Clark blinked, a slow ß ush darkening his features. “I have jurisdiction—”

“You don’t have dick,” Rebecca interrupted. “This is a homicide.

This is PPD business. The only reason you’re standing here right now is because I’m trying to be cooperative. You touch any of my people and I’m not going to be so obliging in the future.”

For a moment, they stood toe to toe in the unforgiving glare of the artiÞ cial lights, looking like two Þ ghters in the middle of the ring waiting for the starting bell to sound. Waiting to throw the Þ rst punch.

Then, Clark abruptly pivoted and strode rapidly away.

“So now we know who’s really got the balls around here,” Watts remarked appreciatively.

Rebecca ß icked him a look of amused irritation. “Let’s go talk to Sloan.”

• 154 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Michael surfaced slowly from deep sleep, roused by an annoying, repetitive beep. It took her a few seconds to recognize the sound as the alarm from one of the security sensors. She rolled over with a murmur of protest and extended one arm. “Sloan, darling…”

The bed beside her was empty. Sighing, she drew back the covers, reached automatically for her robe at the foot of the bed, and absently tied the sash around her waist as she walked down the hall. Beside the elevator doors, a panel slid open at the touch of a button to reveal a recessed cabinet holding a bank of security monitors. Squinting at the image on the screen above the blinking red light, she recognized Rebecca Frye standing on the small landing at the front entrance.

“Rebecca?” Michael asked after switching on the audio.

“Sorry to bother you, Michael, but we need to see Sloan.”

“She’s not here,” Michael replied. “Maybe downstairs in the ofÞ ce.”

“Can we come up?”

“Of course. I’m sorry. I’ll buzz you in.” Michael gave a small laugh. “I’m still half asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no need to be. Come up. I’ll put coffee on.”

v

Two minutes later, Rebecca exited the elevator with Watts by her side. They stopped just inside the loft, waiting.

“Good morning,” Michael said with a smile, emerging from the kitchen alcove. She indicated the leather sofas in the living room.

“Would you like to sit down?”

• 155 •

RADCLY fFE

“No, we’re Þ ne,” Rebecca said out of habit.

“Coffee, then?”

Before Rebecca could answer, Watts jumped in. “That would be terriÞ c. I can smell it from here.”

“It’ll just be another minute or so. Please, won’t you sit down?”

Rebecca acquiesced, and they moved into the living room. Rebecca and Watts took opposite ends of a deep teal leather sofa while Michael settled on an ivory one across from them.

“Do you know where Sloan is?” Rebecca asked.

“No, I called downstairs while you were on your way up. No one answered, so I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“It’s pretty early,” Rebecca said.

Michael laughed. “Sloan has no regard for time, especially when she’s involved with a case. She keeps odd hours.”

“But she was here earlier in the evening?”

“Oh, yes. We went out in the late afternoon and were back here by nine, I think. We…” Michael smiled faintly and blushed. “We went to bed early.”

Watts shifted uneasily and made a point of gazing out the wall of windows toward the Delaware River. Barge trafÞ c was already heavy on the river below.

“Would you happen to know about when you…got to sleep?”

Michael laughed softly. “I’m afraid I wasn’t watching the clock, Lieutenant.”

“No, of course not,” Rebecca said evenly. “So you have no idea when she might have left?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t. I seem to sleep very deeply once I Þ nally nod off.” Michael tilted her head, her expression quizzical. “Why don’t you call her cell phone? Most of the time she forgets to turn it on, but since I’ve been…ill, she’s very good about it.”

“We will,” Rebecca replied. At the moment, she wasn’t actually interested in speaking to Sloan. What she wanted was to establish a timeline for Sloan’s activities the previous evening. Hopefully, a timeline that would put her far away from the parking lot at Front and Market.

Rebecca waited until Michael had gone to the kitchen and returned with a tray holding coffee mugs, cream and sugar, and a small plate of

• 156 •

Justice Served

mufÞ ns before continuing her questions. “Would you know if she made any phone calls last night from home?”

“No, I’m quite sure she didn’t. We came in and went directly to bed.”

Watts coughed and busied himself with his coffee.

“What about incoming calls? Did she perhaps receive a call and go out afterward?”

Michael frowned. “No. Nothing that I recall. What’s going on?

Is…she’s all right, isn’t she?” She sat forward, paling visibly. “You don’t think she’s hurt or in danger?”

“No,” Rebecca said quickly. “Nothing like that.”

“But something’s wrong. What’s happened?”

Rebecca hadn’t touched her coffee. She’d gotten little help from what Michael had given her, and that frustrated her. But the sudden change in Michael’s appearance worried her even more. Michael was trembling, and there was something close to panic in her eyes.

“Michael, I…”

The nearly inaudible swish of the elevator doors sliding open brought Michael to her feet, and the sudden change in position made her light-headed. She swayed unsteadily.

The Þ rst thing Sloan saw when she walked into her home was her lover, looking as if she was about to fall.

“Michael?” Sloan cried in alarm, reaching Michael’s side in four long strides. “Baby, what’s wrong?” She slid an arm around her lover’s waist and eased her down on the sofa. She brushed her lips over Michael’s forehead. “Hey. What happened? Did you get sick? Why didn’t you call me?”

“It’s all right, darling,” Michael murmured, smiling weakly. “I’m Þ ne. It’s Þ ne. I was asleep when Rebecca came. I’m just not quite awake yet.”

“You’re not hurt? Not sick or anything?” Sloan passed trembling Þ ngers over Michael’s cheek.

“No. I’m really all right.” Michael stroked Sloan’s arm, then covered Sloan’s hand with her own, placing a ß eeting kiss on the palm.

With one protective arm still around Michael, Sloan looked from Rebecca to Watts in confusion. “Then what are you doing here?”

• 157 •

RADCLY fFE

Rebecca was about to answer when a voice called from the other side of the room, “Hey, what’s going on?”

Sandy shufß ed into view, Mitchell’s T-shirt brushing her thighs mere inches below her panties. Mitchell was right behind her in a PPD

T-shirt and boxers. “We heard voices. Problem?”

Watts took one look in Sandy’s direction and immediately glanced away. “Jesus Christ. No one around here has any clothes on.”

“What do you sleep in?” Sandy mumbled as she walked past him in the direction of the kitchen. “Ugh. No, never mind. Forget I asked.”

“We needed to talk to you, so we thought we’d come by,” Rebecca said to Sloan. “Where have you been?”

Mitchell and Sandy returned, each holding a cup of coffee. Sandy curled up on the sofa on Michael’s left. Mitchell stood uncertainly midway between Sloan and Rebecca, who sat facing one another across the expanse of living room.

“What the fuck’s going on?” Sloan said sharply.

“I need to know where you were tonight, from the time you left here until now.” Rebecca’s face was a blank, her voice still calm. But now, a core of steel crept into her tone.

“Same question goes. Why?”

“Just answer the question, Sloan,” Watts urged in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Sloan jumped to her feet so rapidly that only Rebecca’s quick reß exes prevented her from being taken off guard. She surged upright just as quickly, so that she and Sloan ended up only a few feet apart.

“Do you think I don’t recognize an interrogation when I hear one?” Sloan’s body vibrated with fury. “You have the fucking balls to come here in the middle of the night and question my lover?”

“Sloan,” Michael said gently, standing as well. She placed her hand in the center of Sloan’s back. “Darling, let Rebecca talk.”

“She’s done talking. She’s leaving now. ” Sloan took another step in Rebecca’s direction, one hand raised as if to shove Rebecca aside.

“You don’t want to do that, Sloan,” Rebecca warned.

With surprising grace, Watts gained his feet and insinuated himself between them in one ß uid motion. His face was an inch from Sloan’s, his voice like granite. “You dumb fuck. If she hadn’t stood up for you tonight, you’d be downtown in a locked room with Clark right now. So

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Justice Served

put your dick away and answer the questions. Then we can all get back to work.”

Sloan stared into his eyes for a long moment. Whatever she saw in their hard, cold depths must have extinguished the blaze of fury consuming her reason, because the tension in her broad shoulders eased visibly. She took a long breath and shifted her gaze to Rebecca’s. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“No. I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer.”

Rebecca needed the interview to be by the book if it was to be credible to Avery Clark. She waited, wondering how far Sloan’s tenuous trust would extend. Wondering, not for the Þ rst time, what had happened during those lost years in Sloan’s past.

“I was here until just after two,” Sloan stated in a ß at, uninß ected tone. “I woke up thinking about the computer traces that Jason and Mitchell have been running. I haven’t had a chance to go over any of their data because I’ve been so busy at Police Plaza with the…other situation. So I decided to have a quick look at what they’ve got. I dressed and went downstairs.”