Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

There was no need to deÞ ne who he was, because they both knew. Sloan had related some of the smuggling story to Michael, and it seemed only reasonable to her that the man who had nearly killed her in the misdirected murder attempt on Sloan might be one of the bodyguards who ferried the young smuggling victims from destination to destination. And if that were the case, Sloan was likely to come across him in the course of the surveillance or subsequent arrests.

Michael did not want her lover anywhere near that man when she was carrying a gun.

“Not a problem,” Sloan assured smoothly. But the hard edge in her eyes remained.

Shaking her head, Michael crossed the room and settled her arms around Sloan’s neck. She was close enough to kiss her, but she did not. Instead, she studied the depths of Sloan’s violet eyes, assessing their ever-changing emotional landscape. “Even if you were able to get away with taking revenge on whoever’s responsible for putting me in the hospital, you’re not that kind of person at heart. It would take something from you. Destroy something in you.” As Sloan began to protest, Michael shook her head again. “I need all of you. I need you.”

Sloan made a strangled sound in her throat and buried her face in Michael’s hair, holding her close, swaying as she stood with Michael in her arms. “If you knew how it felt when I thought I’d lost you…oh Jesus…”

“You didn’t and you won’t.” Michael thrust her hands into Sloan’s hair and tilted her head back, forcing Sloan to accept the truth in her eyes. “I love you and I will not leave you. You have to promise me the same. You have to take care of yourself.” She touched her Þ ngertips to a spot above Sloan’s breast, over her heart. “Here. Here where I need you so.”

“I promise,” Sloan said, her voice hoarse. “I promised you before, and I’ll keep my promise. I won’t do anything to hurt you.”

“Be sure that you don’t let anyone else hurt you either,” Michael whispered, her Þ ngers still buried in Sloan’s hair. She brought her mouth down on her lover’s, tasting her, taking her time and kissing her thoroughly until she was sure that she was all Sloan could feel. Then, reluctantly, she relinquished Sloan’s mouth. “I love you.”

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Sloan closed her eyes and rested her cheek against Michael’s. The anger had dulled, muted by the much more powerful force of what they shared. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything touch what we have.”

“Nothing ever could, darling,” Michael murmured, and kissed her again. “Take good care of yourself tonight. I’ll see you when you come home.”

v

Sandy answered the knock at the door and opened it wide to admit Rebecca.

“Hiya, Sandy,” Rebecca said, casting a quick glance around the small studio apartment. It was as neat as she remembered it from the one time she had been there before. The small sofa bed, closed and covered with colorful throw pillows, the slightly scratched coffee table in front of it, and the sparkling clean kitchenette off to one side.

“Hi,” Sandy replied with no hint of warmth.

“Mitchell ready?”

Sandy crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head toward the bathroom. “Just about.”

Rebecca walked to the coffee table and deposited the small canvas gym bag she carried in one hand. Squatting, she unzipped it and removed the contents, lining up the equipment she would need in a neat row. She looked up to the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Mitchell—Mitch—approached in tight, faded blue jeans and a torso-hugging black T-shirt. His chest was ß at, his face long and square jawed, his crotch obviously but not ostentatiously full. Had she not known differently, Rebecca would’ve thought him to be a young man of twenty. “The transmitter’s about the size of a deck of playing cards, a little bit thinner. Do you have room for it anywhere?”

“Where’s the best spot?” Mitch inquired, sliding his hands into his front pockets.

“Most guys will wear it down the back of their pants, maybe on their back, or occasionally in their crotch.”

Mitch’s lips twitched, and he unconsciously brushed the bulge beneath his ß y. “No room there.”

“I gathered,” Rebecca said dryly. She stood, the transmitter in her

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right hand with the attached wires dangling. “Where’s Irina least likely to touch you?”

“Uh…” Mitch sidled a glance at Sandy, who remained motionless, her face set and her eyes Þ rmly on his face. “Probably my back.”

Sandy snorted. Rebecca seemed not to notice.

“Okay, then, pull your shirt out and turn around,” Rebecca instructed. When Mitch hiked up his T-shirt, Rebecca saw the thin wrap encircling his torso. “I think if I tape it under the lower edge of the chest wrap, that’ll camouß age the shape enough to hide it, especially with the T-shirt over it.”

“Okay,” Mitch said, holding still as Rebecca worked. “What’ll I do if she wants to take me back to her place tonight?”

“Stall her.”

“What if I can’t?”

“You’ll have to Þ gure out a way. We’re not prepared for a takedown tonight, and I don’t want you getting into a situation where I can’t extract you quickly.”

“Yeah, but…”

“If she keeps after you,” Sandy said quietly, “make her come right there in the bar, but don’t fuck her. Tell her you’re saving that for special.”

Mitch blushed, and sweat broke out over his entire body.

“Jesus,” Rebecca complained. “I can’t get the tape to stick to you like this.” She turned to Sandy. “Can you get me a towel?”

“Sure.”

“She’s going to kill me before this is over,” Mitch said when Sandy disappeared into the bathroom.

“She’ll be okay,” Rebecca replied. “Just remember who you are and why you’re there. Do what you need to do, and then you leave it there.”

Sandy held out the towel, giving no indication that she’d heard Rebecca’s words, but her angry expression had softened. “It would be kinda nice if you all made sure that Mitch’s ass doesn’t get hung out to dry.”

“Sandy—” Mitch started to protest.

“He’ll be Þ ne. We’ll be monitoring everything that happens from now on.” Rebecca pressed the last strip of adhesive into place and rearranged the chest wrap over it, smoothing out the wrinkles with

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Justice Served

her hand. “Tuck your shirt in.” She waited until Mitch complied and then walked around him, eyeing his back critically. “In dim lighting, that’s not going to show. Just make sure she doesn’t get her hands back there.”

“That’s not where she’s going to be putting her hands,” Sandy commented.

Mitch groaned softly and gave Sandy a beseeching look.

A ß icker of amusement passed over Rebecca’s face as she clapped Mitch on the shoulder. “Sloan’s downstairs in the car. I’m going down to test the audio feed with her. It’s a one-way transmission, so you’re not going to know that we’re on the line. But we’ll be there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mitch said with absolute certainty. “By the way, I’m wearing an ankle holster.”

Rebecca nodded as she repacked the duffel bag. “Good. That’s something a guy like Mitch might do, so if anyone notices it at all, just say you’ve had some trouble and want to be prepared.”

At the door, she added, “If I don’t call up, it means we’re reading you with no problem. Remember, all we want tonight is for you to reestablish contact with Irina and convince her that you want to spend time alone with her where she lives. Following her to the stash house won’t be enough—we need you inside to give us some idea of the occupancy, the layout, and the number and position of the guards. We deÞ nitely don’t need a hostage situation when we get ready to take the place, so we’re going to want to go for the guards Þ rst.” She Þ xed Mitch with a Þ rm stare. “Your job is intelligence. You’re our eyes, okay?”