“You guys are dangerous,” Sloan complained.

Ken raised a brow and shrugged insouciantly. “We have to maintain our reputations.”

Sloan watched him walk away, appreciating that they had gained another ally in the underground warfare to come.

• 89 •

• 90 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER TEN

Wednesday

Well, hello,” Catherine said with a smile. “You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

Mitchell hooked her cane over the arm of the chair in front of Catherine’s desk and settled into it, keeping her left leg straight as she did. “Thanks. I feel a lot better too.”

“How’s the leg?”

“Pretty much healed. The stitches stay in for another week, but,”

she indicated the cane with a tilt of her chin, “no more crutches.”

“Wonderful.” Catherine eased back in her chair and crossed her legs. As was her habit on the days she saw clients, she’d dressed conservatively in a two-piece taupe brushed-silk suit and low heels.

Mitchell’s Þ le, unopened, was centered on her desk blotter. “Are you still at Sloan and Michael’s?”

“Probably for another day. Then I’m going back to my…

apartment.”

“The one in Sandy’s building?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Does that mean that you’re going back to work as well?”

Mitchell shifted in the chair and studied the knees of her black chinos, which she’d worn with a white, open-collared oxford shirt and black loafers for her day of doctor’s visits. “Well, I can’t go back to work until I’m cleared by you.”

“What about Dr. Torveau?” Catherine asked, showing no reaction to the subtle evasion. “Has she released you to work?”

“Not in so many words,” Mitchell admitted. “She said I could do anything I wanted except ride my motorcycle and lift weights.”

“Anything? That’s excellent.”

Mitchell brightened and sat up straighter.

• 91 •

RADCLY fFE

“Do you think she meant physically subduing a suspect?”

Catherine’s tone was mild, her eyes kind.

“She didn’t mention that, exactly.”

“But you did talk with her about the kinds of things you need to be able to do in the line of duty, right?”

“I told her about most of it.” Mitchell’s voice was pitched low.

Catherine said nothing.

Mitchell sighed. “Actually, I told her about working with Jason on the computer traces.”

“Rather sedentary.”

“I didn’t say I had a desk job…” Mitchell raised her eyes to Catherine’s. “Not in so many words.”

Catherine nodded.

“But I might have let her think it was…mostly…a desk job.”

“Why did you let her think that, do you think?”

“Because I want to get back to work.” Mitchell forcefully enunciated each word, as if the importance of what she was saying couldn’t be overemphasized.

“I know you do. But why tomorrow and not a week from tomorrow?”

“Because this is my big chance, and I don’t want to miss it.”

“Big chance. Tracking down the rest of the Internet

pornographers?”

Mitchell shook her head impatiently. “No. I mean, that’s part of it. But that’s not…that’s not what I’m going to be doing.” She leaned forward, her hands loosely Þ sted. “I’m going to be working undercover.

That’s a big deal for a detective. Especially a rookie detective like me.

I’m going to be going after the intel that could break this case. Not just the pornographers, but maybe the whole prostitution ring. It’s big, and the lieutenant is putting me right in the middle of it.”

It’s big and it’s dangerous and you can’t wait. Catherine had worked with police ofÞ cers long before she’d fallen in love with one, and she’d rarely seen one who didn’t live for the excitement. Rebecca, she believed, thrived on the hunt, and although that drive was instinctual, her deeper motivations were philosophical. Rebecca sought justice. She wondered what Dellon searched for. “Why is it good?”

“Are you kidding me? This is a chance to really do something. To put away some of the scum who use girls like they’re disposable—to be

• 92 •

Justice Served

wadded up and tossed in the toilet after they’ve come in th…” Mitchell colored and looked away. After a second, she said quietly, “Sorry.”

“For what, Dellon?” Catherine asked just as quietly.

“Look, it’s my job. This is an important case, and I want to do my job.”

Catherine considered the unanswered question and then decided to let it pass for the moment. She’d learned in their previous sessions that Dellon often revealed more in what she didn’t say than in anything she might if pressured. And the young detective was pale and shaking, a vivid reminder that she had been out of the hospital less than a week. “I know how much the job means to you. But you understand my concern for your safety.”

Mitchell nodded. “If I get Dr. Torveau to sign off for me to resume active duty— real active duty—will you clear me to go back too?”

“Dr. Torveau and I are interested in slightly different things, Dellon.” Catherine smiled. “Are you having any problems sleeping?”

“Not when I get the chance.”

Catherine looked puzzled. “I don’t follow.”

“I just meant…well…Sandy’s staying with me at Michael and Sloan’s. So, sometimes I don’t get to sleep until…late.”

“How are things between the two of you?”

“They’re…” Mitchell colored. “More or less…fantastic.”

Catherine laughed. “May I infer then that your lack of sleep and your new relationship are related?”

“Pretty much. Yeah.”

“Congratulations.”

Mitchell Þ nally grinned. “Thanks.”

“No nightmares?”

“What?” Mitchell grew very still, pressing her palms to her thighs.

“No.”

Catherine was familiar with the posture. She’d seen it when Dellon had Þ rst been referred to her following a temporary suspension from duty after a physical altercation with a suspect. Some might have interpreted her body language as defensive, but Catherine recognized it now as protective. Her question had triggered something in the young woman with the potential to hurt.

“Have you found fragments of the episode breaking into your

• 93 •

RADCLY fFE

consciousness at odd moments? Memories surfacing and taking you unawares?”

“No,” Mitchell said, her voice suddenly rough. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Like what, Dellon?” Catherine asked softly.

“Like what nightmares are made of.” Mitchell gazed at Catherine, but she was seeing the past.

“Tell me about the other time.” Catherine’s invitation was gentle, her voice soothing. But there was strength in her tone, as if whatever was coming would not be too much for her to hear.

Mitchell blinked and shook herself, as if she had just surfaced from the bottom of a murky pond into bright daylight. She smiled crookedly.

“Tired. I guess I’m a little out of it.”

“You were going to tell me about the nightmares.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Mitchell said briskly. “I don’t have nightmares.”

“Anymore?” Again, the question was gentle.

Mitchell’s eyes blazed, a combination of pain and deÞ ance. “That’s right, not anymore.”

Catherine waited, but Dellon remained silent. The clock behind Dellon revealed they were almost out of time. “When do you see Dr.

Torveau again?”

“Not until the beginning of next week—for the suture removal.”

“You’re not ready for duty, Dellon.”

Mitchell’s jaw set hard, her chin jutting forward as the muscles tightened. “How long?”

“I really can’t say. Certainly not before Dr. Torveau reevaluates you in light of what you are likely to be doing in any kind of street situation. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

Catherine laughed. “You want to get out of here and back to work, don’t you?”

“Almost more than anything.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Catherine watched the young detective carefully rise and make her way with a determined gait to the door. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t hide her limp. And Catherine now knew that in addition to the knife wound, there was some former trauma, some other pain, that had

• 94 •

Justice Served

once plagued her. And whatever that old pain was, it had the potential to rise up again and cause destruction if not purged once and for all.

v

Rebecca grimaced as the pager on her belt vibrated. She was twenty feet from the front door to Catherine’s ofÞ ce building and had hoped to catch Catherine between patients for an early dinner or a quick cup of coffee. Spending the major portion of the last two nights tailing George Beecher had meant that she’d seen little of her lover in the past half week, other than a few murmured words when she’d slipped into bed in the middle of the night.

In previous relationships, days, sometimes weeks, had passed without meaningful contact with her lover when she’d been in the midst of a case. Her excuse had always been that she had to work when the trail was hot, because once the case grew cold, she had little chance of breaking it. But in truth, she’d always been most comfortable alone in the night, chasing evil or, if that pursuit failed, chasing away her own demons with a drink. Even after she’d given up the bottle, she hadn’t been able to give up the obsessive need to work until she had nothing left inside but the ashes of fury and frustration.

Now, she had another need.

She needed the touch of Catherine’s hand to settle her, the sound of Catherine’s voice to soothe her, and the press of Catherine’s body in the night to replenish her.

She was a better cop now, a better woman, because of Catherine.

Her pager vibrated again. Swearing, she pulled it from her belt and read the number. Exchanging the beeper for her cell phone, she pressed two on the speed dial.