“You’re supposed to lie still.”

“Like I’ve got a choice.” Mitchell turned her head on the pillow and smiled at Sandy. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi, baby.”

“Am I supposed to starve to death, too?”

Sandy grinned. “They didn’t mention that part.” It was so good to hear Mitchell’s voice that she felt tears threatening again. That was crazy. She waited until she was sure her voice was steady. “You okay?”

Mitchell gave the question some thought. She felt weak, and her leg felt like she’d been kicked by a horse. But the pain was tolerable. “Yeah, I think so. You?”

“Yeah.”

“You look cute.”

“Huh?” Sandy glanced down at the too-big sweatshirt and the shapeless jeans and then snorted. “Oh yeah, terrific. Did something happen to your head, too?”

“My head’s just fine.” She reached out and caught Sandy’s hand. “What time is it?”

“Afternoon sometime.”

Mitchell asked, “Can you help me sit up?”

Sandy carefully worked the bed controls and positioned pillows until Mitchell was upright. “Okay?”

“Perfect.” Her leg was throbbing, but Mitchell managed a grin. “Maybe you should get one of those hot little nurse’s outfits—you know, the ones with the tight, short, see-through white dresses?”

Sandy regarded Mitchell thoughtfully. “Blow me, rookie.”

“Okay.” Mitchell caught Sandy’s hand and brought it to her lips. She kissed her knuckles gently. “You’re the boss.”

The worry and fear of the past hours slipped away like mist on the sunrise. Leaning down, Sandy kissed Mitchell again. When she drew her mouth away, she whispered, “You know, you’re pretty smart for a cop.”

Sloan looked up at the sound of the elevator’s soft whir, perplexed because she hadn’t buzzed anyone in. Looking over her shoulder, she gasped in surprise, then jumped to her feet. “Michael!”

Dressed in a white silk T-shirt and loose cotton slacks, Michael smiled and walked slowly into the office. “I realized that if I was ever going to see you, I would have to track you down.”

“Jesus,” Sloan cried anxiously, grabbing an office chair and wheeling it in Michael’s direction. “Sit. You shouldn’t be down here.”

“Hi, Jason,” Michael called as she settled into the plush leather. From across the room, he raised his hand and waved a greeting while she eyed her lover critically. “You didn’t come home last night, and I didn’t see you for breakfast, and you didn’t call all day. I missed you. How are things going?”

“We got Rebecca the names of half a dozen Internet porn distributors and ten times that many customers. The operation is going down now. Depending on how the sweep plays out, it could be big.”

“I’m proud of you,” Michael said softly.

Sloan pulled another chair near, sat, and took both of Michael’s hands in hers. “It wasn’t just me. It was the whole team.”

“Yes, but you’re the only one I’m in love with.” Michael streaked her fingers through Sloan’s hair. “Will you promise to come to bed later?”

“It’ll be late, probably.” Sloan caught Michael’s hand and kissed the palm.

“I don’t have any plans.”

“How are you feeling?”

“As if I’m going to get bedsores if I sleep any longer.” Michael laughed. “Better. The headache comes and goes, but at least once in a while, it does go.”

“Thank God,” Sloan whispered.

“Are things almost wrapped up here, then?”

Sloan looked away.

“Sloan?”

“We know that someone downtown leaked the details of the task-force operation. I’m close to finding out who.” A muscle jumped along the edge of Sloan’s jaw. “I’ve narrowed it down to two people. When I get the name…I’ll give it to Rebecca.”

“I believe you. I do.” Michael sighed, slid her fingers to the back of Sloan’s neck, and pulled her close. With her mouth a breath away from Sloan’s, she murmured, “There are countless reasons why I love you. But I fell in love with you for the way you love me.”

At a little after nine p.m., Watts walked into Sloan’s office carrying a magnum of champagne. Rebecca followed, a tired smile on her face.

“Well?” Jason asked, rising rapidly to his feet.

“Sixty-four arrests,” Watts bellowed. “Including five who have been under surveillance by the OC division for the last six months because of suspected ties to Zamora.”

Sloan handed around plastic cups. “Outstanding.”

“You’ll be able to hear all about it on the 10 o’clock news,” Watts continued exuberantly as he poured champagne. “Sarge?”

Rebecca shook her head, then glanced at Sloan. “Any coffee?”

“In the back. I’ll get it.”

“Why don’t we all head back there, and we’ll see where things are,” Rebecca suggested.

The group trooped back to the conference room and settled around the table.

“The Sarge looks really good on camera. The brass are practically creaming over her.” Watts refilled his cup happily. “And rumor has it…”

Rebecca coughed. “Okay, Watts, okay.”

He grinned at her.

“Everyone did fine,” she said, looking at each of them in turn. “We did what the joint task-force should have done—we broke the back of the Internet porn ring.”

It was a victory, and it felt good. She knew, though, that such triumphs were short-lived, and the beast would rise again. That’s what police work was—a series of battles in a war that was never won. She had learned to take satisfaction in each small conquest, but there were days when she wearied. She squared her shoulders. “But we’re not done yet. We’ve got days of interrogations in front of us, because the distributors are all hard-core professionals, and they’re not going to roll easily, if at all. Plus, we still don’t have a handle on where the girls are coming from.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asked.

“This operation was too big and too well organized to rely on casual street-pick ups like last night. I’m willing to bet there are still girls out there being exploited by the guys who set up this deal, if not for other videos, then for good old-fashioned cash money.”

“Yeah,” Watts agreed. “And we still need to plug our leak.”

Rebecca just nodded. “Sloan? Anything on that?”

Sloan hesitated then blew out a breath. “I’ve got two very good possibles as the identity of our inside ‘man.’” She stood, too restless to sit. “Margaret Campbell, age twenty-nine, joined the DA’s office three years ago. Single, one child.”

“Divorced?” Watts asked, suddenly serious.

Sloan shook her head. “Never married.”

“A woman,” Rebecca mused. “In the middle of a porn operation?”

“She doesn’t have to be part of the porn network itself,” Sloan pointed out. “She just needs to be tied to whoever is behind the pornography racket.”

“And is she?”

“Counselor Campbell used to dance in a strip club in Manhattan. Since it was during the time she was a law student at NYU, I’d guess she did it to pay the rent.”

“So,” Watts said, “you figure what…she got into trouble while working the wrong side of the street and owes someone now?”

“Could be.” Sloan leaned against the counter and jammed her hands into her pockets. “Zamora or someone in his organization could be squeezing her.”

“Anything else that doesn’t look kosher?” Rebecca asked. She’d worked with Campbell a few times. Tough and competent. But she didn’t know her. And she’d learned not to trust anyone she didn’t know. “Like big cases she lost that might have been mobbed up?”

“None that I found, but I haven’t exhausted the search.”

“And the other one?” Rebecca asked.

“The other ADA—George Beecher.” Sloan rolled her shoulders and swallowed the rest of her champagne. “On the surface, he doesn’t fit our profiler at all. Thirty-two, been with the DA’s office four years. Ivy leaguer, comes from old money, owns a condo on the waterfront—which he can afford.”

“So why do you like him?” Rebecca asked.

“When he was twenty, Counselor Beecher was charged with raping a coed at a fraternity party.”

Watts straightened abruptly. “Charged—but no conviction?”

“Charges dropped. Could be the victim recanted, could be she was paid off, could be she just didn’t want to go through the indignity and humiliation of a trial.” Sloan’s features hardened. “Justice is not necessarily kind.”

“So what now?” Rebecca asked.

Sloan looked at Jason. “Time estimate?”

“Depends on if we get lucky. A few days, could be a few weeks.”

She turned to Rebecca. “We have to…access…the home and work computers of both subjects, look at phone records—including mobiles, dig out every bit of electronic data available, and do it without whoever launched that worm in the first place noticing.”

Rebecca rose and walked to the windows, surveying the familiar view. She was surprised at how hard it was to say what she had to say next. The group behind her was silent. At last she turned.

“All we’ve got are suspicions and conjecture and gut feelings, but no hard evidence. And our bust tonight has made my Captain very happy. We salvaged something out of that federal fubar. He’s made the brass happy because the numbers look great. City Hall is happy because we made the national news. Everybody’s happy—end of story.”

“But the case isn’t finished,” Watts complained.

“That’s the way we see it—but to the powers that be, it’s all wrapped up with a nice little bow.”

“Well,” Sloan said calmly. “We all know how politics work. It was a pleasure working with you, Sergeant. You, too, Watts.”

Rebecca regarded Sloan thoughtfully, then said to Jason and Watts, “You want to give us a minute?”

Watts picked up the champagne bottle and gestured to Jason. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.” He cocked his head as Jason rose. “Although I kinda wish you were wearing that little red number.”