Неизвестный - 6. Justice For All

“You’re not going to have to do that.”

Mitch straddled the bike and handed her a helmet. She put it on and climbed on behind him. Then she wrapped her arms around his waist and slid her fingers underneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Maybe I will anyhow.”

v

“Aw, for fuck’s sake.” Watts jerked upright in his seat as the Ducati roared around the corner and headed in the opposite direction toward North Philadelphia. “There he goes.”

Rebecca didn’t bother answering. She cranked the starter and made a quick U-turn to follow Mitch. Since this part of town was fairly

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Justice for All

deserted midweek in the middle of the night, she had to hang back without other traffic to use as cover.

“Keep an eye out for anyone else following him,” she said.

Watts divided his attention between the side mirror and squinting into the distance at the single red taillight. “You think Clark has a tail on them too?”

Rebecca grunted. “Don’t you?”

“Christ almighty, it’s a fucking daisy chain. With this many people trailing along after him, the boy’s cover’s gonna get blown.”

“Maybe Clark really is stretched thin,” Rebecca said. “Maybe the feds really don’t have the manpower for street-level surveillance.”

“Maybe. And maybe my dick’s got two heads too.”

“That is not an image I want stuck in my brain, Watts.” Rebecca cut over one block and turned left. Then she sped up, running parallel to the street Mitch and Irina had taken.

“Jesus, Loo! We’re going to lose him if he jumps onto 95.”

“Your concern for Mitch is starting to worry me, Watts. Something you want to tell me?”

“Yeah, I’ve suddenly developed the urge to suck salami. He’s still green, that’s all.”

Rebecca cut back toward Mitch’s street and as they crossed the intersection, she caught a glimpse of Mitch’s taillights two blocks north of them. She kept going another block, turned right, and paralleled him again. “I know he’s green, but he’s good. And I know where he’s going.”

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Justice for All

ChAPTER NINE

Sloan pulled into the garage, cut the engine, and sat astride her bike, wondering how she had come to be sitting alone in the dark while the woman she loved waited four floors above, feeling four thousand miles away. She’d moved from the clandestine streets of Southeast Asia to the pristine corridors of DC, and when forced from government service had convinced herself that work in the private sector was satisfying. At times, it was. And in addition to being very lucrative, private contracts had brought her Michael. But she never felt the thrill of hunting a white-collar criminal the way she did when she knew her work would rid the world of someone truly evil. She had felt that way since working with Frye and her team, but Michael had paid the price for her ego gratification.

Sloan figured she’d been selfish long enough. She swung her leg over her bike and strode to the elevator. After punching in the code, she let her mind go blank. She had nothing left to think about. A few moments later, the elevator opened and she stepped into the loft. A fire had burned down to embers, and in the dying glow she saw Michael curled in a corner of the large sofa. She wore dark, loose cotton pants and a long-sleeved scoopneck top. Her legs were drawn beneath her and her arms wrapped around her slim torso. She looked cold, and Sloan felt a surge of self-loathing. She stripped off her leather jacket and tossed it onto a heavy wood frame chair on her way into the sitting area.

“Did you have dinner?” Michael asked.

“No.” Sloan detoured to add more logs to the fire before settling

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onto the sofa next to Michael. The six inches of space between their bodies felt like miles. “I’m okay.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

Michael’s tone was not accusatory, but Sloan ached at the undeniable sadness. She took Michael’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, exactly?”

Sloan tried to find an answer that would be the truth. “I lost my temper and I took it out on you. That’s unforgivable, but I hope you’ll forgive me anyhow.”

Michael laughed softly, but the sadness was still there. “You have always been so charming. I’ve never been able to resist you.”

“Bad thing? Good thing?”

“Our thing.” Michael traced the tight tendons in the back of Sloan’s hand with her fingertips. “I know I’m not capable of doing a lot of the things that you do. I wouldn’t really want to. I’m not interested in learning to shoot a gun. I’m probably a coward at heart—” When Sloan started to object, Michael shushed her. “I don’t enjoy physical confrontation. I live inside my head, and you—God, one of the things I love about you is how physical you are. I love how I know what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, when you touch me.” Michael’s voice trembled. “So when you leave me like you did tonight, I feel lost.”

Sloan pulled Michael into her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Why don’t you want me to go to this fund-raiser? Catherine and Rebecca are going.”

“Rebecca and I will be working,” Sloan said.

Michael settled her head on Sloan’s shoulder and looped an arm around her waist, trying to decipher the message. Sloan didn’t want to tell her something, and whatever that was, she seemed tormented by it.

“You think there’s danger, and you don’t want me there.”

“I don’t know. Possibly. Probably.” Sloan stroked Michael’s shoulder. She didn’t know her enemy’s face, she didn’t know how to stand between Michael and harm, and that was driving her crazy.

“It’s a public function,” Michael pointed out gently. “I’ll be arriving with you and leaving with you. And the entire time I’m there, I’ll be surrounded by police officers and businessmen and women.

What could happen?”

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Justice for All

“I don’t know,” Sloan whispered.

“I’m all right now, Sloan. I feel better every day. I’m not going to get hurt again. I’m fine.” Michael straightened and took both of Sloan’s hands in hers. “What I need is you by my side, loving me. If you do that, that will be enough.”

“Okay,” Sloan said softly, rising to walk with Michael to the bedroom, all the while knowing she had lied.

v

Sandy didn’t see Dell’s bike in front of their apartment building.

She pulled the front door key from one of the many zippered pockets on her fake red leather jacket as she climbed the stoop, her stomach sinking. She’d stormed out in a huff and now Dell wasn’t home. Crap.

Dell was probably mad. Well, so was she. Sort of. A little bit. And she hated the disappointment that choked her when she let herself into the dark apartment. She already knew Dell wasn’t there, so why did that make her feel bad, anyhow? It’s not like she needed her around all the time. They both had their own stuff to do. Just because they slept together most every night, it wasn’t like they were really living together.

Dell still had her expensive fancy condo in Center City, although come to think of it, Sandy couldn’t remember the last time Dell had been there.

After switching on the light, she stripped on her way to the bathroom. She showered and washed the smoke out of her hair, then fished a ratty T-shirt of Dell’s she slept in out of the laundry basket. She couldn’t find a clean pair of sweatpants so she checked in Dell’s half of the dresser. The first drawer she pulled open was empty. She stared at it for a long moment, the sick feeling in her stomach growing. She’d finally pissed Dell off so much she’d left. Got sick of her running the streets, mouthing off, going her own way. What did you think? That she was going to stay forever? Grow up.