For a fraction of a second, something dark passed through Sloan’s eyes. It was a mixture of fury and pain. “Son of a bitch,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Rebecca muttered through clenched jaws, just as frustrated and angry. But it hadn’t been the first time, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last time that when it came time to reap the benefits of a joint operation, the local authorities were left with nothing. A hand still on Sloan’s arm, she ordered, “Watts, get those two down to headquarters.”

“You can have him,” Clark said amiably, nodding toward Jason. “I want first crack at this guy,” he said, indicating LongJohn with his head.

Rebecca stepped very close to him, her chest nearly touching his. She was an inch taller, and for an instant his smile faltered. “To do what? Offer him a deal?”

“We just want to talk to him. Then you can have him.”

“”You’re all heart, Clark,” she snarled. Walking to where Watts and Mitchell waited, Sloan following reluctantly, she said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

“WHAT’S HAPPENING?” CATHERINE asked as Sloan and Rebecca flung themselves into the sedan and slammed the doors. “Is Jason all right?”

“He’s fine,” Sloan replied, suddenly weary beyond belief. The only thing she wanted was to get back to Michael.

“Did you get LongJohn?”

“Yeah, and we’ve been screwed,” Rebecca seethed as she ignitioned the car and pulled away from the curb in one rapid motion. “Clark’s taking first crack at the suspect and the evidence.”

“Which means,” Sloan added darkly, “we’ll never get anything out of any of it.”

Catherine stared from one to the other of the women in the front seat of the careening vehicle. The level of fury and frustration was incendiary. “What about the task force—the investigation?”

Rebecca laughed bitterly. “My guess is it will be tabled while the feds play games trying to get this guy—LongJohn—whoever he turns out to be, to name names or lead them to the next guy who will. With a real live perp, and one who is connected enough to be brokering sales of these sex videos, Clark probably figures he’s got a hotter lead than anything we can turn up from the internet. At least for now,” Rebecca clarified, trying to keep her anger at bay while she considered her options. Clark might have stonewalled her for the time being, but the investigation wasn’t dead. There was still a porn ring to break, and a leak somewhere to plug. And Jeff’s killer to find.

“And the children?” Catherine asked quietly. “Where do they fit into this plan?”

There was an uncomfortable silence, then Rebecca answered, “Eventually, the pornography ring will be exposed—either during the Feds’ sweep if they ever make a case—or by one of us at the local level. Someone will get to them.”

“That could take months, couldn’t it?” Catherine was struggling to understand how the politics of this jurisdictional battle could be allowed to affect the welfare of these innocent victims, but she knew in her heart that there would never be any sense to it.

“Clark’s agenda is to bring down the organized crime syndicate that controls drugs, racketeering, prostitution, protection—you name it,” Sloan said resignedly. “In one way or another it affects thousands, and the federal government isn’t particularly interested in saving the few.”

“But then, what about the pornographers?” Catherine insisted. “Are they going to get away with this?”

“No,” Rebecca responded firmly. “Special Crimes has always been after the guys who were marketing kids. This internet search was one way to get to them, but it’s not the only way. We know more about how the ring works now—we’ll just have to go back to the streets and do it the way we always have.”

She was thinking of what Sandy had told her about the young prostitutes who had been involved in making sex films. She and Watts needed to track them down. She remembered too Sandy’s offer to sign on for one of the films. I can pass, Frye. I’ve done it before. Rebecca blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ve still got some leads.”

“You’ve got more than that,” Sloan responded with a hint of her usual fire.

Rebecca glanced at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve got the download of tonight’s video,” Sloan said, lifting her laptop. “All of it. There’s information I can get from that. I might not be able to tell you a street address, but given enough time, I can probably give you a sector location. It’ll be a place to start.”

“You’re likely to be unemployed by tomorrow, Sloan,” Rebecca reminded her. “If Clark gets anything out of this guy, he’ll probably work that angle in preference to anything else we might get from the Internet.”

“I told you,” Sloan replied evenly, “I don’t work for Clark. Someone behind this pornography operation, or someone working with whoever’s running it, tried to have me killed. They put my lover in the hospital. I’m not done with this yet.”

“No,” Rebecca added, thinking that this someone was probably the same person who had her previous partner killed, “neither am I.”

“What a fuckarow,” Watts grumbled. “Although we should have seen it coming. You can never trust the Feds.”

Jason rubbed his wrists, trying to erase the slight indentations the cuffs had made. He was also trying to erase the images he still held of the scene on the monitor.

“You okay?” Mitchell asked with concern, looking over the back of the front seat at him. “I didn’t mean to ratchet it them so tight. Habit.”

“No,” he said quickly, “I’m fine. Just pissed off. I know that guy knows how this whole part of the operation works. Did you see the setup he had in that room? He’s a relay station. I’ll bet he remasters those feeds and makes high quality wholesale products. He’s probably got customer lists, for Christ sake.”

“Well, if he does,” Watts grunted, “the Feds will find it in about a year. You know damn well if they had anyone who could actually do the kind of voodoo you and Sloan have been doing, they’d have used them to begin with instead of coming to you.”

“Maybe.” Jason smiled wryly at Watts’ veiled compliment. “Then why cut us out now, when we’ve finally got something to work with.”

“Because they don’t want to spend time and resources on the street side of the operation,” Mitchell said cynically. “All they wanted was a key—someone they could twist who would lead them inside the organization. They’ll probably turn this guy and send him right back out to work. He could be back in the kiddie smut business in a day or two. Except this time he’ll be feeding the Feds information while he peddles skin to other guys like BigMac10. That’s how Federal cases get made. Inside informants. Rats in the garbage dump.”

Watts looked at the young woman beside him sharply. Smart kid and good in the crunch, too.

Jason sighed. “I know, believe me. I’ve seen the wheels of Justice turn, and most of the time it’s in reverse. What a colossal waste.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Watts muttered almost to himself. “Maybe not. We know some things we didn’t know before.”

And knowing Frye, we’re not about to let this go.

“Has she said anything?” Sloan asked quietly, moving carefully through the dimly lit room to the bedside where Sarah waited.

“No,” Sarah replied gently, rising. “She’s just been sleeping.”

Sloan brushed her fingers lightly over Michael’s hand where it lay motionless on the sheets, lingering for a moment on the wedding band she had placed there. “Jason’s fine,” she added, her eyes moving to her lover’s still face.

“I know,” Sarah answered. “He called me from the office. Said you were probably on your way here. I’m going to go pick him up now and take him home.”

“Good,” Sloan said wearily, settling into the chair by the bed. “He’s okay, Sarah, but the whole thing was ugly. To say nothing of pointless.”

“He sounded drained,” Sarah agreed. “And you look it. I don’t suppose you’d consider going home for a few hours?”

Sloan shook her head, a faint smile on her face. “No.”

“Okay, then.” Sarah brushed her fingers through her friend’s dark hair, letting her fingers rest on her cheek. “Try not to worry.”

“Sure.”

When the door had closed, Sloan leaned forward and took Michael’s hand. “Hey,” she murmured softly. “I love you. I’ll be here.”

Rebecca leaned against the shower wall and let the steaming water pound over her body, hoping it would drive some of the tension from her body and the disillusionment from her consciousness. The door slid open and Catherine stepped inside.

“Mind company?”

“Nothing I’d like better,” Rebecca answered, reaching for the shampoo. “Turn around. I’ll wash your hair.”

Catherine turned her back, resting her hips against Rebecca’s thighs, and tilted her head back so that her lover could work the lather through her hair. As strong fingers massaged her scalp, she groaned, “God, that’s criminally good.”

“You look criminally good,” Rebecca murmured, leaning forward until her breasts pressed into Catherine’s back and her pelvis moved against Catherine’s rear. For the first time in hours, she realized that she wasn’t thinking about anything at all—anything beyond how the faint brush of her nipples over Catherine’s skin started a pulse thudding between her legs. She moved her soapy hands from her lover’s hair and slid her palms over the tops of Catherine’s shoulders, then down her arms. “I love you.”

Catherine closed her eyes, aware of the tingling wherever Rebecca had touched. Reaching for those clever hands, she drew them to her breasts, gasping as willing fingers closed over her nipples. “Oh, God.”

Rebecca braced her back against the wall, cradling Catherine in her arms, still back to front—working her nipples, massaging her breasts, brushing her fingers lightly down her belly and then back up again. “You make me so hot,” she whispered, her lips close to Catherine’s ear. “You make me wet just thinking about touching you.”