“Then let’s move fast,” Sloan said, eyes gleaming. “I need to stop by Police Plaza to see how my new guys are doing with the work on retooling the computer system. Then I’ll head down to Port Authority.”

“I expect that Irina will move on Mitch tonight,” Rebecca said.

“We’ve got Þ fteen hours to put this together.”

Sloan grinned. “Plenty of time.”

Monday, 8:45 a.m., Port of Philadelphia

Captain Carla Reiser passed Watts a pastry on a paper plate as she sat down next to him on the worn plaid sofa in one corner of her ofÞ ce.

She gestured with her coffee cup to the stack of printouts in front of him. “These are the most likely ships to Þ t the proÞ le and dates you’ve given me so far.”

Watts riß ed through the stack, softly humming a refrain that approximated “We’re in the money.” “Can we get duty rosters for the shifts when these ships came into port and also for the time they were being off-loaded?”

“I’ve already got the computers working on that.”

“That so?” Watts gave her an appreciative glance as he took a huge bite from the cheese Danish. He chewed, swallowed, and shook his head approvingly. “It’s nice you’re not busting my balls over sharing this info.”

Carla took a healthy bite of her own Danish and regarded him thoughtfully. “Why should I?”

Watts lifted one beefy shoulder. “Interagency cooperation is more of a pipe dream than a reality.”

“This is a big port, Detective. Tons of merchandise move through here annually. I could tell you that no one could keep track of it all, and

• 269 •

RADCLY fFE

that would be the truth.” She lifted the stack of papers and let it fall to the table in front of them with a thump. “If there’s evidence in here that large-scale—no, scratch that—if any kind of smuggling is going on at this port under my watch, I want to know about it. And if it is, it’s not happening without inside help.” Her chocolate eyes grew even darker with fury. “I want to see the son of a bitch who’s been using my turf like his own personal playground strung up by his balls.”

“Now that’s my kind of police,” Watts said with a happy smile.

“The shift lists will need to be cross-referenced, drivers checked, a lot of background info run—Lieutenant Frye says she’s sending over a computer expert to sort through it and nail down how the transfers are being made.”

“That would be Sloan,” Watts said. “If anyone can put it together, she can. She’ll need a secure place to work because we don’t want to tip our hand.”

“She can use my ofÞ ce.” Carla stood. “Let me take a quick tour around the docks before she arrives. Assuming we get a chance for lunch, I’m buying.”

“Nah, let me get it.” Watts cleared his throat. “I, uh…like working with you.”

“Good. Same here.” As she reached the door, she looked back.

“But lunch is off the clock. And on me this time.”

Watts stared after her, grinning, and was still grinning when Sloan walked in a few minutes later.

“Please tell me what there is to be happy about,” Sloan said by way of greeting.

“I Þ nally ran into a woman on this job who likes guys with real dicks.”

“Yeah?” Sloan’s attention was already riveted on the computer on Reiser’s desk, and she headed for it. As she settled into the captain’s swivel chair, she muttered offhandedly, “Rumor has it there’s one or two of them still left around.”

Watts picked up the shipping manifests and schedules, his smile still in place. “It only takes one.”

Thinking of Michael, Sloan nodded, her Þ ngers already racing over the keyboard. “As long as it’s the right one.”

• 270 •

Justice Served

Monday, 1:00 p.m., Sloan Security OfÞ ces

Mitchell rested her hands lightly on Sandy’s shoulders and bent down to kiss her cheek. “How’s it going?”

Sandy tilted her head back and sighed. “We’re almost done.”

“We picked up the Þ rst one that Trudy did,” Jason informed her.

“You should take a look at the one right before it.”

“Why?”

Wordlessly, Jason scanned the disk and, Þ nding the Þ le he wanted, played the image. Mitchell hunkered down next to Sandy, resting her hand on her girlfriend’s knee as she stared at the monitor. The setting was generic—a nondescript bedroom, very little in the way of decoration, harsh studio lighting. Two naked women and a man lay tangled together on rumpled sheets. As she watched, Mitchell saw the two women get to their knees and then straddle the man. While facing each other, one lowered herself onto his erect penis and the other settled over his face. Then, they leaned toward one another and kissed. The woman who rocked rhythmically above his mouth was Irina.

“Fuck,” Mitchell said.

“Looks like she came up through the ranks,” Jason remarked.

“Probably supervising the girls looks like a lot better job to her than this did.”

“Is that her?” Sandy asked quietly. She looked at Mitchell. “The one you’re hooked up with?”

Mitchell didn’t see any point in correcting her terminology. “Yeah.

That’s her.”

Sandy narrowed her eyes and studied the images. “Nice body.”

“Turn it off, Jason, will you,” Mitchell said curtly. She took a breath, struggling to clear her head, but the anger kept pushing back.

“Can we use this somehow?”

“I don’t know,” Jason said. “Maybe. It’s more circumstantial evidence to tie the girls at Ziggie’s to the porn ring. By itself, it probably doesn’t mean much. But it’s one more piece of the puzzle.”

“Yeah.” Mitchell stood and tried to shake the tension from her shoulders. “What about the ones Trudy and her friends did? Do they fall out at the times Hogan was investigating those ships?”

“Yep. Right on target.”

• 271 •

RADCLY fFE

“You think this will be enough for the lieutenant to go to Captain Henry?”

“If Watts and Sloan come up with something for us at Port Authority, I think so.”

A muscle in Mitchell’s jaw jumped. “Good. ’Cause I’m ready to end this.” She turned and stalked the length of the building to the windows that overlooked the river. She braced both hands against the steel frame and stared out, but she wasn’t seeing the water or the ships or the arch of bridge that dwarfed it all. She was remembering the vacant look on the women’s faces as the cameras captured their pantomime of passion. She barely moved when she felt Sandy’s arms come around her from behind. She knew her lover’s touch so well that no words of recognition were necessary.

“What you thinkin’?” Sandy asked, resting her cheek between Mitchell’s shoulder blades.

“I was thinking that I’m no better than that guy in the video.

Just using her—only because I’m doing it in the name of justice, it’s somehow supposed to be better.” Her tone was bitter, her body stiff and unyielding.

“Somehow I don’t see that guy feeling guilty about getting off,”

Sandy said. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the back of Mitchell’s neck, her arms crossed around Mitchell’s middle. “And because he never gave it a thought and you’re standing here feeling bad about giving her what I’m willing to bet she wants, that shoots your argument full of holes, rookie.”

“The lieutenant said this morning that it takes somebody special to be undercover.” Mitchell’s voice wavered. “I don’t think I can do it.”

Sandy angled her hips and spun Mitchell around to face her, then planted her palms ß at against Mitchell’s chest. “Let’s just get clear on what’s really going on, okay? Do you feel bad because you’re lying to Irina or lying to yourself?”

Mitchell frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What do you feel worse about?” Sandy said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “That Irina doesn’t know you’re a cop, or because deep down inside, you really want to fuck her?”

“What I feel bad about,” Mitchell said quietly, “is that deep down inside, I really don’t.”

Sandy cupped her Þ ngers around the edge of Mitchell’s jaw and

• 272 •

Justice Served

kissed her sweetly on the mouth. “I knew it had to be something twisted like that, because only you could get yourself all worked up over not wanting something.”

Despite herself, Mitchell grinned. “You think you’ve got me all Þ gured out, don’t you.”

Solemnly, Sandy shook her head. “Uh-uh.” She moved her hand over Mitchell’s heart. “The only thing I know for sure is that you’re good. Really good, inside. I love that about you.”

Mitchell swept her up into a hug, lifting her off her feet with the force of the embrace. She kissed her, holding her off the ground, lost inside her. Only Sandy’s Þ st in her hair tugging her head back brought her back to awareness.

“Jesus, baby, cut it out,” Sandy ordered. “We’re supposed to be working here.”

Chest heaving, Mitchell set her down but kept her arms loosely around Sandy’s waist. “I love you. You make everything inside of me feel right.”

Sandy smiled. “Ditto, rookie. Ditto.”

Monday, 5:20 p.m., Police Plaza

“You think we’ll be able to get this by Clark?” Watts asked as he and Rebecca stepped off the elevators.

“Not indeÞ nitely, but maybe just long enough.”

“You think maybe we should wait on telling Henry, then?”

Rebecca shook her head as they approached the Vice Squad room. “We need to put Mitch back in Ziggie’s tonight, or else Irina will wonder why he’s not there. And I don’t think she’s going to wait another night to get him alone somewhere. We have to alert Henry that we may need backup if the bust goes down. We can’t risk Mitch out there by himself.”

“When are you going to let me listen to that tape from last night?”

Watts asked for the tenth time.

“You’re starting to piss me off, Watts,” Rebecca warned.

“If I’d been with you instead of riding hind tit in the second car on

• 273 •

RADCLY fFE

the surveillance last night, I woulda got to hear Mitch in action instead of Sloan.” His tone turned wistful. “I bet that boy is smooth.”

Rebecca stopped short just outside Henry’s ofÞ ce. “Watts, are you trying to tell me you think you can learn something from Mitchell about the ladies?”

“Have you happened to see the way Sandy looks at her? Like she’s been starving for a month, and Mitchell’s USDA prime.”

“We’re not going there.” Rebecca shook her head and knocked on Captain Henry’s door. “End of conversation.”

“All the same,” Watts muttered as he followed her inside. “I shoulda been listening.”

Then the rumble of Henry’s deep voice commanded their attention as the door swung closed behind them. Showtime.

• 274 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Monday, 6:40 p.m., University Hospital

Well,” Catherine said, slowing as she approached Rebecca, who leaned against a column in the hospital lobby. “This is a nice surprise.”

Rebecca pushed away from the column and kissed Catherine’s cheek. “Done for the day?”

Catherine hooked her arm through Rebecca’s as they both turned toward the lobby exit. “I am. And I don’t have any patients scheduled tonight. How about you?”

“I’ve got work later.” Rebecca went on quickly, “I thought we could grab a bite to eat, unless you want to have something at home?”

“Let’s do something easy, and you can tell me what prompted you to come pick me up.”

“It’s not enough that I missed you and wanted to see you?”

Catherine smiled softly. “Oh, it most certainly is. Anything whatsoever that brings you here unexpectedly is perfect.” She squeezed Rebecca’s arm. “However, with you, there’s always a reason.”

Rebecca let out a sigh. “I don’t know how it happened that you know me better than I know myself.”

On the sidewalk in front of the hospital, Catherine turned to face her lover and kissed her quickly but afÞ rmatively on the lips. “Oh, darling. That’s what happens when you love someone.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job in that department, then.” Rebecca’s voice held real worry. “I have no idea half the time how to show you how much I love you.”

“You don’t have to worry about it, darling. You do it without even knowing it.”

“Lucky for me,” Rebecca muttered.

“But,” Catherine said, making Rebecca’s brow furrow in concern,

• 275 •

RADCLY fFE

“if you really, really love me, you’ll take me to the diner and we’ll have something sinful like ribs and French fries.”

“Now that,” Rebecca said with surety, “is something I can do.”

Fifteen minutes later they sat with a mound of nachos supreme between them, a beer for Catherine and coffee for Rebecca on the table, making small talk. Catherine munched a chip and studied her lover.