Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

“We need to move quickly to freeze all of his accounts, get his computers from both his residence and his ofÞ ce, and start looking for connections,” Rebecca said. “Because whoever eliminated him is burying their trail right now.”

When she turned as if to leave, Clark nonchalantly stepped into her path. “I’m wondering if this hit might not be something a bit closer to home.”

Beside her, Watts made a sound in the back of his throat that reminded Rebecca of an attack dog warning off an intruder. She said nothing, because she knew Clark’s game. He was looking for information and hoping to goad her into providing it.

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“Maybe this has nothing to do with anything…professional,”

he went on. “Maybe it’s someone with a personal score to settle with Beecher.”

Unfortunately, Rebecca knew what he was after and also what needed to be done to protect the integrity of her team. “I’ll talk to her.”

“I’ll have one of my agents pick her up—”

Rebecca stepped forward so quickly that Clark took an involuntary step backward. With her face an inch from his, she shot out in a clipped, deadly voice, “You don’t go near her. I’ll question her. The report will be on Henry’s desk by eight a.m. If you want to know what it says, read it there.”

Clark blinked, a slow ß ush darkening his features. “I have jurisdiction—”

“You don’t have dick,” Rebecca interrupted. “This is a homicide.

This is PPD business. The only reason you’re standing here right now is because I’m trying to be cooperative. You touch any of my people and I’m not going to be so obliging in the future.”

For a moment, they stood toe to toe in the unforgiving glare of the artiÞ cial lights, looking like two Þ ghters in the middle of the ring waiting for the starting bell to sound. Waiting to throw the Þ rst punch.

Then, Clark abruptly pivoted and strode rapidly away.

“So now we know who’s really got the balls around here,” Watts remarked appreciatively.

Rebecca ß icked him a look of amused irritation. “Let’s go talk to Sloan.”

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Justice Served

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Michael surfaced slowly from deep sleep, roused by an annoying, repetitive beep. It took her a few seconds to recognize the sound as the alarm from one of the security sensors. She rolled over with a murmur of protest and extended one arm. “Sloan, darling…”

The bed beside her was empty. Sighing, she drew back the covers, reached automatically for her robe at the foot of the bed, and absently tied the sash around her waist as she walked down the hall. Beside the elevator doors, a panel slid open at the touch of a button to reveal a recessed cabinet holding a bank of security monitors. Squinting at the image on the screen above the blinking red light, she recognized Rebecca Frye standing on the small landing at the front entrance.

“Rebecca?” Michael asked after switching on the audio.

“Sorry to bother you, Michael, but we need to see Sloan.”

“She’s not here,” Michael replied. “Maybe downstairs in the ofÞ ce.”

“Can we come up?”

“Of course. I’m sorry. I’ll buzz you in.” Michael gave a small laugh. “I’m still half asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no need to be. Come up. I’ll put coffee on.”

v

Two minutes later, Rebecca exited the elevator with Watts by her side. They stopped just inside the loft, waiting.

“Good morning,” Michael said with a smile, emerging from the kitchen alcove. She indicated the leather sofas in the living room.

“Would you like to sit down?”

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RADCLY fFE

“No, we’re Þ ne,” Rebecca said out of habit.

“Coffee, then?”

Before Rebecca could answer, Watts jumped in. “That would be terriÞ c. I can smell it from here.”

“It’ll just be another minute or so. Please, won’t you sit down?”

Rebecca acquiesced, and they moved into the living room. Rebecca and Watts took opposite ends of a deep teal leather sofa while Michael settled on an ivory one across from them.

“Do you know where Sloan is?” Rebecca asked.

“No, I called downstairs while you were on your way up. No one answered, so I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“It’s pretty early,” Rebecca said.

Michael laughed. “Sloan has no regard for time, especially when she’s involved with a case. She keeps odd hours.”

“But she was here earlier in the evening?”

“Oh, yes. We went out in the late afternoon and were back here by nine, I think. We…” Michael smiled faintly and blushed. “We went to bed early.”

Watts shifted uneasily and made a point of gazing out the wall of windows toward the Delaware River. Barge trafÞ c was already heavy on the river below.

“Would you happen to know about when you…got to sleep?”

Michael laughed softly. “I’m afraid I wasn’t watching the clock, Lieutenant.”

“No, of course not,” Rebecca said evenly. “So you have no idea when she might have left?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t. I seem to sleep very deeply once I Þ nally nod off.” Michael tilted her head, her expression quizzical. “Why don’t you call her cell phone? Most of the time she forgets to turn it on, but since I’ve been…ill, she’s very good about it.”

“We will,” Rebecca replied. At the moment, she wasn’t actually interested in speaking to Sloan. What she wanted was to establish a timeline for Sloan’s activities the previous evening. Hopefully, a timeline that would put her far away from the parking lot at Front and Market.

Rebecca waited until Michael had gone to the kitchen and returned with a tray holding coffee mugs, cream and sugar, and a small plate of

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Justice Served

mufÞ ns before continuing her questions. “Would you know if she made any phone calls last night from home?”

“No, I’m quite sure she didn’t. We came in and went directly to bed.”

Watts coughed and busied himself with his coffee.

“What about incoming calls? Did she perhaps receive a call and go out afterward?”

Michael frowned. “No. Nothing that I recall. What’s going on?

Is…she’s all right, isn’t she?” She sat forward, paling visibly. “You don’t think she’s hurt or in danger?”

“No,” Rebecca said quickly. “Nothing like that.”

“But something’s wrong. What’s happened?”

Rebecca hadn’t touched her coffee. She’d gotten little help from what Michael had given her, and that frustrated her. But the sudden change in Michael’s appearance worried her even more. Michael was trembling, and there was something close to panic in her eyes.

“Michael, I…”

The nearly inaudible swish of the elevator doors sliding open brought Michael to her feet, and the sudden change in position made her light-headed. She swayed unsteadily.

The Þ rst thing Sloan saw when she walked into her home was her lover, looking as if she was about to fall.

“Michael?” Sloan cried in alarm, reaching Michael’s side in four long strides. “Baby, what’s wrong?” She slid an arm around her lover’s waist and eased her down on the sofa. She brushed her lips over Michael’s forehead. “Hey. What happened? Did you get sick? Why didn’t you call me?”

“It’s all right, darling,” Michael murmured, smiling weakly. “I’m Þ ne. It’s Þ ne. I was asleep when Rebecca came. I’m just not quite awake yet.”

“You’re not hurt? Not sick or anything?” Sloan passed trembling Þ ngers over Michael’s cheek.

“No. I’m really all right.” Michael stroked Sloan’s arm, then covered Sloan’s hand with her own, placing a ß eeting kiss on the palm.