Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served
“Did she touch you?”
“Sandy, come on,” Mitchell pleaded.
“Did she?”
“Not in any way that mattered.” Mitchell’s voice was steady, solid.
“Nobody does except you.”
Mitchell waited for the eruption, expecting to be scalded, willing to be, if it would put them right. What she didn’t expect were the tears, and the sight literally brought her to her knees. “Oh fuck.” Kneeling in front of the chair, she put her arms around Sandy and pulled her against her chest. She stroked her back, kissed her forehead, brushed at the tears on her damp cheeks. “Honey, come on. Honey, don’t cry. You’re killing me.”
Sandy twisted the back of Mitchell’s T-shirt in her hands, pressing her face hard to Mitchell’s shoulder, struggling to stop the wash of emotion pouring through her. “You’re mine,” she whispered in a voice so quiet Mitchell struggled to hear. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever had that was mine.”
“Oh jeez,” Mitchell choked, lifting Sandy’s face, swiping her thumbs across Sandy’s cheeks. She kissed her mouth, her eyes, her cheeks. “I’ve never wanted to belong to anybody the way I belong to you. I am yours.”
Sandy was quiet for a long moment, her bruised blue eyes boring into Mitchell’s. Mitchell looked back, letting her search, hiding nothing.
“Yeah?” Sandy asked tremulously.
“Yeah.”
“I know about sex for money, Dell. I know about sex to stay alive.
I know about feeling nothing when somebody touches you.”
“That’s never gonna happen to you again,” Mitchell said Þ ercely.
Sandy smiled and touched Mitchell’s cheek. “And I know you, Dell. You don’t turn off so easy.”
“It’s just a job, honey. I’m just doing what I need to do for the job.
It’s an act.”
“Mitch is no act.”
Mitchell couldn’t argue. It was true. “Mitch knows the difference between sex and love. So do I.”
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“I don’t want you getting hurt. I don’t give a fuck about Frye’s operation, but I don’t want your cover getting blown and you getting hurt again.”
“Sandy, I’m not gonna get—”
“So you can fuck her if you have to,” Sandy said quietly. “I don’t even care if she gets off on it.”
“Oh jeez, honey—”
“But if she makes you come, I’ll kill her.”
Mitchell couldn’t be entirely certain, but she thought Sandy just might be serious. “That won’t happen. I swear.”
Sandy brushed her palm back and forth across Mitchell’s chest.
“You’re so sexy, Dell. I love how hot you are. I love how sexy you make me feel.” She caught Mitchell’s bottom lip in her teeth and tugged, then licked her way inside Mitchell’s mouth and kissed her until Mitchell couldn’t breathe. “I can’t help it if I want you all to myself.”
“You got me, honey,” Mitchell gasped, too stunned by the onslaught of sensation to make much sense of anything. Whenever she expected one thing from Sandy, she got just the opposite, and she couldn’t keep up. That was one of the things that she loved most about her. That, and her raw honesty. “I love you so much…it’s like this constant hunger needing to be fed.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry, rookie.” Sandy moved her hand from the center of Mitchell’s chest to her breast and teased her nipple into erection. “I don’t intend to ever let you go hungry.”
Mitchell knew if they stayed there much longer she’d be too turned on to walk. She was already so swollen and hard she ached. “We gotta get out of here. You’re making me crazy.”
“I know just what you need, baby.” Sandy smiled a slow, satisÞ ed smile and dropped her hand between Mitchell’s thighs, squeezing gently until Mitchell’s eyes blurred and she moaned quietly. “Let’s go home and I’ll show you.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY
Sunday, 11:00 p.m.
Michael stood in the doorway of the spare bedroom and watched Sloan remove a small walnut chest from the top shelf of the closet. The expression on her lover’s face as she keyed the lock was one that Michael did not think she had ever seen before.
Fierce concentration, which was not at all unusual, was underlain with what appeared to be grim determination. That hardness in Sloan’s rigid proÞ le produced a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Sloan looked dangerous, and cold.
Remaining silent, she saw Sloan remove Þ rst a soft, brown leather holster and then an enormous automatic handgun. At least to Michael the gun appeared enormous, because of what it signiÞ ed.
“Sloan?” Michael asked quietly.
Turning, the weapon in her hand, Sloan met Michael’s inquiring gaze. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t see how it can be, if you’re doing something that requires that.”
“It’s just a precaution. I’m going to ride backup with Rebecca later tonight, and I ought to be armed. I won’t be much use to her in an emergency if I’m not.” Sloan smiled and clipped the holster to the back of her belt, then slipped the automatic into it and out of sight.
“I’m licensed to carry it.” She slipped a slim leather folder from her rear pocket and ß ipped it open to display the laminated photo ID badge that Clark had provided her when she’d Þ rst agreed to investigate the Internet pornography ring. “And I’ve got my federal credentials to prove it. Just procedure. Nothing to worry about.”
The logic was faultless, as Sloan’s logic always was, but Michael knew that beneath that unassailable rationality seethed a host of volatile emotions that had yet to be assuaged. She could feel the cold hand of
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Sloan’s icy fury from across the room. “If he is there somewhere, you have to promise me you won’t do anything. Nothing at all.”
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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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?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
v
Mitch had the sense that someone was watching him. He set his bottle on the bar top and eased off the stool. Taking his time, he made his way to the back hallway that led to the restrooms and whatever else lay hidden in the bowels of the building. She was there, in the shadows.
“Hi,” Mitch said, leaning a shoulder against the wall. At the far end of the corridor he could see a ß ickering neon sign that said Exit.
He knew there were other rooms opening onto the hallway, but for the moment, they seemed to be alone.
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“Hello, new boy,” Irina purred, placing her palm in the center of his chest as she leaned close to kiss him lightly on the mouth. “Back again.”
Mitch slipped one arm around her waist and drew her against him.
Tonight she wore some kind of dark red satiny slacks that hugged her voluptuous Þ gure and a blouse that was more of a hint than a reality.
It was so sheer he could see the lace of the ß imsy cups that barely contained her breasts and the dark hue of nipple beneath. As she moved into him, she parted her thighs and settled into his crotch with his denim-encased cock neatly nestled between her legs. This time, he was prepared for the sudden surge of pressure, and when he bumped his pelvis into her, it was Irina who gasped. “I told you I would be here. I was afraid you weren’t.”
