mine is in a jam. An undercover guy busted her tonight—not before she finished the hand job I might add, although of course he denies that—and I know she doesn’t have the bail. She’s been picked up before. She could go away for this.”

“What’s her name?” Rebecca asked, glancing at her watch. “If the paperwork’s not processed yet, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Rita. Rita Balducci.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Can’t wait,” Sandy grumbled, watching the cop walk quickly through the narrow aisle between the rickety tables and out into the night. Some part of her felt better knowing Frye was back on the streets.

“Oh God, I need a shower. I need two showers.” Jason McBride pushed away from the computer terminal and rubbed his face with both hands. “I always heard it, but I never really knew how many sickos there were out there.”

Sloan swiveled in her chair and faced him from the console where she had been working. The clock on the far wall said 4:42 a.m. The last time she could remember seeing the time it had been eight-thirty the previous evening. Jason’s hair was uncharacteristically disheveled, and his shirt actually appeared to have been untucked. Intentionally. That was highly unusual for her fastidious friend. It was the hollow-eyed expression on his face that caught her attention, though. It wasn’t fatigue—they’d worked forty hours or more without stopping when they’d had major system failures to repair or massive viral infestations to cleanse. This was something else. “I guess you’ve been successful?”

He winced. “If you can call almost having sex with a dozen perverts successful, then yes—wildly so.”

“Who are you tonight?”

“QtGrl13. She was a big hit.”

“Where have you been trolling?”

“The Hot4U message boards. As soon as I showed up and announced that I was a new girl in town, I had three offers to move off to a private room to get acquainted. I was in an out of the chat rooms all night after that.”

“Anything look promising?”

He shrugged, then sighed. “Too soon to tell. The patter is pretty sophisticated for the most part—except for the high school boys who are the same the world over whether it’s cyber space or the junior prom. They just want to get laid and they’re not too subtle about it. But I have a feeling that the real pedophiles are being very careful not to expose themselves. They’re probably pretending to be kids until they feel safe enough in a relationship to cop to their real age. There were one or two who sounded like they might be angling for more than a quickie, but I’ll have to go back on again a few more times to see. If I move too fast it will spook them.”

“All right. As soon as you have a possible, let me know and we’ll start a back door trace. And we need to narrow down geographic locations. There are literally thousands of people using these boards, and we have to search for a local hit.”

“Got it.”

“Try to bring the conversations around to pics, especially current ones or anything with videos.”

“I’m doing that when I go on as BigMac10—that’s where I’ve just been. Swimming with the scum who are looking to trade files. I’m posing as a guy who’s interested in 12 or 13-year-old girls. But I haven’t been real specific yet. These guys aren’t stupid, and the people we’re looking for are going to be very savvy. I can’t just ask to see some guy’s etchings.” He sighed and stood. “I’m going home. Sarah got in from that alternative medicine conference in Sante Fe tonight. Last night—whatever. Somehow, being with her always makes me feel normal.”

“Yeah, she has that effect on me, to.”

“That’s a stretch,” he said good-naturedly.

Sloan just laughed. “Say hi for me—and tell her she owes me a workout.”

“Will do. You should quit for the night, too. Michael home?”

“Yes.”

“Then go.”

She glanced at the screen, considering the credit card clearing houses she still needed to trace, then thought of the woman upstairs asleep. The case was already getting ugly, and it was likely to go on for a long time, and get even uglier. She stood and stretched. “Excellent advice. I’m gone.”

She locked the office doors as Jason descended in the silent elevator, then walked the length of the dimly lit hall to the rear stairwell and climbed the one flight to her fourth floor loft apartment. As quietly as possible, she fitted her key into the lock and slid the large double doors apart, closing and bolting them behind her. Making her way through the darkened space by memory, she shed her clothes along the way and crossed to the bathroom on the far side of the partitioned sleeping area. She left the light off so as not to awaken Michael, but as she reached into the shower to turn the water on, she heard a soft sound behind her. Turning, she was startled as a warm body pressed into her arms.

Nuzzling Sloan’s neck, Michael murmured sleepily, “Is it morning?”

“Not yet.” She kissed her gently, then added, “Go back to bed. I’ll be in as soon as I shower.”

“Mmm. Want company?”

“Now that is by far the best offer I’ve had all night.”

“Oh?” Michael asked, sounding much more awake. “And have you had many offers this evening?”

“None worth mentioning,” Sloan said reassuringly. Unfortunately, she had a feeling that was a circumstance that was about to change, given their current undertaking. Pushing aside thoughts of predators and innocent victims, she drew her lover into the shower and let the warm water and Michael’s embrace wash the unwelcome images from her mind.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WHEN THE ALARM went off, Michael made a quick grab for it in an attempt to silence the insistent buzzing before it awakened Sloan.

“What time is it?” came a husky whisper from the darkness.

“6:15.”

“Do you have a meeting this morning?” Sloan asked, clearing her throat and trying to dispel the cobwebs from her brain.

“Yes. Development and Marketing are meeting to discuss agendas.”

Sloan rolled over as Michael sat up in bed, appreciating the way the sheets cascaded down her lover’s body, leaving her breasts bare. Suddenly, she forgot the fact that she’d only had an hour and a half of sleep. They hadn’t been able to have dinner together the evening before, because by the time Michael had gotten back from a late business meeting, Sloan and Jason had been deep into another night on the job. Internet traffic was high between four and two a.m. when kids were home from school. That’s when adults looking for a contact would be trolling. With effort, she pushed aside those thoughts. Running a hand down Michael’s bare arm, she said, “I missed you last night.”

“Me, too.” Michael sighed. “I’d better go. I want to be there to referee. You know those two groups can never agree as to whose timetable should take priority. And of course both division directors are total hotheads, and usually one or the other or both of them threatens to quit after every meeting. I figured I’d save myself some time by being there to put out any fires.”

“They’ll play nice if you’re there. And you could always threaten to can them before they have a chance to quit.”

“Maybe.” Michael laughed and leaned down to kiss her. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm. I will,” Sloan murmured languorously, her arms encircling Michael’s waist. Pulling the other woman down into her arms, she added, “In just a few minutes.”

Surprised, Michael emitted a short peel of laughter that turned to a muffled moan as her body met Sloan’s, and her skin began to hum with the familiar pulse of desire. Her body called the next shot, and before she knew it, she was straddling Sloan’s thigh and devouring her lover’s mouth, suddenly ravenous for the taste of her. While she was lost in the kiss, Sloan lifted her hips, rolling Michael over, and then settled possessively upon her. The hum became a roar.

Unwillingly, Michael pulled her mouth away from the kiss, gasping, “No time.”

“I’ll be quick,” Sloan growled, her lips against Michael’s neck, her hand brushing the length of Michael’s side to her hips.

“Liar. You’re never quick.” But she wasn’t moving away.

Sloan pushed herself up and in one quick motion slid down the bed until her breasts nestled between Michael’s thighs and her cheek was pressed to Michael’s stomach. Nipping at the sensitive skin around Michael’s navel, she trailed her fingers lightly up the inside of her lover’s left thigh, dancing back and forth over the tender places between her legs.

“Tease me like that for very long and it will be quick,” Michael warned, arching her hips under Sloan’s clever fingers.

“I know.”

Still, Sloan took her time, drawing her fingertips along the warm sensitive folds, dipping into welcoming heat, then pressing the length of Michael’s clitoris only to move away quickly, eliciting sighs and faint cries from her lover. Only when Michael’s long delicate fingers fluttered over her cheek in mute appeal did she lower her head and take her gently between her lips. At Michael’s sharp cry, she pulled her in more deeply, her tongue stroking counterpoint to the pulse that hammered through swollen tissues. Careful not to increase the pressure enough to snap the threads of Michael’s control, she kept her quivering on the edge for long moments. Only when Michael began to thrust erratically against her, impossibly hard now and clearly on the verge of exploding, did she relent and increase the rhythm of her strokes.

Instantly, she was rewarded by a rigid stillness in Michael’s legs followed by a wrenching gasp, then a quiet sob of surrender. Sloan closed her eyes and savored every tremor that spiraled beneath her lips and moved outward through her lover’s body. Then she lay quietly, one hand extended, her fingers intertwined with Michael’s, completely satisfied.

Sloan was almost asleep again as Michael whispered in her ear, “I’ve set the alarm. Be careful today. I love you.”

Catherine turned off the alarm twenty minutes before it was set to ring. She’d been awake for a long time, listening to the silence in the still house punctuated occasionally by the distant sound of a car door opening, an engine starting, and someone leaving for an early day. And it had taken her a long time to fall asleep after Rebecca had left the night before, too. It was impossible not to wonder where she was going, who she would be talking to, and with whom she would be spending the last dark hours of the night. She had hoped that Rebecca would return when her work was done, to come quietly through the door to rest at her side. Once she had even awakened, her heart beating fast with anxious anticipation, only to realize it had been the wind blowing branches against her window that had called to her.

Wearily, she swung her legs from beneath the covers and stood, reaching for her robe as she straightened. She was tired, not from lack of sleep, although that had certainly been fitful, but from something deeper that tugged at her heart. As if standing at a distance, dispassionately watching a scene played out on stage, she studied the feeling, finally recognizing it as a combination of loneliness and fear. The loneliness did not surprise her. She missed Rebecca, which was only natural. The fear would take some time to understand, but part of it was simple enough. She was afraid because her love made her vulnerable—vulnerable not only to her own fate, but to Rebecca’s now as well. Their paths had crossed, their lives had intersected, and now their futures were entwined. It was entirely possible that the road ahead would be paved with disappointment and sorrow. How many times she had counseled others that there were no guarantees in life, and that only by living it could we ever hope to be fulfilled. She smiled to herself as she made her way toward the shower, thinking how easy it was to give advice and how hard sometimes to heed it.

Rebecca parked illegally in a bus stop and left her flashers on. She jogged up the block, glancing at her watch and searching for Catherine’s car. She didn’t see it, but Catherine had returned late the previous night and she probably hadn’t been able to find a place on this block. Her breath was a little tight and she was aware of a faint stabbing pain deep in her chest that pulsed with each footfall. Chalking it up to scar tissue that hadn’t yet matured, she ignored it. Nevertheless, as she pressed Catherine’s doorbell, she had to work to suppress the sound of her own breath wheezing in and out. What she didn’t need was to give Catherine something else to worry about. After a minute, she pressed the doorbell again, but she knew that she had missed her. When they’d parted the previous evening, they had been careful with one another, trying not to ignite the fires of anger that still smoldered dangerously. She hadn’t thought to ask Catherine what her morning schedule was. Turning away, she walked more slowly now down the marble stairs to the sidewalk and toward her car. There was a place inside of her that still hurt, and it had nothing to do with her injuries. It was just the part of her that always felt empty when they were apart, and now she knew it was going to ache all day. Cursing softly, she slid into her Vette, gunned the ignition, and roared away into the morning.

Her temper hadn’t improved any by the time she reached the station house, and it wasn’t soothed by the thought of her 7:30 appointment. Rand Whitaker opened the door to his office precisely on time.

“Come on in, Sergeant,” he said with a welcoming smile.

Rebecca followed him, carrying a cardboard cup of coffee she had picked up from the vending room on her way to his office. She settled into the straight-backed chair and balanced the cup on her knee.

“So you’ve been back on the job a few days now, isn’t that right?” he asked, jotting the date and time on a yellow legal pad as he sipped from his own mug of coffee.

“Not precisely,” Rebecca corrected in an even tone. The one place you didn’t want to appear disgruntled was in this room. “My normal assignment is working active special crimes cases—detective work. For the time being, I’ve been assigned as an intermediary between the Police Department and a government agency that’s running a multijurisdictional task force.”