“Dellon,” Catherine said quietly. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Mitchell considered her options, which were few—that is, in addition to the truth. Denial, lying, or evasion. She contemplated those choices. Perhaps if it had been the Þ rst time she’d been in this situation with Catherine Rawlings, she wouldn’t even have hesitated.

She would have said “nothing.” Things had changed, and she hadn’t even noticed. It was harder for her to keep what bothered her inside.

It was harder for her to keep people on the outside. Part of that was a

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result of the support she had gotten the Þ rst time she’d been forced into therapy with Catherine. Despite her initial discomfort and anger at her powerlessness, she’d found understanding and an unexpected surcease from pain when she’d shared her feelings.

And then there was Sandy.

Sandy, who had managed to step over, circumnavigate, or simply crash through every barrier she’d imposed, with a single sharp word or tender glance. Last night—last night all she’d wanted was for Sandy to keep touching her, because with Sandy inside her, there was no room for anything else. Mitchell took a shuddering breath.

“I was forced to resign my commission in the Army.”

Although the revelation was completely unexpected, Catherine’s expression indicated only compassionate interest and none of her surprise. “Forced. So it wasn’t voluntary?”

“In theory, I had a choice. It was simple—take an honorable discharge or be court-martialed.” Mitchell laughed hollowly and shook her head. “Some choice.”

“What were the circumstances?”

Mitchell rubbed her face vigorously with both hands and then dropped her arms back to the armrests, her Þ ngers limp. “I assaulted a superior ofÞ cer.”

“Male or female?”

“A man.”

“Assaulted how?”

“I punched him. Hard enough to put him in the hospital overnight.”

“Tell me how that came about.” Catherine had seen Mitchell with Rebecca and knew how deeply ingrained her respect for hierarchical authority was. Whatever had prompted her to break rank in such an excessive fashion must have been extreme.

“He was trying to…he forced himself…on a woman.”

“You stopped a rape?” Catherine asked incredulously. “And for that, you were threatened with court-martial?”

“It wasn’t a rape…yet. He was just…” Mitchell swallowed, the memory still so clear. Her stomach churned with rage and revulsion, just as it had that night. “He was just touching her.” He had his hands on her breasts, his mouth on her neck. He was pressing himself into her.

• 140 •

Justice Served

“Against her will?”

Mitchell nodded.

“Then I don’t…I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” Catherine said intently. “Why were you at fault?”

“She was my lover.”

Oh, Dellon. Catherine rose and walked around the desk to the chair beside Mitchell’s. She did not touch her, but angled in the seat so that she could look directly into Mitchell’s face. “Tell me about her.”

v

Laughing, Michael stepped out of the elevator, her arms Þ lled with packages. Sandy followed close behind, saying, “I can’t believe the look on her face when you told her I was your girlfriend.”

“Well,” Michael said, still irritated by the saleswoman’s superior attitude, “she was so clearly trying to eavesdrop on our conversation, I just thought I’d help her out.”

“You were great…” Sandy trailed off as she noticed the woman standing across the room by the windows. “Hey, Sloan.”

“Hi, Sandy.”

Surprised, Michael deposited the spoils of their trip on the sofa and went to her lover. “Darling? I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon.”

Sloan smiled and kissed Michael’s cheek. “Missed you last night.”

Michael brushed her Þ ngers through Sloan’s hair, studying her lover’s eyes. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

“A few hours.”

From across the room, Sandy called, “I’m gonna unpack these and then take off for a while. I have some errands to run for Dell.”

“Don’t put them where she might see them,” Michael said. “Use the closet down the hall.”

Sandy grinned. “Gotcha.”

Once alone, Michael twined her arms around Sloan’s waist and settled against her. “Tired?”

“No.” Sloan smoothed her hands up and down Michael’s back, loving the feel of silk sliding over even softer skin, reveling in the warmth beneath her Þ ngertips. When she’d left Henry’s ofÞ ce and gone back to the ESU, she’d thought she’d be able to work. Thought the

• 141 •

RADCLY fFE

work would quench the anger, as it had so often in the past, but this time was different. She couldn’t concentrate. All she’d been able to think about had been Michael—almost dying, and the horrible void that had Þ lled her heart and mind for those few terrible hours. Unconsciously, she tightened her hold on the woman in her arms.

Michael leaned back enough to look into Sloan’s eyes. There was turmoil in their depths. “What is it?”

Sloan rested her forehead against Michael’s. “Nothing. I love you.”

“What did you do this morning?” When no answer was

forthcoming, Michael stroked the back of Sloan’s neck and kissed her gently. “Sloan?”

“Just a brieÞ ng with Rebecca and some of the hotshots in the department.”

“Problems?”

Sloan shook her head.

“Progress, then?”

“Some.” Sloan stiffened as she thought about what she had learned.

“I know who hurt you. At least who set it up.”

Michael gasped. “How?”

“I tracked him through the computer system at Police Plaza.”

“You know his name?”

“Yes.”

“A police ofÞ cer?”

“An ADA. He’s probably Mob connected—I don’t know how just yet.”

“Has he been arrested?”

“No.” The bitterness in Sloan’s voice lay heavy in the air.

Michael cupped her Þ ngers along the sharp angle of Sloan’s jaw, sensitive to the tight muscles quivering beneath the smooth, pale skin.

Now she understood why Sloan had come home in the middle of the day, in the middle of a big case. Something she would ordinarily never do. She was in pain. “You know what I’d like?”

“What?” Sloan’s voice was husky, her hands terribly gentle as they rested in the soft curve above Michael’s hips.

“I’d like to go to a movie, and then out somewhere for dinner, and then come home and spend the rest of the night in your arms.” Her

• 142 •

Justice Served

Þ ngers trembled faintly as she traced their tips over Sloan’s mouth.

“Can we do that?”

Sloan buried her hands in Michael’s soft golden hair before lowering her mouth to Michael’s. After she’d Þ lled her mind with the touch and taste of her lover, she whispered, “Yes. Always for you, yes.”

v

Catherine stepped from her car and turned at the sound of her name. Smiling, she leaned a hip against the fender and watched Rebecca coming toward her, a pizza box balanced in one hand. Under the streetlights, Rebecca’s blond hair glinted. Her blazer swung open, revealing the long line of her chest and hips. Catherine’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt the familiar tingling that always accompanied the Þ rst sight of her lover.

“How did you know I’d be home now?” Catherine asked as Rebecca drew near.

“I’m a detective.” At the sight of Catherine’s raised brow, Rebecca grinned. “I called Joyce, and she told me when you’d be Þ nished.”

“Mmm. Good thinking.” Catherine wrapped her arm around Rebecca’s waist as they strolled down the sidewalk side by side. “You need to start wearing an overcoat, darling.”

Rebecca kissed Catherine’s cheek. “Why? Is it going to snow?”

“It feels cold enough to.”

“I’m Þ ne.”

“Is there some rule about police ofÞ cers not wearing coats?”

“I don’t like them. Too conÞ ning.”

You think it will get in the way of you reaching your gun, don’t you?

Catherine had noticed that whenever they walked together, Rebecca took the street side, as if shielding her. She was also very aware that no matter where they were, Rebecca constantly scanned the surroundings, looking for something or someone out of place. It wasn’t a question of Rebecca always working, it was simply that Rebecca was always a cop.

And in that regard, there was no middle ground. “If you won’t wear an overcoat, then you need to switch to wool blazers. The silk is not heavy enough for this time of year.”

Rebecca laughed. “If that will make you happy, I will. Except

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RADCLY fFE

they’re still in storage from last winter. It might be a week or so before I have time to retrieve them.”

“Give me the tickets, and I’ll pick them up for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Rebecca said as they climbed the stairs to Catherine’s brownstone.

“I want to. That’s all a part of our being together.”

Inside, Catherine shed her coat and briefcase as Rebecca took the pizza into the kitchen. A moment later, Catherine joined her. She made an appreciative sound as Rebecca opened a bottle of cabernet and Þ lled a glass for her.

“This is wonderful,” Catherine sighed after her Þ rst sip of the dark wine.

With a contented groan, Rebecca leaned her hips against the counter, arms outstretched on either side, her Þ ngers curled around the edge, enjoying Catherine’s pleasure. “Better than wonderful.”

Appreciating the way the Þ ne, pale linen stretched across Rebecca’s chest, Catherine nodded. “It’s the Þ rst night you’ve been home for dinner all week. We should celebrate.”

Rebecca patted the pizza box. “That’s what I thought too.”

Catherine took another swallow of wine and set the glass on the small butcher block next to the stove. Then she stepped up to Rebecca and placed her hands on the counter inside of Rebecca’s, trapping her lover between her arms. “I wasn’t thinking about food.”