Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

Michael leaned back enough to look into Sloan’s eyes. There was turmoil in their depths. “What is it?”

Sloan rested her forehead against Michael’s. “Nothing. I love you.”

“What did you do this morning?” When no answer was

forthcoming, Michael stroked the back of Sloan’s neck and kissed her gently. “Sloan?”

“Just a brieÞ ng with Rebecca and some of the hotshots in the department.”

“Problems?”

Sloan shook her head.

“Progress, then?”

“Some.” Sloan stiffened as she thought about what she had learned.

“I know who hurt you. At least who set it up.”

Michael gasped. “How?”

“I tracked him through the computer system at Police Plaza.”

“You know his name?”

“Yes.”

“A police ofÞ cer?”

“An ADA. He’s probably Mob connected—I don’t know how just yet.”

“Has he been arrested?”

“No.” The bitterness in Sloan’s voice lay heavy in the air.

Michael cupped her Þ ngers along the sharp angle of Sloan’s jaw, sensitive to the tight muscles quivering beneath the smooth, pale skin.

Now she understood why Sloan had come home in the middle of the day, in the middle of a big case. Something she would ordinarily never do. She was in pain. “You know what I’d like?”

“What?” Sloan’s voice was husky, her hands terribly gentle as they rested in the soft curve above Michael’s hips.

“I’d like to go to a movie, and then out somewhere for dinner, and then come home and spend the rest of the night in your arms.” Her

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Þ ngers trembled faintly as she traced their tips over Sloan’s mouth.

“Can we do that?”

Sloan buried her hands in Michael’s soft golden hair before lowering her mouth to Michael’s. After she’d Þ lled her mind with the touch and taste of her lover, she whispered, “Yes. Always for you, yes.”

v

Catherine stepped from her car and turned at the sound of her name. Smiling, she leaned a hip against the fender and watched Rebecca coming toward her, a pizza box balanced in one hand. Under the streetlights, Rebecca’s blond hair glinted. Her blazer swung open, revealing the long line of her chest and hips. Catherine’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt the familiar tingling that always accompanied the Þ rst sight of her lover.

“How did you know I’d be home now?” Catherine asked as Rebecca drew near.

“I’m a detective.” At the sight of Catherine’s raised brow, Rebecca grinned. “I called Joyce, and she told me when you’d be Þ nished.”

“Mmm. Good thinking.” Catherine wrapped her arm around Rebecca’s waist as they strolled down the sidewalk side by side. “You need to start wearing an overcoat, darling.”

Rebecca kissed Catherine’s cheek. “Why? Is it going to snow?”

“It feels cold enough to.”

“I’m Þ ne.”

“Is there some rule about police ofÞ cers not wearing coats?”

“I don’t like them. Too conÞ ning.”

You think it will get in the way of you reaching your gun, don’t you?

Catherine had noticed that whenever they walked together, Rebecca took the street side, as if shielding her. She was also very aware that no matter where they were, Rebecca constantly scanned the surroundings, looking for something or someone out of place. It wasn’t a question of Rebecca always working, it was simply that Rebecca was always a cop.

And in that regard, there was no middle ground. “If you won’t wear an overcoat, then you need to switch to wool blazers. The silk is not heavy enough for this time of year.”

Rebecca laughed. “If that will make you happy, I will. Except

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they’re still in storage from last winter. It might be a week or so before I have time to retrieve them.”

“Give me the tickets, and I’ll pick them up for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Rebecca said as they climbed the stairs to Catherine’s brownstone.

“I want to. That’s all a part of our being together.”

Inside, Catherine shed her coat and briefcase as Rebecca took the pizza into the kitchen. A moment later, Catherine joined her. She made an appreciative sound as Rebecca opened a bottle of cabernet and Þ lled a glass for her.

“This is wonderful,” Catherine sighed after her Þ rst sip of the dark wine.

With a contented groan, Rebecca leaned her hips against the counter, arms outstretched on either side, her Þ ngers curled around the edge, enjoying Catherine’s pleasure. “Better than wonderful.”

Appreciating the way the Þ ne, pale linen stretched across Rebecca’s chest, Catherine nodded. “It’s the Þ rst night you’ve been home for dinner all week. We should celebrate.”

Rebecca patted the pizza box. “That’s what I thought too.”

Catherine took another swallow of wine and set the glass on the small butcher block next to the stove. Then she stepped up to Rebecca and placed her hands on the counter inside of Rebecca’s, trapping her lover between her arms. “I wasn’t thinking about food.”

With Catherine pressed along her length, Rebecca remained motionless, content for Catherine to lead. “Not hungry?”

“Well,” Catherine murmured as she slid her hands over Rebecca’s back, “I am, but I was thinking of pizza for the second course.”

“I like cold pizza.” Rebecca tilted her head back, offering her throat. She growled softly as Catherine’s teeth caught at her skin. When she raised her hands from the counter to embrace her lover, Catherine grasped her wrists.

“No. Keep them right where they were.” Firmly, Catherine guided Rebecca’s hands back to the curved edge of the counter. Then, as she kept Rebecca pinned with the force of her pelvis between Rebecca’s thighs, she kissed her. Slowly at Þ rst, the tip of her tongue tracing the juncture of lips and moist inner recesses. Then a little harder, a little deeper, until their tongues danced in teasing counterpoint. While she

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savored Rebecca’s mouth, she slipped her hand between them and unbuttoned Rebecca’s shirt.

“Catherine,” Rebecca whispered at the Þ rst touch of Þ ngertips against her breast. With her hands clenched around the edge of the counter, she braced her arms for support. The muscles in her legs trembled as Catherine kissed her, one warm palm kneading her breast, a thumb ß icking at her nipple.

“Mmm,” Catherine moaned as she broke the kiss and dragged her Þ ngernails down the center of Rebecca’s abdomen to her belt. As she deftly slid the leather free of the clasp, she whispered, “So much better than pizza.”

“You make me feel so good,” Rebecca gasped. “You make me forget…everything, except us.” Her head swam as Catherine’s Þ ngers dipped inside her trousers and found her ready. “When you touch me…”

The exquisite pressure left her breathless.

“What?” Catherine’s voice was deep, husky with desire as she kissed the corner of Rebecca’s mouth, her jaw, her neck—one hand inside Rebecca’s shirt, caressing her breasts, the other stroking rhythmically between her legs. “What happens, darling? What?”

Rebecca’s vision wavered as her stomach tightened, her thighs turning to jelly. Her breath came in short pants, and a sound somewhere between a plea and a prayer tore from her throat. “You make me whole.”

“We make… oh God…” Caught unawares by a sudden surge of heat that raced along the inside of her legs and up her spine, Catherine shuddered. Eyes nearly closed, she rested her forehead against Rebecca’s and slipped inside her, never breaking the rhythm of her strokes, only moving deeper, taking more of her. Taking all of her. As she felt Rebecca spasm around her Þ ngers, she whispered, “We make each other whole.”