“Uh-huh.” Mitch’s throat was dry, his eyes riveted on the slow caress. “We…uh…hit a few places.”

“Did you score?” This time there was a slight edge to the question.

Softly, Mitch replied, “Not yet.”

Sandy reached out, pushed her fingers beneath the waistband of his pants, and yanked him into the room. “Smart answer.”

She swung the door closed and then pushed him back against it with the weight of her body glued to his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her mouth to his, and rubbed the tiny square of black fabric covering her groin over the swelling in his crotch.

“I’ve been so hot for you,” she breathed against his neck. “So…crazy…hot.”

Mitch cupped Sandy’s butt and held her as she rode him, letting her have…take…do…whatever she wanted. She was going to make him come pretty soon just from the pressure of her thrusting hips, but he figured she knew that, because he couldn’t help groaning with pleasure and need.

“Unzip your fly,” Sandy gasped, pulling his T-shirt from his pants. She raked her nails down his abdomen, her thighs braced against his. Then she pulled her tank top off as he opened his pants for her. She looked down, saw the full white jockeys. She looked up and met questioning blue eyes, so filled with longing it made her heart ache. Gently, she took Mitch’s hands and brought them to her breasts. Moaning softly, she closed her eyes and bit her lip as the first touch of his fingers against her hard nipples sent pleasure streaking deep into her core.

“Oh,” Sandy moaned, straddling a rock hard thigh and sliding her slick skin over the cool leather. “You make me want to come so bad.”

“Sandy,” Mitch whispered, “I want—oh, god…” He leaned his head back against the door and fought to stay standing as Sandy reached into his pants. He felt the force of her fingers on the outside of his underwear, gripping him in her palm and slowly, rhythmically squeezing.

“Can you feel that?” Sandy murmured. “Baby?”

“Yes,” Mitchell groaned as the insistent pressure massaged her clitoris.

“Enough to come?” Sandy watched the muscles in Mitchell’s neck strain and a pulse race erratically the length of her throat.

“Oh, yeah…Sandy…” Mitchell gave a small cry as Sandy removed her hand and the tantalizing pressure disappeared. “Please…I’m almost there.”

“Next time,” Sandy reached beneath everything inside Mitchell’s briefs until she found skin, then slid a finger on either side of Mitchell’s hard clitoris, “wear your working gear.”

Mitchell couldn’t answer. Sandy’s fingers, tugging and stroking her quivering, poised-to-explode flesh, were quickly bringing her to orgasm. With her last bit of will, she pushed her hand down Sandy’s belly and inside her bikinis.

“Oh,” Sandy cried in surprise, instantly ready to come. “Dell…Dell, put your hand inside me. Oh…hurry, baby.”

Shuddering, Mitchell climaxed as she slipped gently inside Sandy’s warm depths. Hips bucking, she wrapped her free arm around Sandy’s waist and held them both upright as Sandy buried her face in the curve of Mitchell’s neck, clinging to her and crying out her pleasure, over and over.

In the midst of her orgasm, Sandy instinctively followed the lift of Mitchell’s hips and entered her, pushing Mitchell to yet another, deeper, climax.

“Oh god, Sandy,” Mitchell moaned, “you’re so good…so good.”

“Dell.” Sandy rested her palm against Mitchell’s cheek and stroked her gently. Carefully, she withdrew her fingers from between Mitchell’s thighs and immediately wanted to return. “That was so…so…”

“Yeah. It was.” Mitchell sighed and opened her eyes. She looked down into Sandy’s sated face and kissed her gently. “You ready for bed?”

“Mmm. Okay.”

“I should shower,” Mitchell said tiredly. “I smell like a fucking barroom.”

“I don’t care,” Sandy replied, taking Mitchell’s hand and pulling her toward the open sofa-bed. “Shower later. I want to go to sleep with you naked next to me, and you just wiped me out.”

“Me?” Mitchell laughed. “Jesus, you were the one who jumped me.”

Sandy smirked. “I did, didn’t I?”

“I just came from having another look at Flanagan’s computers,” Sloan announced. “Looks like I fucked up in more ways than one the other night. I missed something.”

Jason sat up straight. “On the back-trace to Henry?”

Sloan shook her head. “On the back door itself.”

“What, there isn’t one?” Rebecca asked sharply, fatigue coupled with her lack of expertise in a critical area of the investigation making her very short on patience.

“Oh, there is one.” Sloan grimaced. “In fact, the whole department’s system is so wormy it looks like Swiss cheese.”

“Just give me the bottom line,” Rebecca snapped. “It is it Henry or not?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Christ.” Rebecca wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or to tear Sloan’s head off. “God damn it, how could you have made that kind of mistake? Jesus, we could have blown this whole case!”

“Sergeant,” Jason interrupted quietly, “maybe we should hear her out?”

Rebecca spun in his direction, but just before she let loose with another string of invective, she caught sight of the shadows under his eyes. Then she took a good look at Sloan, who’d been up all night. Again. The cybersleuth looked worn out, although she was making an attempt to stand tall. “Ah, hell.” She leaned back and shrugged her shoulders, forcing herself to settle down. “Explain it to me.”

“Networks, especially big ones like those that link municipal services, have all kinds of maintenance functions that run in the background constantly. A lot of it happens automatically—preprogrammed updates and the like.” Sloan waited, gauging Rebecca’s reactions. At a nod from the detective, she continued. “There have to be avenues for that work—that information—to travel to individual computers, and the way that happens is via file transfer ports, or entry ways.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said. “I got it.”

“Those ports are always open and provide a way into a network—in essence, they’re huge potential highways for hackers. That’s how the Blaster and So.big worms spread so fast. So,” Sloan said, “all someone has to do is bring in an infected computer, connect it to the system, and launch the worm. Some worms don’t even have to be attached to email or any kind of file, so the user never even suspects. Just—boom—information will start pouring back to the source computer, or anywhere else the hacker programs it to go. Want a password? No problem. Want to read someone else’s mail? Have a seat. Want root access to alter or erase entire files? Tougher, but with a good code writer creating the worm, possible.”

“And that’s what happened?” Rebecca asked.

Sloan nodded. “Someone inserted a worm into the system at the PPD, and it has infected any number of computers. I missed it the first time, because it’s a tiny bit of code piggybacked onto a huge file and when I saw that log-in hack, I went off in another direction. Henry’s computer is one that was hit, which is how his password was usurped. I don’t know how many others there are, but there could be any number.”

“You’re sure it’s not Henry?”

Sloan shrugged. “I couldn’t find anything in his files to suggest he’s dirty, and my guess is that he’s just a fall guy. But someone is able to read and possibly even modify just about every bit of data in the entire system.”

Rebecca rubbed her face, drank more coffee, and digested the information. The thought made her stomach heave. Entire cases were built on lab reports, witness accounts, and other information stored in the system. Personnel files, home addresses, health records…the list was endless. And Sandy’s name is in there now, too. All spelled out and officially listed as my CI. “This is bad.”

Sloan and Jason were silent.

“So, we’re nowhere?” Rebecca looked from one to the other, working to beat back the hopeless feeling.

“No, we’re definitely somewhere.” Sloan’s eyes lit up. “I know where the worm came from.”

Jason whistled. “You have been busy.”

“I screwed up the other night.” Sloan’s eyes were hard, her voice like granite. “That could have cost us all.”

“Who?” Rebecca’s heart raced. Name. Just give me a name.

“Not who, yet,” Sloan advised. “But I’ve got where. It came from a computer in the District Attorney’s office.”

“A name,” Rebecca said quietly. “I need a name.”

Sloan and Jason spoke simultaneously. “We’ll get you one.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“What’s that?” Sandy mumbled, pulling the thin blanket over her head and burrowing deeper into Mitchell’s side.

“Shit! My beeper.” Mitchell jumped from the bed and almost fell over Sandy’s platform sandals. “Mitchell,” she said after a few seconds. “Uh-huh. Okay…sure.” She put the phone down and stood up, dizzy with fatigue and hunger. “I gotta get over to Sloan’s.”

“Now?” Sandy’s voice was muffled by the pillow over her head.

“First I gotta shower. I smell like I spent the night in the drunk tank.”

Sandy stumbled into the bathroom in Mitchell’s wake and crowded into the tiny shower stall with her. Eyes closed, she put her arms around Mitchell from behind and rested her cheek against her back. “Fuck, Dell, you worked all night.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell muttered as she let the spray hit her in the face. The water was still cold and the warmth of Sandy’s body felt good against hers.

“Frye there?”

“I dunno.” Mitchell doused her whole head in the lukewarm water. “Why?”

“I wanna talk to her.”

“You got something?” Mitchell asked, waking up quickly now.

Sandy stood with her head back, eyes closed, desultorily working up the lather in her short blond hair. “Maybe.”