“Aww,” Jasmine soothed. “We all know how special you are, Dino.”

“Uh-huh.” He grinned. “Hiya, I’m Dino.”

“Mitch.” Mitch shook hands all around. The third guy Mitch recognized from the Front Street Kings’s website. Phil E. Pride.

“Mitch just moved up here from DC. I thought you guys could show him around.”

Ken lifted a shoulder and looked Mitch over. “You perform, Mitch?”

Mitch shook his head. “Nope. No talent. At least not on stage.”

That drew a laugh.

“What brings you up here?”

“A girl.”

Ken raised an eyebrow and glanced at Jasmine.

“Oh, not me, Ken.” Jasmine smiled sweetly. “You know I adore every one of you, but you’re way too much men for me…” They all laughed. “And I am oh so already taken.”

“I keep hoping,” Ken said.

“I’m going to go talk to some of the girls,” Jasmine said. She squeezed Mitch’s arm. “I’ll see you later, stud.”

“Okay.”

Mitch took the seat opposite Ken in one of the lumpy chairs and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I haven’t been here very long and I’m trying to get a sense of the scene. It’s tough, you know…on your own.”

“Most kings hang here, because of our shows. There’s seven of us in the troupe, and maybe that many regulars who aren’t performers.” Ken reached for his beer. “You looking for a job?”

“I could use one. I’ve got a straight day gig, but it doesn’t pay much.” Mitch grinned. “Like I said, I’m not looking to perform. I used to be a bouncer, and I can do almost anything around a bar.”

“Ought o be able to find something around here then.” Ken propped his feet back up on the coffee table. “So—you’re friends with Jasmine.”

“Yep.” Mitch waited, sensing Ken considering that fact.

“You interested in the club scene or is the thing with your girl serious?”

“It’s serious,” Mitch replied. “But I’m not married.”

And just like that, he was in.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Sandy.” Sandy turned her back on the guy at the end of the bar who was giving her the once over. “Lucy said maybe you could put me with this movie guy to make some fast cash.”

Trudy, the thin Asian girl from the video, looked away. “Lucy sent you?”

Sandy nodded, then swiveled on her seat as a hand stroked her shoulder. It was the guy from the end of the bar. “Buzz off, will ya?”

“What’sa matter, honey? You too busy or something?”

The guy moved his hand lower, brushing the side of her breast.

Sandy’s eyes narrowed and, without moving anything but her arm, she slid a hand up the inside of his leg and closed her fingers around his balls. Then she squeezed, gently. “Well…”

He smiled.

She kept squeezing.

His smile turned to surprise, and then his eyes suddenly widened in shock. “Jesus,” he whispered desperately. “Let go.”

“I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

“Okay, okay.” His knees buckled, and he grabbed the edge of the bar. “Ah, Christ…please.”

His eyes started to tear, and satisfied, Sandy released her hold. “Goodbye now.”

“Bitch,” he croaked, but his voice lacked any venom.

The girl with Sandy watched the stranger limp carefully away. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll be waiting outside for you?”

“Most of the time they’re too drunk by then to do anything, but I’ll go out the back just in case. So—can you help me out?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Look, if you do, I’ll split the money with you.”

Trudy’s eyes widened. “No way.”

“It’d be worth it to me. I’m tired of blowing slime balls like that guy over there for small change.”

“Yeah, you got that right.” Trudy picked at a nail. After a minute, she said, “I’ll ask around.”

“Hey, thanks.” Sandy tried not to look as happy as she felt. I earned my money tonight, Frye. “So let me give you my number, ‘k?”

When Sandy left the bar on Delaware Avenue it was almost four in the morning. Ordinarily, she would have strolled over to the strip on Locust and tricked for another two hours in the dark alleys or front seats of parked cars. Tonight she headed home, hoping that Mitch, or Dell, would be there waiting.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Rebecca groaned and reached for the phone. “Frye.”

“It’s Sloan. I have to talk to you.”

“What time is it?”

“Five.”

“How important?”

“Very.”

“Ah, Christ. Okay.” Rebecca sat up and pushed the sheets aside. “Your place?”

“That’ll work. I’ll wake Jason.”

“You need the rest of the team?”

“It can wait til later.”

“Am I gonna like this?”

“Maybe.”

Catherine waited until Rebecca put down the phone. Voice fuzzy with sleep, she asked, “Everything okay?”

“Sloan has something.”

“Call me later.” She burrowed back into the pillow.

Rebecca smiled, walked around to Catherine’s side of the bed, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. Lips close to her lover’s ear, she whispered, “What’s the matter? Something tire you out last night?”

“Mmm.” Eyes closed, Catherine smiled at the memory. “Something.”

Mitch stood uncertainly before the door to 3B, listening intently for any sound from the other side.

“Sandy?” he called softly, tapping very gently. He waited a minute, then turned to go down the hall to his own apartment. The door behind him opened.

“Hey.”

Mitch spun around, heart racing. “Hi.”

“Where ya goin’?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you know…it’s late. Early…whatever.”

Sandy wore only a pair of dark string bikini underwear and a tank top. She leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, her eyes moving slowly over Mitch’s body. He looked even better than she’d remembered in his black T-shirt and leathers. “So, you wanna come in?”

Mitch nodded, trying not to look as hungry for her as he felt. “Yeah.”

“How was your night?” She didn’t move.

“Long.” He moved to the opposite side of the threshold and stretched an arm up along the frame, tilting his body toward hers, but not touching her. And inch separated them, and he could feel her heat across the chasm, penetrating his clothes, soaking into his skin. His insides twisted he wanted her so bad.

“Did you go out with the boys?” Sandy asked casually as she lazily drew her fingers across her bare abdomen.

“Uh-huh.” Mitch’s throat was dry, his eyes riveted on the slow caress. “We…uh…hit a few places.”

“Did you score?” This time there was a slight edge to the question.

Softly, Mitch replied, “Not yet.”

Sandy reached out, pushed her fingers beneath the waistband of his pants, and yanked him into the room. “Smart answer.”

She swung the door closed and then pushed him back against it with the weight of her body glued to his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her mouth to his, and rubbed the tiny square of black fabric covering her groin over the swelling in his crotch.

“I’ve been so hot for you,” she breathed against his neck. “So…crazy…hot.”

Mitch cupped Sandy’s butt and held her as she rode him, letting her have…take…do…whatever she wanted. She was going to make him come pretty soon just from the pressure of her thrusting hips, but he figured she knew that, because he couldn’t help groaning with pleasure and need.

“Unzip your fly,” Sandy gasped, pulling his T-shirt from his pants. She raked her nails down his abdomen, her thighs braced against his. Then she pulled her tank top off as he opened his pants for her. She looked down, saw the full white jockeys. She looked up and met questioning blue eyes, so filled with longing it made her heart ache. Gently, she took Mitch’s hands and brought them to her breasts. Moaning softly, she closed her eyes and bit her lip as the first touch of his fingers against her hard nipples sent pleasure streaking deep into her core.

“Oh,” Sandy moaned, straddling a rock hard thigh and sliding her slick skin over the cool leather. “You make me want to come so bad.”

“Sandy,” Mitch whispered, “I want—oh, god…” He leaned his head back against the door and fought to stay standing as Sandy reached into his pants. He felt the force of her fingers on the outside of his underwear, gripping him in her palm and slowly, rhythmically squeezing.

“Can you feel that?” Sandy murmured. “Baby?”

“Yes,” Mitchell groaned as the insistent pressure massaged her clitoris.

“Enough to come?” Sandy watched the muscles in Mitchell’s neck strain and a pulse race erratically the length of her throat.

“Oh, yeah…Sandy…” Mitchell gave a small cry as Sandy removed her hand and the tantalizing pressure disappeared. “Please…I’m almost there.”

“Next time,” Sandy reached beneath everything inside Mitchell’s briefs until she found skin, then slid a finger on either side of Mitchell’s hard clitoris, “wear your working gear.”

Mitchell couldn’t answer. Sandy’s fingers, tugging and stroking her quivering, poised-to-explode flesh, were quickly bringing her to orgasm. With her last bit of will, she pushed her hand down Sandy’s belly and inside her bikinis.

“Oh,” Sandy cried in surprise, instantly ready to come. “Dell…Dell, put your hand inside me. Oh…hurry, baby.”

Shuddering, Mitchell climaxed as she slipped gently inside Sandy’s warm depths. Hips bucking, she wrapped her free arm around Sandy’s waist and held them both upright as Sandy buried her face in the curve of Mitchell’s neck, clinging to her and crying out her pleasure, over and over.

In the midst of her orgasm, Sandy instinctively followed the lift of Mitchell’s hips and entered her, pushing Mitchell to yet another, deeper, climax.

“Oh god, Sandy,” Mitchell moaned, “you’re so good…so good.”

“Dell.” Sandy rested her palm against Mitchell’s cheek and stroked her gently. Carefully, she withdrew her fingers from between Mitchell’s thighs and immediately wanted to return. “That was so…so…”

“Yeah. It was.” Mitchell sighed and opened her eyes. She looked down into Sandy’s sated face and kissed her gently. “You ready for bed?”

“Mmm. Okay.”

“I should shower,” Mitchell said tiredly. “I smell like a fucking barroom.”

“I don’t care,” Sandy replied, taking Mitchell’s hand and pulling her toward the open sofa-bed. “Shower later. I want to go to sleep with you naked next to me, and you just wiped me out.”

“Me?” Mitchell laughed. “Jesus, you were the one who jumped me.”

Sandy smirked. “I did, didn’t I?”

“I just came from having another look at Flanagan’s computers,” Sloan announced. “Looks like I fucked up in more ways than one the other night. I missed something.”

Jason sat up straight. “On the back-trace to Henry?”

Sloan shook her head. “On the back door itself.”

“What, there isn’t one?” Rebecca asked sharply, fatigue coupled with her lack of expertise in a critical area of the investigation making her very short on patience.

“Oh, there is one.” Sloan grimaced. “In fact, the whole department’s system is so wormy it looks like Swiss cheese.”

“Just give me the bottom line,” Rebecca snapped. “It is it Henry or not?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Christ.” Rebecca wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or to tear Sloan’s head off. “God damn it, how could you have made that kind of mistake? Jesus, we could have blown this whole case!”

“Sergeant,” Jason interrupted quietly, “maybe we should hear her out?”

Rebecca spun in his direction, but just before she let loose with another string of invective, she caught sight of the shadows under his eyes. Then she took a good look at Sloan, who’d been up all night. Again. The cybersleuth looked worn out, although she was making an attempt to stand tall. “Ah, hell.” She leaned back and shrugged her shoulders, forcing herself to settle down. “Explain it to me.”

“Networks, especially big ones like those that link municipal services, have all kinds of maintenance functions that run in the background constantly. A lot of it happens automatically—preprogrammed updates and the like.” Sloan waited, gauging Rebecca’s reactions. At a nod from the detective, she continued. “There have to be avenues for that work—that information—to travel to individual computers, and the way that happens is via file transfer ports, or entry ways.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said. “I got it.”

“Those ports are always open and provide a way into a network—in essence, they’re huge potential highways for hackers. That’s how the Blaster and So.big worms spread so fast. So,” Sloan said, “all someone has to do is bring in an infected computer, connect it to the system, and launch the worm. Some worms don’t even have to be attached to email or any kind of file, so the user never even suspects. Just—boom—information will start pouring back to the source computer, or anywhere else the hacker programs it to go. Want a password? No problem. Want to read someone else’s mail? Have a seat. Want root access to alter or erase entire files? Tougher, but with a good code writer creating the worm, possible.”