“Incredible,” Mitchell whispered. Her throat closed around sudden tears, and she swallowed hard. “You are so beautiful.”

“Yeah?” She still had her hand between Mitchell’s thighs. She pressed the base of the swollen clitoris, then stroked.

“Uh-huh.” Mitchell jerked, moaning softly.

“You’re doing that again.”

“What?” Mitchell’s voice was hoarse, her stomach tight.

“Getting really hard.”

“That’s cause…you’re making me come again. Ah…god.”

Sandy leaned up on an elbow, grinning. “Yeah?”

“Ye…” Mitchell choked on the word, coming too hard to do anything but fight for air. When the last ripple of orgasm faded, she fell back, gasping. “Thank you.”

Sandy’s smile of self-congratulation changed to an expression of astonishment. “Dell, Jesus. You’re nuts.”

Mitchell tried to focus and finally fixed on Sandy’s face. “Why?”

“Because…I wanted to be with you.” Sandy leaned near and kissed her. Long and deep and hard. “You got a girlfriend, rookie?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“I’m holding out for Mitch’s girl.”

Sandy laughed. “I don’t know, Dell. Mitch is fucking hot.”

“Uh-huh. I noticed you thought so.”

“Yeah, I did.” Sandy rolled over and straddled Mitchell’s hips, rubbing herself against the base of Mitchell’s belly. She was still wet and the fleeting friction against her erect clitoris made her groan. “But then, so are you. Big time.”

Mitchell reached for Sandy’s breasts, gently cupping them as she arched her hips, making Sandy bite her lower lip and close her eyes. “So I’ve got a chance?”

“We’ll see, rookie,” Sandy whispered. “We’ll see.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Michael rested her palm against Sloan’s chest and smiled faintly. “You look awful. Take a shower and go to bed.”

A few minutes later, Sloan, naked and still damp, emerged from the bathroom.

“Come to bed.” Michael loosed her robe and slid under the sheets, stretching an arm out across the pillow.

Sloan lay down next to her, rested her cheek on Michael’s shoulder, and sighed. It had seemed so clear when she’d arrived outside Catian’s Henry’s house what she needed to do, but as time passed, she’d become confused and uncertain. She knew Michael wouldn’t want her to take matters into her own hands; Frye would know immediately it was her doing if anything happened to the guy; and, as she turned the automatic over and over in her hands, she had come to doubt that she could pull the trigger. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You didn’t worry me so much,” Michael replied, threading her fingers into Sloan’s thick, dark hair. “You scared me.”

“I’m really beat, baby,” Sloan murmured. “I fucked up last night. I…I’m not thinking right. I haven’t been right since you got hurt.”

“I know, love.” Michael kissed Sloan’s forehead. “Everything is going to be all right. I’m going to be all right. So are you.”

Sloan didn’t reply. She was already asleep.

Michael closed her eyes. They were together, and it was a start.

Mitchell stepped off the elevator at Sloan Security and hurried down the hallway toward the sound of voices. She was late. Way late. She thought about Sandy as she’d last seen her, lying naked, asleep in the midst of the tangled sheets. Feeling almost high, Mitchell grinned, knowing that she wouldn’t have changed anything about the last few hours.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mitchell said, her eyes on Rebecca.

Watts gave her a hard stare. “Late night out with the boys, Officer?”

“No, sir, I—”

“Did you get settled into the apartment?” Rebecca asked briskly.

“Yes, ma’am, I di—”

“Good. Sit down. We were in the middle of a briefing.”

Mitchell sat, her gaze forward. What the hell has happened? And where is Sloan?

“Sloan thinks she’s nailed our leak. I want to be sure, because we’re going to have to concentrate all our resources on building a case against him if she’s right.” With a black marker, she wrote Suspects at the top of the blank board and underlined it. “Let’s go through them, one by one.”

Next she wrote Police Dept to the far left of the board. Beneath it, she wrote Captain Henry—Special Crimes, Adams—Civilian Clerk-SC, Trish Marks—Homicide, Charlie Horton—Homicide.

She moved over an inch and wrote City Hall. “Watts? Want to fill in the players?”

Watts pulled a tattered leather bound notebook from the inside of his brown suit jacket, flipped it open, and read dispassionately. “Two ADAs handled the warrant for the bust at LongJohn’s. That would be Margaret Campbell and…uh…George Beecher. The judge was Sally Marchamp.”

As he spoke, Rebecca added the names. With one more shift to her right, she headed the last column under Suspects with Civilians. Beneath that, she wrote Whitaker and Rawlings. When she turned, she met her lover’s gaze. Much as she’d expected, Catherine regarded her calmly, but there was a quizzical expression in her eyes.

Rebecca surveyed the room. “Who can we absolutely eliminate?”

Watts cleared his throat. “Marks and Horton. They got assigned the Cruz and Hogan hits on a random rotation, and they have no other connection to anyone in the case other than that.”

Rebecca knew that Watts was biased against the leak being a cop, but she tended to agree with him that Marks and Horton were low on the list. “Who else can go?”

“Dr. Rawlings,” Mitchell said clearly. She glanced briefly at Catherine, who smiled back. “I didn’t tell her anything about the detail—only that I was on it. I did not discuss the nature of the operation or the timing for the raid.”

“There was nothing in any of my notes or reports that specified what Officer Mitchell was involved in professionally at the time of our sessions,” Catherine advised quietly.

“Fair enough.” Rebecca crossed out Catherine’s name.

“If I might add,” Catherine said steadily, “I’ve known Rand Whitaker professionally for many years. Although anything is possible, I can’t see him being involved in anything nefarious.”

“He’s got a house in the Hampton’s, drives a vintage Ferrari, and owns a huge estate in Merion. He doesn’t get all that on what the PPD pays him as a consultant,” Jason pointed out.

“In addition to that, he’s got too many potential avenues of access to information within the department,” Rebecca said flatly. “He stays on the list until we get the in-depth financials, at least.”

“Adams, the clerk, was hired by the department after the information from Flanagan’s reports went missing. Since we’re assuming that the person who set up Sloan is also behind that, she can go,” Jason recommended.

“Agreed. We’re down to five, then,” Rebecca said to Jason. “You need to run the ADAs and the judge.” She took a deep breath. “And we need everything you can get on Captain Henry. As soon as Sloan is able, I want to talk to her. She’s going to have to give us a solid reason to go after him. He’s a ranking officer with a good rep.”

Jason took a breath and carefully did not look at Watts. “Henry’s credit cards are maxed out, he has a second mortgage on his house, and nothing showing in the way of assets. He’s borrowed against his retirement fund as well. Money could be a motive for him to turn.”

“Any indication of where his money is going?”

“No sign yet.” Jason kept his voice level. “I’ll have more tomorrow.”

“Make it today. I want all of you all over that suspect list. I want everything there is on every one of them, ASAP.” She explained about the possible connection between the Asian girl in the video and the prostitute named Lucy. “I’ve got a slim lead on one of the girls from LongJohn’s video, and I’ve got street sources looking for her.”

Mitchell stiffened. Sandy.

“Mitchell, you with us?” Rebecca asked sharply.

Mitchell jerked upright. “Yes, ma’am.”

Rebecca gave her a hard stare. “Where do we stand on the inside action at Ziggies?”

Jason said, “Jasmine will take Mitch to the Troc tonight. Introduce him around. We should be good to go for him hitting Ziggies within a day or two.”

“Mitch? Who the hell is Mitch?” Watts barked. The mention of Jasmine set his teeth on edge.

“Friend of mine,” Mitchell replied evenly, meeting his gaze.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Watts appeared as if he wanted to say more but a deadly look from Rebecca had him coughing into his fist instead. “Right. Mitchie.”

Mitchell straightened in her seat, and she almost seemed to grow in size. Her alto voice resonated with warning. “That’s Mitch. Not Mitchie.”

For a second, Watts just stared. Then the corner of his mouth twitched and finally, he grinned. “Okay, kid. Okay. Don’t get your…balls…in an uproar.”

“Wouldn’t think of it, Detective. Sir.”

Rebecca rubbed the bridge of her nose. Christ. The two of them are like kids. But she recognized the camaraderie beneath the jibes, and that’s what made the team work. That’s what made someone put their life on the line without a second thought. “We’re looking for any information on the guy in the sex video who might work or have worked at Ziggies, and any information that the girls there might have about how the videos are getting made. Who organizes it, who picks the girls, when and where they’re shooting the flicks. Anything to point us to a location. Questions?”

No one had any.

“We’ll meet here at the usual time tonight. If anyone gets anything before then, I’ll expect a call. No one makes a move without my say so.”

As the group dispersed, Watts sidled up to Mitchell. In a voice too low for Rebecca to hear, he asked, “So, kid—what’s the deal? When you walked in this morning, you had that ‘just got laid last night’ look.”

“Yeah?” Mitchell replied curiously. “How can you remember, considering how long it must have been since you’ve looked that way?”