Неизвестный - 4. Justice In The Shadows

“Thanks for coming.” Sloan stepped aside with a sweep of her arm, bidding entry. “Please.”

What caught Rebecca’s attention almost immediately was the exquisitely beautiful woman seated on the sofa in the central living area. Her classically elegant features were scarcely marred by the bruises and obvious swelling. There was pain swimming in her deep blue eyes, however, and it hurt Rebecca on some basic, instinctual level to see it.

“Detective Sergeant Frye, my partner, Michael Lassiter.”

“Rebecca,” Rebecca said, walking forward to offer her hand. “Hello.”

“I’m so happy to meet you,” Michael said, smiling into the arctic blue eyes.

“I’m glad to see that you’re better,” Rebecca replied.

“Yes, thank you.” Michael glanced at Sloan, who stood quietly to one side. “It was my idea that you come upstairs. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Rebecca smiled. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Other than keeping my impetuous lover out of harm’s way?” Michael ignored a slight groan from Sloan’s direction, smiling softly. “You can accept an invitation from Sloan and me for you and Catherine to join us for dinner when I’m a bit more worthy of company.”

“I’d be delighted to accept for both of us.” Rebecca was surprised to realize that she’d have a hard time denying this woman anything. “As to Sloan, that’s another story. She’s a little independent.”

Michael nodded carefully. “I won’t argue. I won’t even mention extenuating circumstances of which you’re well aware. So, I’m going to leave you two to sort that out.”

Sloan moved forward quickly to help Michael rise. Slipping an arm around her lover’s waist, subtly supporting her, she glanced at Rebecca. “I’ll be right back.”

When Sloan rejoined her, Rebecca waited for Sloan to make the first move. It wasn’t what she expected.

“Sorry if that put you on the spot,” Sloan said quietly. “Michael is having trouble remembering things, and—”

“You don’t need to explain. Seeing her like that…it makes me want to put a gun to someone’s head.” Before Sloan could reply, Rebecca added, “But I won’t.”

“Neither will I.”

“You’re too close to this one. I knew it from the beginning and I let it slide. That was my mistake.” Rebecca fixed Sloan with an unyielding stare. “But you blew it last night. You should have called me as soo—”

“I know. I was wrong. I apologize.”

Rebecca nodded slightly, accepting the apology. “The fact remains, I don’t know that you won’t decide the investigation is moving too slowly and take matters into your own hands.”

“I won’t.” Sloan’s face tightened and a muscle in her jaw jumped. “I won’t because it would hurt Michael.”

Rebecca considered it. Considered what she had seen of Sloan’s condition when Michael had been injured. Considered the effect that love, no, not just love—bone-deep need—had had on her own life since meeting Catherine. She blew out a breath. “Your word on it.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Watts will be deeply disappointed.”

Sloan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“He was hoping for a royal ass-chewing.”

“You can always fake it,” Sloan suggested with a laugh.

“Nah. He’d enjoy it too much.”

When Rebecca and Sloan walked into the conference room together, Watts craned his neck and examined Sloan from head to toe. “I don’t see any bite marks.”

“They’re there,” Sloan said quietly in passing.

Watts smiled, satisfied.

Rebecca settled into a chair at the head of the table. “Okay, Sloan. It’s your show.”

“I found a back door in Flanagan’s computer,” she said. “In simple terms, that’s a secret way into a system unknown to the user. Depending on the level of access, the intruder can remove, alter, or delete files. This user had root access.”

“That’s good?” Watts asked sharply, hating the way these discussions left him feeling like a rookie again.

Sloan shook her head. “That’s bad. At least for the person whose system has been compromised. It means that the intruder can do just about anything to the data and then alter the logs so that it’s impossible to see what he, or she, has done.”

“And you identified him?” Rebecca asked.

Sloan nodded. “I tracked the log-on data back to Henry.”

“Can you prove it’s him from what you have?” Rebecca asked sharply.

“Not yet,” Sloan admitted. “I need to go back tonight. I need to look at what Henry’s been doing. With the information I have, I can easily access his files.”

“Do it,” Rebecca said immediately. “In the meantime, we work the other angles. Sandy nabbed us a solid lead—a dancer who might be our video girl. Watts and I will look for her.” She turned to Mitchell. “I need you in those clubs, as soon as possible. We’re looking for information on an escort service that might be transporting girls to the clubs—to perform, to hook, we’re not sure. That and any word you can get for us on the video shoots.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rebecca looked at Jason. “What kind of cover story are you going to use?”

“There is a big drag scene in DC. A place called Club Chaos on Dupont Circle is the heart of the drag king scene, and Jasmine performed with some of them there a couple of times.” Jason looked at Mitchell. “I thought we could put Mitch out as having been a bouncer at the club. That way, he won’t be expected to perform.”

Rebecca stood. “Okay. Anything breaks, I want to know.” She purposefully did not look at Sloan. “Anything.” Then she turned to Watts. “I need a couple of hours, then let’s cruise the clubs down on Delaware.”

“Sure, Sarge.” He heaved himself to his feet. “Sounds like my kinda night duty.”

Mitchell, sweating and swearing under her breath, humped the mattress up another few stairs. She looked out from under the leading edge, which was balanced on her back, at the open-toed, stack-heeled shoes and skin tight black slacks of someone standing on the third floor landing. Nice toes. Craning her neck, she looked up the length of the very sexy body into laughing eyes. Totally nice everything. Her legs got shaky and it wasn’t from the effort of carrying the mattress.

“Hiya, Sandy.”

“Hi, Dell. Whatcha doin’?”

“Moving in.”

Sandy eased down a step on the narrow staircase, grabbed one side of the mattress, and lifted. Together they dragged it the rest of the way down the dim hall and dumped it unceremoniously into the middle of the empty living room of Dell’s studio apartment.

“This is pathetic,” Sandy observed, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“I get a hot plate in here—it will be fine.” Mitchell couldn’t look anywhere but at Sandy, so bright-eyed and fresh and oh-so-hot-sexy-kissable… Mitchell jerked at the warm touch on her hand.

“Uh-huh.” Sandy took Mitchell’s arm and tugged. “Come on. You can shower at my place.”

“I gotta go to work.”

“So do I. Come on.”

Once inside the apartment, Sandy closed the door and put both arms around Mitchell’s waist beneath her leather jacket. “I thought you’d never show up.”

Then, Sandy pressed full-body against the startled cop and kissed her, taking her time, working her way over the surface of Mitchell’s lips before slipping her tongue between them and exploring. By the time she was inside Mitchell’s mouth, sucking slowly on her tongue, Mitchell had walked them across the room to the sofa, and they fell onto it in a jumble of arms and legs. Mitchell groaned as Sandy’s hand slid up the inside of her leg and cupped her through the jeans. Sandy moaned as fingers found her nipple through the thin material of her top.