when you’re touching me…it feels so good that I get confused.”

“Confused?” Mitchell didn’t move, didn’t change the inß ection or tone of her voice. She listened with all her heart, wanting nothing more than to understand what this one woman needed from her.

“When your mouth is on me like that…I can’t tell where you are, but I can feel you everywhere inside of me…touching me in places I know you can’t be touching me. I feel like I’m going to break, Dell.

And I don’t know what will happen if I do.”

“I won’t let you,” Mitchell promised fervently. “I’ll be right here.

I’ll hold you.”

Sandy inched down on the bed until her face was even with Mitchell’s. She looked into Mitchell’s eyes. “I believe you. I do. But…

• 52 •

Justice Served

no one’s ever made me feel what you do.” She laughed harshly. “God, I never wanted anyone to make me feel anything when they touched me.”

“I love you.”

“Even knowing…what I am?”

“What are you, Sandy?” Mitchell’s lips were almost touching Sandy’s. She stroked Sandy’s hips very gently with just the tips of her Þ ngers.

“You know, Dell. I trade sex for money.”

“When was the last time?”

“You don’t want to know these things.”

“Yes,” Mitchell said quietly, but Þ rmly. “I do.”

“A week or so ago. A couple of car jobs down on Arch.”

Mitchell never stopped her gentle caresses. “Before you signed on with Frye as her CI?”

Sandy nodded. “She told me it was part of the deal…that I don’t hook.”

“And that’s the reason you stopped?”

This time, Sandy shook her head in the negative. “It wasn’t for Frye.”

“Why then?”

“I don’t know,” Sandy whispered. “After that psycho murdered Anne Marie, I quit everything except the quick stuff. Too much can happen when you’re alone in a room with a guy.”

Mitchell blinked. “That was months ago.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you’re done with it?”

“Are you asking?”

“Not yet.” Mitchell moved her hand from Sandy’s hips to her belly and continued her soft caresses. “But I can’t think about anyone else touching you.”

“Don’t think about it. Please.” Sandy traced her Þ ngers over the arch of Mitchell’s cheekbone and down along the angle of her jaw.

She very gently rested her Þ ngers against Mitchell’s mouth. “No one touches me except you.”

“Someday,” Mitchell whispered, “I’m going to have to ask.”

“Dell,” Sandy said softly. “I won’t lie to you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

• 53 •

RADCLY fFE

“Then don’t ask about what you don’t want to know, okay?”

“For now.” Mitchell kissed Sandy gently. “Can I look at you some more now?”

Sandy’s laugh was shaky. “No sex.”

“No promises.”

“Dell,” Sandy whispered, covering the hand that stroked her abdomen with her own. Looking into Mitchell’s eyes, she guided Mitchell’s hand lower between her thighs. “You see?”

“Oh, baby, you are so beautiful.” Mitchell had a hard time getting air into her lungs, and the fever in her belly burned bright. “You have to let me make you come.”

“You think…I’ll say…no?” Sandy’s hips undulated gently to the sweet, slow rhythm of Mitchell’s Þ ngers sliding over her ready ß esh.

Her lids ß ickered, and her eyes lost focus. With a small cry, she rested her forehead against Dell’s, shivering all over. In a voice barely a whisper, she said, “Do it harder, baby.”

“Not yet,” Mitchell choked, Þ ghting not to hurry. “I love the way you feel. I want it to last forever. Don’t come yet.”

Sandy’s hand tightened on Mitchell’s forearm, her Þ ngers spasming erratically as her hips surged into Mitchell’s palm. “Can’t.

Can’t stop.”

Mitchell held her breath, intent on capturing every sigh as Sandy climbed toward her climax. She stroked harder, faster, knowing it was too late to do anything but bring Sandy the release her body screamed for. At the Þ rst rolling tremor, she Þ lled her, and the sudden pressure drove her over.

“Oh, Dell,” Sandy sobbed. “Good…so good…so good.”

Mitchell stayed inside her long after the contractions ended and Sandy curled against her, moaning quietly. Even so intimately joined, Mitchell ached to be closer. “I love you.”

“If I touch you,” Sandy said, her voice lazy with pleasure, “will you promise not to move?”

Mitchell laughed. “Sure.”

“I mean it, rookie. If you so much as twitch, I’ll stop. I’m not going to risk hurting your leg just so you can get off.”

“I’m a cop. I have perfect control.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s see about that.”

Mitchell held out longer than she thought she could, and when she

• 54 •

Justice Served

Þ nally broke under the tender torture of Sandy’s hands, Sandy held her tightly and kept her safe. Just as Mitchell knew she would.

• 55 •

• 56 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER SIX

Oops, sorry.” Sandy stumbled to a stop just inside the kitchen alcove, staring at the woman across the room and wondering how to disappear. The loft was so quiet she’d thought she and Dell were the only ones there. Glad I put clothes on.

Michael turned from the stove with a half smile and an inquiring expression. “Hi. I’m Michael.”

“Oh, so you’re Sloan’s…” Sandy hesitated, because girlfriend didn’t seem to suit the classy woman who managed to look Cosmo-beautiful even barefoot and wearing nothing but a black silk robe.

“Yes, I’m Sloan’s, all right,” Michael answered with a laugh. “And I guess you’re Sandy?”

“Yeah. Look, I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just—”

“I was about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

Tea. Although what she’d been in the mood for was a beer, Sandy nodded. Trying not to be too obvious, she studied Michael in the dim glow of the overhead track lights. The woman looked very pale and unsteady on her feet. Sandy knew what had happened to her, but until that moment, she’d never appreciated how serious the injury had been.

“You should probably sit down. I can do the tea, if you tell me where the stuff is.”

“I’ve been trying to become more self-sufÞ cient,” Michael said, smiling wanly.

“Why?” Sandy asked as she padded over to the stove, suddenly conscious of how she must look. She’d pulled on Mitchell’s jeans and T-shirt, and both hung loosely from her smaller frame. Barefoot, too, she was a head shorter than Michael.

“I hate being sick, and I’m tired of Sloan taking care of me.”

Michael leaned against the marble counter. “The tea is in that box over there.”

• 57 •

RADCLY fFE

“Sloan probably doesn’t mind,” Sandy said, as she studied the rows of tea bags neatly lined up in the slotted wooden case. She didn’t recognize any of the names.

“I mind. And she’s got enough things to worry about without me adding to it.”

Catching the obvious note of frustration in the other woman’s voice, Sandy glanced over her shoulder at Michael. “It hasn’t been all that long, right? Since you got out of the hospital?”

“About a week.” Michael pushed a hand through her shoulder-length blond hair. “God, it feels like forever. I just can’t seem to…think clearly.”

“That happens when you’ve been knocked around. It’ll get better.”

Michael’s eyes moved to the pink scar on Sandy’s forehead. “It’s not fun, though, until it does, is it?”

“Nope. So…are some of these, like…special?” She tilted her chin toward the box. “Peppermint? Sleepy Time?”

“I’m not much on the ß avored ones, myself. Would you rather have something else? There’s soda or…” She hesitated, starting to assess Sandy’s age before realizing that was foolish. Whatever the girl’s chronological age, it had no bearing on who she was. “…beer or wine.”

“Tea’s Þ ne.” Sandy dangled two bags by their strings, swinging them gently. “How about English Breakfast? That sounds pretty straight.”

“Perfect.” Michael Þ nally relented and sat at the breakfast bar while Sandy assembled the tea. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Sandy replied as she settled on an adjacent stool. “This place is really neat. It’s just like Sloan’s place downstairs—all open except for the partitions.”

“Are you working with Sloan?” Michael frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m still not remembering everything. You’re not a police ofÞ cer too, are you?”

Sandy snorted. “Oh man, no way.”

“Computer security?”

“I, uh…help Frye out sometimes.”

“Oh. How’s OfÞ cer Mitchell doing?”

• 58 •

Justice Served

“Too much,” Sandy complained. “She can’t wait to get back to work.”

“That seems to be some kind of occupational requirement.”

Michael smiled as if at some secret thought. “I’m glad you two decided to stay here until her leg heals a bit and she’s getting around more easily.”

“That was really nice of you. Thanks.” Sandy sipped her tea, surprised to Þ nd that she liked it. “At least this way, Dell can work with Jason till she’s better. That really matters to her…being part of the team.”

“It’s quite a crew, isn’t it,” Michael said with obvious fondness.

“Sometimes I know that Sloan would rather be on her own, but I feel better that she’s working with the others. I like to think they keep each other safe.”

“Yeah.” Sandy thought of Frye, and of how that night in the warehouse, with the guy between her legs—pinning her down—she’d trusted that Frye would come. Somehow in the last few weeks, she’d learned to count on Dell and Frye and the others, and when it wasn’t scaring her, it felt good. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

v

“Hey, honey,” Mitchell said lazily. “Whatcha got for me?”

“Tea,” Sandy replied, setting the mug on the bedside table. She switched on the lamp and examined the plastic prescription vials.