Неизвестный - 4. Justice In The Shadows

“You mad?” Sandy asked.

“No.”

“Sure?” Sandy leaned with one shoulder against the wall, her hip cocked, a strip of bare skin showing above the waistband of her tight slacks.

“Yeah,” Mitchell said hoarsely, her attention riveted to that pale smooth inch of flesh. She wanted to see if it was really as soft as it appeared. She felt hot and a little dizzy.

Mercifully, the elevator glided to a stop. “This is it.”

Suddenly shy, Sandy hesitated. “You sure about this? You know, if people see you with me—”

Impatiently, almost angrily, Mitchell took Sandy’s hand and pulled her from the elevator. “What do you think, that you have a big sign that says hooker around your neck? Let them think whatever they want to think.”

“What about your job? That could be a problem, right?”

Mitchell’s head snapped around. She stared hard at Sandy. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody.”

Frye said…I’m Frye’s now… Mitchell jammed her key into the lock and twisted viciously. She pushed the door open and waited for Sandy to enter before walking into her apartment and flicking on the light switch to her right. “What did Frye say to you?”

Sandy couldn’t miss the current of desperate pain in Mitchell’s voice. “Listen…Frye was just looking out for you, okay?”

“I don’t need her to look out for me, especially not where you’re concerned. What did she say?” Mitchell took a step forward, and when Sandy flinched, Mitchell jerked back, instantly feeling sick to her stomach. “God, Sandy, do you think I’d hurt you?”

“No.” Sandy shook her head. Tentatively, she placed her palm flat against Mitchell’s chest, just above her heart. “No, I…I don’t think that.”

Mitchell stood very still, afraid if she moved Sandy would take her hand away. The heat from Sandy’s small hand burned her skin through the fabric of her shirt. She couldn’t feel anything else except those few square inches of flesh, and in that one single spot, she felt terribly alive.

“I won’t,” Mitchell whispered. “Never. I swear.”

Tremulously, Sandy smiled. Mitchell’s heart thudded against her palm. She couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like that insistent pounding—wild and strong and strangely gentle. Like Dell. “Don’t ask me things, and I won’t have to lie.”

Mitchell took a cautious step forward. Sandy didn’t move her hand, but slid it higher up Mitchell’s chest, until her fingers touched the skin of her throat.

“That’s not how it works.” Mitchell’s voice was husky, her body taut with tension.

“How what works?” Sandy asked, unable to look away from Mitchell’s face. Your eyes get so dark when you’re excit…oh god.

Sandy stumbled back and dropped her hand. Mitchell leaned toward her, breathing fast, but she did not follow.

They smiled at one another.

“You okay?” Sandy finally asked.

Mitchell nodded. “Yeah, you?”

“Sure.”

The doorbell rang.

Mitchell drew a deep breath. “Show time.”

Catherine pushed up on one elbow and brushed the hair from her face with her free hand. “What is it?”

“Christ, I’m sorry.” Rebecca sat up quickly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her voice was muffled as she said, “Look, it’s not you, okay?”

“I could point out that I’m the only one in bed with you, so it most likely is me—but I’m too old to waste my time on false pride.” Gently, Catherine rested her hand against Rebecca’s bare back. The skin was slick with the heat of their passion, the muscles tight with tension. “And fortunately, we’ve been together long enough that I believe you. So, if it’s not me, what is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” the detective ran a hand through her hair. This is how it starts. First she’ll be confused, then she’ll be hurt, and eventually she’ll be angry. This is when it all starts to come apart. “It’s nothing. I guess I’m just tired. Sorry.”

“Rebecca,” Catherine said as she sat up and slid a leg around each side of Rebecca’s body, wrapping her arms around Rebecca’s waist from behind at the same time. She rested her chin on top of her lover’s shoulder. “We’ve made love when you were so exhausted you could barely move a muscle. We’ve made love when you were still recovering from a gunshot wound. Lord, we’ve made love in places and at times when sane people couldn’t conceive of being turned on. This is not about being tired.”

Without looking around, Rebecca found Catherine’s hand where it lay on her stomach and held it. Catherine’s breasts were against her back, a soft warm comfort. Maybe, maybe this time it really would be all right. “It’s the case.”

“Mmm, I thought as much.” Catherine snuggled her cheek against Rebecca’s neck. “What’s worrying you about it?”

Rebecca heaved a sigh. “Just about every damn thing you can think of. I’ve got a rag tag team, short on cops and long on civilians—one of whom is a goddamned streetwalker.” And another who’s my lover. “I’ve got Sloan trying to smoke out an informant within the department—someone who might be mob connected, someone who probably tried to kill her once already. Watts’s career, maybe even his pension, is shot to hell if this operation runs afoul of someone with a lot more clout, or connections, than we can handle. I’m putting a rookie undercover, with no prep time and barely any back-up. Civilian back-up at that. Jesus, what a mess. I should be taken out and shot.”

“Don’t even joke.” Catherine stiffened, and for the first time, her voice held an edge. The nightmares had only begun to abate, and there were still nights when she woke in a sweat, images of Rebecca’s life bleeding away through her fingers.

“Sorry.” Rebecca turned her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re the team leader—the commander. Your burden is every bit as great as theirs, and you care.” Catherine kissed her gently. “You’re exactly the right person to lead them.”

Rebecca turned her face to Catherine’s neck and pressed her lips to the soft skin. She followed with her body, rolling over and pulling Catherine beneath her. Resting on her elbows, one thigh between Catherine’s, she gazed into the tender, knowing eyes that never failed to welcome her. It took her by surprise, every time, how quickly the comfort of Catherine’s gentle strength could transform into wanting. Feeling the sensuous rise of Catherine’s hips and the light brush of nipples against her own, Rebecca forgot everything except the heat rising within. When Catherine stroked her breasts, her abdomen, the swell of her hips, she let herself be carried beyond thought on the tides of their singular desire. Surrendering to the pull of Catherine’s mouth and the rush of fingers over her skin, Rebecca closed her eyes as Catherine claimed her, abandoning control as the knowing touch found the places that made her weak, made her gasp, made her cry out with the swift surge of pleasure rising too quickly to crest and break.

“Now there’s only you,” Rebecca murmured, riding the surge of excitement that gathered deep in her stomach and poured down her thighs, drowning her in pleasure. “Ah Catherine, you’re making me come.”

Catherine watched, awestruck, as Rebecca arched above her, braced on trembling arms, shuddering on the brink of orgasm. So terribly defenseless, so terribly precious. “I love you.”

Rebecca’s eyes flickered open, her usually piercing gaze glazed and unfocused. “I need…you. So much.”

“I’m here,” Catherine whispered, sliding her fingers from the pulsating clitoris, moving lower, inside, taking possession of what was hers. “And here.” She thrust deeper, and Rebecca tensed, poised to shatter. “And…here.”