Sloan groaned. “I have to work tonight. No teasing.”

Michael grew still. “The surveillance again?”

“Yeah. Plus a meeting at Police Plaza in an hour. I just wanted to see you for a few minutes.” She grinned. “I didn’t intend to fall asleep.”

“No,” Michael murmured, keeping her hand against Sloan’s stomach. “That’s very unusual for you. Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t ask me to do the impossible,” Michael said with a gentle smile. She leaned down and kissed Sloan again. “Did you get what you were after today?”

Sloan’s fatigue dropped away and her eyes brightened. “Oh yeah.

These guys were playing a pretty nifty shell game, moving containers from one spot to another and conveniently forgetting to log in the secondary locations. They bypassed the initial Customs inspection that way. Once the girls were picked up and transported from the docks, they moved the container back to the original location and altered the documentation stored in the computer.”

“And no one noticed the discrepancies?”

Sloan shook her head. “There’s no reason to review those records as long as all of the merchandise contracted for is eventually received.

Since the containers carrying the girls held no legitimate merchandise, there was no reason to track their contents. And you’d never Þ nd that out unless you followed individual containers from point of origin to Þ nal destination, and coming off those speciÞ c ships. These guys were counting on the fact that no one would. And no one did—until today.”

“It sounds too simple to work.”

• 278 •

Justice Served

“Exactly,” Sloan said with a hint of respect. “The simpler the scam, the more likely it is to go unnoticed.”

“So—is tonight going to end it?”

Sloan’s eyes darkened and her expression hardened. “One way or the other.”

Michael drew Sloan’s face closer to her breasts, holding her tightly. Everything that needed to be said had already been said. Sloan had made her promise, and Michael trusted her to keep it.

Monday, 9:00 p.m., One Police Plaza

Rebecca leaned with one shoulder against the wall, her arms folded across her chest, taking stock of the others present as she waited for the meeting to begin. Avery Clark stood with his back to the room, his hands loosely clasped at the base of his spine, his legs slightly spread—a position that suggested military training somewhere in his background. He appeared oblivious to the low hum of conversation in the room, but Rebecca had no doubt that he was completely aware of everything that was transpiring. Sloan sat at the small conference table, her laptop open, apparently engrossed in whatever program she was running. Rebecca had no doubt that Sloan, too, knew exactly where everyone was positioned and precisely what was happening. Mitchell occupied another chair at the table and, with her legs stretched out in front of her and her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, appeared genuinely calm. Watts, looking bored, drummed his Þ ngers on the tabletop.

The door opened and Henry walked in, looking neither right nor left but walking directly to the head of the table. He did not sit, but leaned with his broad hands braced on the tabletop. “Lieutenant, bring us up to speed.”

Rebecca straightened. She was aware of Clark turning from the window to face her, but she kept her eyes on her captain as she gave a succinct rundown of the evidence they had gathered, stopping at one point for Sloan to update the group on the results of her computer searches at Port Authority. She ended by saying, “We believe that our undercover operatives will have the location of at least one stash house

• 279 •

RADCLY fFE

tonight. I’m sure there are others, but we should be able to get more information on that from the suspects we bring in.”

“And if you can’t,” Clark said mildly, “then all you’ll have done is apprehend a few midlevel enforcers while alerting the entire organization to how much we know. Or don’t know.”

“Between the inside men on the docks, the bodyguards, and the girls themselves, we’ll Þ nd someone who wants to deal,” Rebecca said with conÞ dence.

“The longer we wait,” Henry interjected, “the more chance that they’ll move the girls permanently or that someone may get wind of our investigation.” He grimaced. “God knows, this place leaks like a sieve.”

“Working on that, Captain,” Sloan said jauntily.

Henry just grunted.

“Since the moment we inÞ ltrated the Internet pornography ring,”

Rebecca said, “the organization has to have known we might get wind of the bigger picture. We can’t chance waiting until they move this arm of their operation somewhere else. I recommend that we go now.”

“I concur,” Henry said. “I’ll make the calls.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Clark said. “Since we have jurisdiction, we’ll handle that.”

“You might have jurisdiction,” Rebecca countered smoothly, in a surprisingly calm tone, “over some aspects of the investigation, but you won’t have anything at all if we don’t Þ nd the stash house.”

“Meaning?”

Rebecca lifted her shoulder. “Meaning, it’s our show. If you want your team to pick up the dockworkers and the inside men at Port Authority, be my guest.” She turned to Henry. “But it’s my people undercover, and I’m the one who will be leading the takedown team.”

“Seems fair,” Henry said. “Lieutenant, why don’t you and Clark coordinate the details of the joint strikes. We’ll have an assault team standing by in case you think it’s necessary. You’ll lead the assault on the stash house, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” Rebecca said, careful to keep the triumph from her voice. She waited until Henry left to make his calls and secure the necessary warrants before turning her attention fully to Clark. “Just how much of this did you already know when you put Jimmy Hogan undercover?”

• 280 •

Justice Served

“We didn’t know anything,” Clark replied. “We’ve known for some time that trafÞ cking in girls from Eastern Europe and Mexico was picking up, but we didn’t know their points of entry and, more importantly, their destinations once they were over the border. Now and then we’d get intelligence from girls who’d been arrested or who’d run away from abusive owners, and we’d get some hint of how big this had become. Hogan never had a chance to get close.”

“That you know of.”

Clark nodded. “I suspect he was closer than he realized, and that’s what led them to take him out.”

“If you’d told us,” Sloan said through clenched jaws, “we might have found the connections a lot faster.”

“If I’d known where to point you,” he rejoined, “I would have.

Only a team like yours has the street intelligence to make this kind of case.”

“Yeah,” Watts grunted. “And then when we do, you can take the credit.”

Clark smiled. “I don’t want the credit, Detective. I just want a good source of information.”

“Well, this time,” Rebecca said ß atly, “you’re going to have to get in line.”

Monday, 11:30 p.m., Seventh and Fitzpatrick

“It’s gonna happen tonight, isn’t it,” Sandy said as she watched Mitchell strap the ankle holster just above the bottom of her jeans.

“Probably.”

Sandy drew her legs up onto the sofa, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her chin on her knees. “You think the guy who killed Trudy will be there?”

“The lieutenant does.” Mitchell settled beside Sandy on the couch and draped an arm around her shoulder. “I think so too. He has to be a ground-level part of the operation, because every step we’ve made, he’s been right behind us. This guy knows who we are.”

“Do you think he knows Mitch?”

• 281 •

RADCLY fFE

Mitchell tightened her hold and kissed Sandy’s cheek. “I don’t know, honey. I don’t think so.”

“You’re gonna be inside that house alone with her, Dell.”

“Sandy, I’m not…”

“I don’t care what you do with her,” Sandy said vehemently, turning to press against Mitchell’s side. She kissed Mitchell’s neck, then her mouth. “Just don’t get your ass shot up.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Mitchell murmured, stroking Sandy’s cheek before kissing her again.

Finally Sandy drew away and took a long shuddering breath. She stood, extending her hand. “Come on, then. Let’s get Mitch ready to roll.”

• 282 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Tuesday, 1:40 a.m., Tenth and Arch

Static Þ lled the interior of the Ford Taurus.

“Jesus, can’t you clean that up?”

Sloan heard the uncharacteristic edge of anxiety in Rebecca’s voice as she made some adjustments to the receiver. “Mitch is probably standing behind some kind of barrier—a concrete column maybe, or a steel door.”

“I thought you could get through anything with that. I’ve got to know what’s happening every second. Christ.” Rebecca looked out the driver’s window at the blacked-out windows of the long, low-slung building. There was very little trafÞ c, and the street was eerily dark. Even the streetlights had been knocked out by gangs using them for target practice. What little illumination there was came from the ß ickering red ß uorescent sign that announced Ziggie’s. The place looked like a black hole, and she had two of her people inside. She ß icked a glance in the rearview mirror and checked on Watts, moderately comforted to see him sitting in a similar nondescript department-issue vehicle on the opposite side of the street.

“Don’t worry, this kind of interference is usually temp—”

“Hello, new boy. You are late.”

“Oh yeah? Have you been missing me?”

Low throaty laughter. “Give me your hand. Mmm, you

feel? What do you think?”