Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

“Got a gun here,” a female ofÞ cer yelled, adrenaline making her voice sharp and brittle.

“Give it here,” Watts said as the uniform pulled the revolver from Mitchell’s ankle holster.

“Civilian in the bedroom,” a male voice called simultaneously.

“You two! Get the civilian out of the building and call for more backup. Leave this one here for now.” As the two ofÞ cers half dragged Irina out the front door, Watts knelt by Mitchell’s side. “You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, but all hell’s breaking loose upstairs. Jesus.” Mitchell jerked her arms. “Get these off.”

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RADCLY fFE

He keyed the cuffs and they both got to their feet. He handed Mitchell her weapon.

“Here. Clear the downstairs.” He hesitated. “And get your badge on before some eager uniform plugs you full of holes.”

“I’m coming up with you,” she insisted, digging deep into her front pocket for her badge.

“You ain’t wearing a vest, and the Loo said to protect your cover.

You stay down here for now.”

“You might need me.”

“I need you, I’ll holler.” He was already halfway to the stairs and didn’t look back.

v

The hall was Þ lled with the stench of cordite, the pungent smell of blood, and the screams of petriÞ ed girls. Watts saw the body on the ß oor, and the air gushed out of his lungs as if he’d been punched in the gut. Oh, fuck me, I’m not seeing that.

Sloan pivoted toward him, gun extended, and he yelled, “Police, police. Sloan, it’s Watts. Jesus.”

“I can tell who the hell it is, for Christ’s sake.” Sloan’s eyes were hard dark stones. “Clear downstairs?”

“Mitchell’s sweeping it.” Watts wasn’t looking at her, but at Rebecca slumped against the wall. “Jesus Christ.”

“Call for the ambulance and a coroner.” Sloan holstered her weapon and spoke in Russian to the group of young women huddled together at the far end of the hall. Most were garbed only in ß imsy sleepwear or T-shirts, all were barefoot, and all were clearly terriÞ ed.

“They say there’s no one else up here,” she called back to Watts, “but I’ll do a room-to-room. You stay with Rebecca.”

“Loo?” Watts knelt by Rebecca’s side. Her eyes were open but glazed. Blood shimmered down her face and neck. “Take it easy, Lieutenant. The ambulance will be here in a minute.”

He waited, holding his breath, but no answer came.

v

Catherine opened her eyes to darkness, her heart racing. The

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Justice Served

bedside clock read 4:26 a.m. She listened for the sound of the key in the lock, but there was only silence. She sat up and reached for her robe.

The feeling of foreboding was oppressive and heavy, a weight in her chest that squeezed the air from her lungs and turned her limbs to stone.

She forced herself from the bed and, after pulling the robe around her naked body, walked into the living room. When the knock came at the door she was not surprised. For seconds that felt like eternity, she did not move. In that instant she understood the true power of denial. If she did not open the door, she would not suffer the loss. If she did not hear the words, she would not experience the anguish. If she did not accept, it would not be true.

The quiet knock repeated.

Catherine steeled herself and opened the door. She hadn’t meant to speak, but when she saw Sloan’s face, she whispered an agonized no.

“She’s hurt, but she’s alive. She’s at University ER. Ali Torveau’s with her.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Catherine said evenly, but when she turned, her legs were unsteady. She didn’t draw away when Sloan’s arm came around her waist.

“It’s going to be all right,” Sloan murmured as she walked beside Catherine back to the bedroom.

“Tell me what happened.”

Sloan averted her gaze as Catherine, apparently oblivious to Sloan’s presence, removed her robe and stood naked in front of the closet. “We took the stash house. The guard was armed.”

“Oh God.” Catherine closed her eyes and braced her hand against the closet door.

“She was wearing a vest, Catherine,” Sloan hurried on. “I couldn’t tell for sure, but I don’t think she took a body shot.”

“She would have called me if she could have. What aren’t you telling me?”

“There’s a head wound. I’m not sure how serious.”

Catherine gave a small cry before Þ ghting back the terror that threatened to immobilize her. Blanking her mind, she slipped into a blouse and slacks, heedless of the fact that she wore no underwear. She stepped barefoot into low-heeled boots and pulled a blazer off the rack.

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RADCLY fFE

She walked determinedly toward the front door with Sloan in her wake.

“How could this happen? Who was with her?”

“I was.”

Catherine Þ nally looked directly at Sloan. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“And the…person who shot her?”

“Dead.” Sloan pointed. “My car’s over here.”

“You killed him?”

“Yeah.” Sloan keyed the remote and opened the passenger door for Catherine.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

Sloan handed Catherine into the car, pulled the seat belt across Catherine’s chest, and hooked it. “I’m just Þ ne.”

v

Catherine remembered nothing of the brief, rapid journey to the hospital. She was out of the car nearly before Sloan was able to halt the Porsche in front of the emergency room entrance. She rushed through the automatic double doors into the familiar chaos of the trauma admitting area. Tonight the waiting room was awash with a sea of blue.

Tonight, the PPD had turned out en masse in support of one of their fallen brethren. That realization passed quickly through Catherine’s mind as she grasped the arm of the Þ rst passing nurse. “Lieutenant Frye. Wounded police ofÞ cer. Where is she?”

“Trauma One, I think.”

“Thank you.”

Sloan caught up to Catherine before she was halfway down an adjacent hallway that sported curtained exam rooms along both sides.

“Maybe you should wait until I Þ nd Ali and get an update.”

“No. I want to see her now.”

“Okay,” Sloan relented. “I’ll see what I can Þ nd out.”

Before she could turn back to the crowded waiting room in hopes of Þ nding someone who would be willing to give her information, she heard the deep rumble of a familiar voice.

“Dr. Rawlings,” Captain Henry said in a surprisingly soothing tone of voice. “I’m sorry to see you again under these circumstances.

Can I get you anything?”

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Justice Served

“Where is she?” Catherine asked immediately.

“Radiology, at least the last I heard.” He slid an arm beneath Catherine’s elbow. “No one is telling us very much, but the doctors listed her in critical, but stable, condition. Why don’t you come sit down in the family waiting room.”

“She’s not in the operating room?”

Henry looked perplexed. “No. No, they said something about a CAT scan.”

Some of the terrible pressure around Catherine’s heart eased. If they hadn’t taken her directly to the operating room, then she couldn’t be in grave danger. She might be hurt, but she wasn’t dying. Please, let that be true.

“I’m going down to radiology,” Catherine said.

“Of course,” Henry replied.

“You want me to come with you?” Sloan asked.

Catherine shook her head. “No, I’m all right.” She smiled at Sloan.

“Thank you for coming to get me. You should call Michael. She’ll be worried.” Suddenly, her expression changed to one of concern.

“Everyone else is all right? Dellon? Watts?”