Since when? Being a registered confidential informant meant that Sandy was listed with the department by name and paid out of department funds on a regular basis. And if that were the case, Sandy’s identity was now on file for anyone to find. Jesus, as if being on the streets isn’t dangerous enough for her already. Why not just hang a target around her neck.

Mitchell managed a nod as Jason walked in with Sandy beside him, but her stomach was in knots.

“Can I get you some coffee or a coke?” Jason asked.

Sandy did a quick scan of the room, hesitating for millisecond on Mitchell’s face, before fixing on Rebecca with a defiant stare. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

Addressing the group at large, Rebecca explained, “I asked Sandy to come down because I want her to look at last night’s live feed. It’s possible she might recognize the location, or the girls, or even the guy.”

Watts grunted in appreciation. Mitchell said nothing, but her eyes never left Sandy’s face.

“I can bring it up on the big screen in the viewing room,” Sloan offered.

“Great. So’s we can all get a close-up of the guy’s pecker.” Watts inclined his head toward Sandy. “Any chance you’ll be able to recognize that?”

“Depends,” Sandy said flatly. “Most of them look pretty much the same, except…” her eyes dropped briefly to Watts’s crotch, “some of them are a lot smaller than others.”

Watts grinned, not looking the least bit offended.

Sandy stayed close to Rebecca’s side as the group wended its way through the core of the work area, aware of Dell walking just behind her. Frye didn’t tell me Dell would be here tonight. Jesus, she looks pissed, too.

Once there, Sloan pushed a button and almost immediately images sprang to life on the large screen on one wall.

“I want you to look at the girls first,” Rebecca said. “Then we’ll go back, and you can look at him.”

Sandy was oddly silent as she watched the action on the screen. A man in a nondescript uniform entered a room in which the only furnishings were a bedroom set of the type sold in discount warehouses, a few lamps, and a chair. The bed was made up with a faded quilt. She leaned forward as two girls entered the room. One was Asian and the other Caucasian. The man stripped as they feigned surprise and awkward shyness.

“Can you…you know…make this bigger?” Sandy stared fixedly at the screen. “I want to see their faces…their eyes.”

“Just a second.” Sloan made some adjustments and zoomed in on the Asian girl’s face.

Sandy nodded in satisfaction. “She’s young, but not quite as young as they want you to think.”

“Anything else?” Rebecca whispered softly.

“I don’t know them,” Sandy replied hollowly. Watching the young girls do what she herself did on a nightly basis was harder than she had expected it to be. It was even worse knowing that Dell was watching. Why do I care what anyone thinks? Even her.

“Okay,” Rebecca whispered, hearing the discomfort in Sandy’s voice. Over her shoulder, she said to Sloan, “Get us a shot of the guy now.”

The images blurred, and then a profile of the man’s face came into view. Sandy straightened suddenly. “Wait…can you go back?…There…” she pointed at the screen. “On his neck…is that a scar?”

“Sloan?”

“Can’t be sure, but Jason can work it up for us later with the imaging software.”

“Good girl, Sandy.” Rebecca’s voice was tight with excitement. “Do you know him?”

“Seen him, maybe,” Sandy replied. “I remember something about a guy with a scar on his neck shaped like a, whatdayacallit, a scimitar.”

“Turn it off,” Rebecca ordered.

The lights came up and they all stood, blinking, carefully not looking at one another.

“If you can give me pictures of those girls, I can show them around,” Sandy offered.

“Jason will get them made up for you tonight,” Sloan replied.

Sandy nodded, really looking at Sloan for the first time, slowly taking in the wild dark hair, the amazing eyes, the muscular physique. She looked a bit like an older Dell, except Dell’s body was sexier, all wiry and tight and… Oh man, what is that about!

“Maybe flashing those pictures around’s not so cool,” Mitchell said, moving closer to Sandy. She almost reached for her hand, and then stuffed her fists into the pockets of her jeans instead. “You start asking about those girls and somebody might take notice. Somebody who you don’t want to take notice.”

“Mitchell,” Rebecca warned. I’m going to rein her in before she crosses a line.

Sensing that Rebecca was about to ream out Dell for interfering, Sandy lifted her chin and snapped, “I can take of myself. Why don’t you just worry about the cop stuff.”

While the others worked out the schedule for the next day, Mitchell and Sandy slowly drifted toward the elevator.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” Mitchell murmured to Sandy. She rested her fingers lightly against Sandy’s bare elbow.

“Sandy,” Rebecca called, catching up to them at the elevators. “Let’s take a ride.”

“Sure,” the young woman replied with a sigh, moving her arm away from Mitchell’s hand. “It’s your dime, Frye.”

Outside, Sandy and Rebecca walked in the other direction to the Corvette. Mitchell stood on the sidewalk, shoulders hunched in the chill night air, watching them go.

“You did well up there,” Rebecca said as she drove south on Front street, the lights of the Ben Franklin Bridge glowing blue as it towered into the dark night sky just above them. Rebecca studied Sandy’s face in the light of the passing headlights. Not for the first time she realized how pretty she was. “You know that guy, don’t you?”

Sandy sighed. “I’m not sure, but I think he used to be a bouncer at Ziggies.”

Rebecca drew a sharp breath, and her pulse rate jumped. Ziggies was a sex club at 11th and Arch that featured nude dancers, and it was mob connected. A guy reputed to be one of Zamora’s front men owned it. Finally, a connection. “Did you ever dance there?”

“Who me?” Sandy snorted. “Not hardly. You need tits out to Arizona to shag in there. And you have to blow every bartender in the place.” She hesitated, unused to sharing information with the police, even Frye. But that afternoon, the detective had shown up at her apartment unexpectedly and made her an offer with a formal price tag attached. More information, more help, for more money. “But I know someone who did work there.”

“Can you put me with her?”

“I’ll see if I can find her.” Sandy pointed to a bar up the block. “You can let me out there.”

“Uh-uh. I’m taking you home.”

“It’s not even midnight!”

“When I stopped by earlier and you agreed to go official with me, you turned in your streetwalking creds.”

“I’m not gonna trick.” Sandy sounded affronted. “But I need to be out and seen, otherwise people will get suspicious. And suspicious people don’t talk. You know that.”

Rebecca had the inexplicable desire to tell her no, but she knew Sandy had to maintain her street contacts or she’d be useless as an informant. Rebecca pulled to the curb and extracted five twenties, almost all that she had, from her wallet. “Here. Your first paycheck.”

Sandy looked at the bills and smiled wryly. “Five hand jobs. Won’t pay the rent.”

“I’ll see that there’s more. And your hands are clean.”

“Yeah. Ain’t that a thrill.”

“One more thing.”

“Frye, you’re hurting me sitting out here.”

Rebecca had already checked and knew that no one was watching them. “A police officer can be suspended, even fired, for fraternizing with a prostitute.”

Dell. Sandy grew still. “Fraternizing—you mean, even if they’re just…like friends?”

“Sometimes ‘friends’ looks like something else.” Rebecca’s voice was soft, almost gentle. “Hard to prove otherwise.”

“I don’t have any cop friends.” Sandy pushed open the door, turned her back, and headed for the bar.

Rebecca watched the thin young blond walk away, knowing that she was putting the girl in danger by employing her as an informant. But the streets would be no kinder to Sandy if she was forced to stay alive by selling her body. At least this way, she might have a chance. A devil’s bargain, perhaps, but one Rebecca would have to live with.

CHAPTER SIX

Sloan walked quickly through the silent hospital halls, the events and conversations of the last few hours almost forgotten. When she reached the door of Michael’s room in the ICU and looked in, she saw only the empty bed with the pristine white sheets neatly made. Her stomach turned over, and her head grew light. Michael!

“I’m so sorry,” a nurse said as she quickly approached.

Sloan closed her eyes, the roaring in her head making it difficult to make out the words. oh god, oh god…what am I going to do?

“I tried to call you—”

Numbly, Sloan stared at the small, dark-haired woman with the kind eyes.

“…upstairs a half-hour of ago.”

“What?” Sloan couldn’t seem to catch hold of the words that were floating past her. “What did you say?”

“We needed the bed, and she’s doing so much better she was transferred to a regular room. Room 519.”

“Thank you.” Sloan’s voice, hoarse with fatigue, cracked.

Sloan couldn’t tolerate the wait for the elevator, but shouldered through the fire door and into the stairwell, taking the stairs from the second floor to the fifth at a run. In Michael’s room, the lights had been turned down low. From the darkness came a soft sound, the answer to her prayers.

“Sloan?”

“Hey,” Sloan whispered as she approached the bed, her vision blurred with tears. She grasped the hand that Michael lifted, clinging to the warmth. Then she leaned over and brushed her lips across Michael’s forehead. “How do you feel?”