“Yo,” Watts said, eyeing the woman, too. Sandy sat beside him, pointedly not looking at Mitchell, who took the seat across from her.

“Jasmine, this is Sergeant Frye, Detective Watts, and Sandy.” As they all nodded, Sloan continued, “Jasmine works at the Troc, and she knows some of the regulars at Ziggies.”

“Uh…doin’ what, exactly?” Watts asked, his gaze dropping from Jasmine’s face to her breasts and lingering a moment.

“I’m a singer,” Jasmine replied, her voice whiskey warm.

Watts glanced at Rebecca, who continued to study Jasmine intently. Watts shifted in his chair, almost as uneasy at Rebecca’s silence as he was with the way Jasmine’s voice made his blood race. He didn’t usually go for hookers, but Jesus, she was something.

Abruptly, Rebecca stood. “Excuse me a moment, Miss…”

“Just Jasmine.” She nearly purred the words.

Rebecca smiled, then glanced at the blond beside her. “Sandy?”

Sandy rose, pretending not to notice the hard stare that Dell threw her way, and followed Rebecca to the far end of the room.

In a quiet voice, Rebecca asked, “Know her?”

“Uh-uh and I’d remember. She’s major competition.”

“What do you think?”

“She’s good. Really, really good.” Sandy shrugged. “I know a few trannies, but…she’s different. Classy…I don’t think she’s selling it.”

“Who do you know who could check her out for us?”

Sandy shook her head. “I’m not sure.

Rebecca sighed. She needed a street contact badly, but she was loathe to trust someone she didn’t know, even if Sloan and Jas… “Son of a bitch. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

Sandy stared as Rebecca turned and walked back to her place at the table.

“Jasmine?” Rebecca asked. Blue eyes rose to hers. A full mouth smiled slowly.

“Yes, Sergeant?” The tone was openly seductive now.

“They know you by name in Ziggies?”

“Probably. I drop in there now and then with some of the other entertainers from the club.”

“Other drag queens?”

“We prefer the term female impersonators.” Jasmine tossed her head. “Although some of the other performers are drag queens, of course.”

“Huh? What’s she saying?” Watt’s voice had gotten louder.

“She’s a he, you twit,” Sandy said disparagingly

“No.” Watts looked at Rebecca, who nodded. He slumped in his chair, shaking his head. “Fuck me.”

Mitchell suddenly gasped. “Oh man…Jason. You’re…beautiful.”

“What’s going on?” Watts exploded.

Sloan took pity on him. “Jasmine is Jason’s stage name, Detective. “

“Jason’s stage name?” Watts looked as if he had been pole-axed. His head tilted from side-to-side as his face turned from red to purple. “Jason?”

Jasmine smiled kindly. “Jason isn’t here at the moment, Detective. He asked that I stop by to lend you a hand.”

Watts sat, placed his hands in his lap, and stared fixedly at the tabletop.

“How friendly are you with the girls in Ziggies?” Rebecca asked. “Because if there’s someone in there who knows about the porn videos, it would be them.”

“Nodding acquaintances. Most of the working girls consider us competition and there’s little love lost because of it.”

“What makes you think that you can get what we need in Ziggies if the girls won’t talk to you?” Rebecca asked.

“I might not be able to, but the show at the Troc has female and male impersonators,” Jasmine explained. “The drag kings are regulars at Ziggies. I can put one of us with them.”

“A drag king?” Watts finally found his voice. “A girl pretending to be a guy? Who?”

Jasmine turned and her gaze fell on Officer Dellon Mitchell.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“No,” Rebecca said immediately. “Mitchell’s not trained for undercover.”

“I can do it.” Mitchell’s voice was quiet and sure.

“Undercover work takes practice, kid,” Watts interjected. “You gotta be the person twenty-four seven, because if you lose it for just a minute, you’ll get made. And then…”

He shrugged his shoulders, and a heavy silence fell around the table.

“Dell would be a sitting duck,” Sandy said into the ensuing void. “Nobody’s gonna take her for anything but a cop. Jesus, look at her.”

“Sandy,” Mitchell interrupted, her voice low. “Take it easy.”

“You’re just dumb enough to try it. Fuck, Dell.” Sandy slammed back in her chair, muttering something about moronic cops under her breath.

Rebecca glanced sideways at the young blond, contemplating the ferocity in her voice. That’s just perfect. These two are already way too involved. God damn it. Another complication I don’t have time to deal with.

“There’s no point in discussing it,” Rebecca said flatly. “We don’t even have time to create a good background cover for you, Mitchell. You can’t just one day appear. You need a history, a back story, contacts, people who know you as the person you’re pretending to be.”

“That’s where I come in,” Jasmine said, her tone mildly conciliatory. “If I introduce her, she has instant credibility. Once she’s part of the group at the Troc, that buys her entrance to Ziggies with no questions asked. It shouldn’t take more than a matter of days to establish her as a regular.”

“Yeah?” Watts asked belligerently. “And what about the little matter of Mitchell looking like a guy? She don’t, even if she does have short hair and not much in the way of tits.”

“Actually, detective,” Jasmine said, “she doesn’t have to look like a man. She only has to give the impression of one. It’s in the walk, the attitude, the tone of voice.”

“Oh, for fu—”

“Let’s assume,” Rebecca interjected, sensing that Watts was about to blow a fuse, “that Mitchell can pass…”

“I can.” Mitchell met Rebecca’s gaze. “Isn’t it what we do all the time, Sergeant? Play the game?”

Rebecca studied the unflinching, deep blue eyes. So you know already? Playing the game—yes, that’s what we do. Pretending that the things we see don’t affect us, that the fear isn’t real, that the violence doesn’t touch us. That we aren’t bleeding inside.

“Assuming that Mitchell is accepted by your friends at the Troc, how soon can we get her into Ziggies?”

“There’s a big show at the club this weekend,” Jasmine replied. “A group of us usually go out after to celebrate, while we’re still…dressed.”

Watts snorted. “To a topless bar?”

Jasmine stiffened, and, for the first time, she looked angry. “Our choices are limited, detective.”

“Where do you live, Mitchell?” Rebecca asked.

“Independence Place.” Mitchell named one of the expensive high-rises just south of Walnut at 6th Street, bordering Washington Square Park.

Rebecca shook her head. “No good. We’ll need to find you an apartment a little more downscale than that.”

“There’s a place open in my building,” Sandy said quietly.

Before Rebecca could object, Jasmine said, “That might be good. It wouldn’t hurt for Mitchell to have a girlfriend, either. Another piece of the picture.”

Mitchell blushed and Watts snorted.

“Okay,” Rebecca said, lightly slapping her palms on the tabletop. “Let’s go with this plan for now. Jasmine, you’re in charge of getting Mitchell…geared up.”

“What’s your address, stud?” Jasmine asked. When Mitchell gave it to her, she added, “I’ll be over in an hour. Why don’t you bring Sandy, too. She can be our first audience.”

Rebecca turned to Sandy. “What’s the situation at your building? Is there a building superintendent who handles renting the apartments?”

“That’s a fancy word for the guy since he doesn’t do shit around the place, but yeah.”

“Bring Mitchell around. Tell him sh…he’s a friend of yours who needs a place right away. Cash. I’ll take care of getting the money to you tonight.”

Mitchell looked even unhappier.

“Sure.” Sandy shrugged indifferently.

“And I still need you to find one of those girls that told you about making the sex videos a few months ago. There’s a good chance that they’ve been to the film site.”

“I told you before, I won’t name names.”

“I don’t want their names. I just want to talk to them.”

“Okay,” Sandy said reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. You still got the phone?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Use it. Mitchell, you’re dismissed. Sandy…” She hesitated, but had to admit that Jasmine’s plan for Mitchell’s new persona to have a girlfriend made sense. “Go with her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mitchell said as she stood. Sandy merely sniffed.

Rebecca turned her attention to Sloan. “You’ve got the interdepartmental computer traces.”

“Right. I’m going back tonight. Less traffic on the network. Fewer people to notice me.”

As Rebecca watched her team disperse, she tried hard not to second-guess her decisions. Putting them in danger was much harder than facing it herself.

Sloan peaked around the corner into the bedroom. Michael, her blond hair freshly washed, lay in bed in one of Sloan’s old cotton shirts that had once been blue but was now faded nearly to white. “Everybody gone?”

“Hello, love. Yes, I’m quite alone.” Michael smiled and stretched out of hand. “I missed you.”

“Me, too.” Sloan crossed the room and settled onto the corner of the bed.

“How you doing?”

“Sarah told me a little bit about what happened.”

Sloan’s heart lurched in her chest, and her stomach was instantly queasy. “What do you mean?”

“About the accident.”

“Damn it,” Sloan burst out, one hand fisting the covers. “It’s too soon—”

“It’s not her fault. I asked her.”

“What happened Saturday night?

Sarah continued gently toweling Michael’s hair. “What can you remember?”

“Not much.” Michael, a thick terrycloth towel wrapped around her naked body, leaned back against Sarah for support. “I know there was an accident, and Sloan told me I was hit by a car. She said the driver didn’t stop.”