3. In Pursuit Of Justice - Неизвестный

“We’ll probably need your crime scene techs on the scene to log everything we find and remove also,” Jason remarked, his eyes still fixed on the constantly changing messages and occasionally typing a message himself.

“Fine. I was planning on giving my Captain an update tomorrow. I’ll call you in the morning before I meet with him if I don’t hear from you first.”

“Good enough,” Sloan agreed.

Bending down, Rebecca murmured to Catherine, “Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes.” She was used to dealing with people—emotions—in the intimate confines of therapy, one on one, face to face. Watching the disembodied phrases stream across the screen, knowing that somewhere there was a person attached to them, but having no sense of who that person truly was, disturbed and disoriented her. It left her with a compelling need to feel connected, to see and be seen. “More than ready.”

“Is your car here?” Rebecca asked as they stepped out onto the deserted street. Sloan’s building faced the river one block west of Front Street, the busy thoroughfare which ran along the waterfront, but at this hour, no one was about.

“Yes, I’m parked just down the block,” Catherine informed her, “but I’ll probably come back to review more transcripts some time tomorrow, so I don’t mind leaving it here overnight.”

“Fine. I can swing by and pick you up at your place in the morning before I go in to see the boss.” Rebecca unlocked the passenger door of the Corvette and held it open for Catherine. After walking around to the driver’s side, she slid in behind the wheel and reached to put the keys in the ignition. Catherine’s soft touch on her wrist stilled her motion. Turning to face her passenger, she said quietly, “What is it?”

“Let’s go to your apartment.”

“My apartment?” Rebecca said, startled.

“Yes. It occurred to me over the last few days that all of our time together has been spent at my place. I don’t know where you go when you leave me.”

Rebecca was still for a long moment, then she said in a low voice heavy with feeling, “When I’m not with you, Catherine, I’m either working or waiting to be with you again.”

Catherine smiled fondly, struck by how Rebecca’s simple words stirred her so much. Insistently, she said, “I want to see where you sleep. I want to be able to imagine you there when I’m in bed alone.” She didn’t add out loud, I want to be able to imagine you somewhere other than Sandy’s apartment—or a hospital bed.

“Okay. I have to warn you, though, it’s the maid’s week off.”

Catherine laughed and settled back into the bucket seat. “I promise not to look under the bed.”

From Sloan’s, Rebecca drove south on Third Street into Queen Village, a pocket of small row houses and restaurants sandwiched between the newly trendy South Street business district and South Philadelphia, the historically working-class Irish and Italian area. Ten minutes later they were climbing the stairs to Rebecca’s second floor apartment above a mom-and-pop grocery store which had been owned by the same family for over fifty years. Rebecca tried frantically to remember exactly what condition she had left her apartment in, but she drew a blank. She so very rarely paid attention to her surroundings when she was home. It was a place to sleep and make coffee and shower before going back to her real home, the city streets. After unlocking the door, she pushed it open and said, “Come on in.”

Catherine stepped through and waited for Rebecca, who pulled the door closed, bolted it, and flicked on a wall switch to her right. After her eyes adjusted to the light, Catherine looked around, smiling to herself when she found that the apartment was very close to the way she had envisioned it. One large living room with a door to the left that opened into a small kitchen and another on the right that most likely led to the bedroom and bath. A utilitarian sofa with the requisite coffee table in front of it, a very nice stereo set with a layer of dust coating it that suggested that it rarely saw any use, and a high-end television comprised the furnishings. An end table supported a haphazard stack of paperbacks and a gym bag lay open on the floor to her left, apparently having been abandoned there after Rebecca removed her soiled work out clothes. It looked like a bachelor apartment which, of course, was what it was.

“As I said,” Rebecca began in an apologetic tone, “it’s not much to look at —”

“No,” Catherine said. “It seems very much like you. Utilitarian, and a little bit…” she quirked an eyebrow, grinning at Rebecca, “Spartan.”

“Spartan, huh?” Rebecca laughed, too, and began to relax. “Can I get you something? I’ve got soda, I think, and…” her voice trailed off as she followed Catherine’s gaze.

“Is that yours?” Catherine asked quietly, her tone carefully neutral. Her heart was pounding furiously, but she knew that her voice sounded calm. That was the benefit of years of training.

Rebecca stared at the half empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black on her coffee table. “Yes.”

“Are you drinking?” It terrified her more than she would have ever dreamed to think of Rebecca in any kind of trouble, physically or emotionally. If she were drinking again, then something was very wrong. To find that something that serious could be happening to someone she loved and that she wouldn’t even know, wouldn’t even suspect, made her wonder what exactly had happened to the two of them. How could they have drifted so far part? “Rebecca?” Catherine asked again into the silence.

Rebecca took a deep breath. “No, I’m not.”

“But you bought it?”

“Yes. I did. Four nights ago.” She shrugged out of her jacket and released the clasp on her shoulder holster, removing it and stowing it in its customary spot on top of the bookcase next to the door to her bedroom. Turning, she asked, “Can I take your jacket?”

Catherine simply nodded and slipped it from her shoulders. Approaching Rebecca, she held it out in one hand. Rebecca took it and carefully placed it on a hanger in the small closet next to the front door. She walked to the sofa, lifted the bottle of scotch in one hand, and carried it into the kitchen. She returned empty-handed and sat on the sofa. Catherine sat down beside her.

“Why?” Catherine asked, leaning toward her but not yet touching her.

“I’ve asked myself that every day for the last four days,” Rebecca said at length. “I can’t tell you exactly why, but I was lonely, and I was angry, and I was tired. I can usually deal with one or two of those things at one time, but when they all come together, I mostly just want to forget.”

The words and her expression shredded Catherine’s soul. “Is it me?”

“No,” Rebecca said, her voice a whisper. “It’s me.”

“Who is it?” Sandy called irritably.

“It’s me.”

She opened the door and regarded her unexpected visitor. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved; each leaned against the doorjamb on opposite sides of the threshold, regarding one another as if uncertain what to say next. Finally, Sandy said, “It’s three o’clock in the morning, Dell. What’s going on?”

“Did you talk to Frye tonight?”

Sandy’s eyes sparked with sudden anger. “We’re not going there.”

“Just tell me you’re not doing something crazy for her.”

“What I do for her or anyone else isn’t any of your business,” Sandy said, starting to close the door.

Mitchell straight armed the door before it could close completely, but she made no move to enter the room. “You met her tonight, didn’t you? I don’t want you to tell me what you told her. Just tell me if you’re doing anything except passing on information.”

“Go home, Dell,” Sandy said, but her voice was softer now.

“Please, Sandy,” Mitchell said with a note of quiet desperation. “I can’t sleep. I keep thinking… these guys…”

“There’s a reason we can’t be friends,” Sandy said, her eyes impossible to read but her tone bitter. “And this is it. For a little while, you can forget what I do, who I am. But not all the time, right, Dell? And this is what happens.”

“You’re wrong,” Dell whispered. “The only thing I can’t forget is the way you looked lying in that alley with blood on your face.”

Sandy blinked. The torment in Dell’s deep blue eyes was impossible to ignore. She wasn’t certain what brought the tears to her own eyes — the fact that Dell was hurting or the fact that the young cop could feel something like that for her. All she knew for certain was that no one had made her cry in a very long time, and she had sworn that no one ever would again. In a voice she didn’t recognize, she asked, “Are you coming in?”

“No,” Mitchell said hoarsely, her entire body trembling.

“Why not?”

Because I want to so bad.

Breathless, Catherine rolled over and pushed Rebecca away. “I have yet to determine how it is that every time I intend to have a serious conversation with you I end up in bed with you instead.”

“Sorry,” Rebecca gasped. “I think I started that.”

“Well,” Catherine murmured, linking her fingers with Rebecca’s as she stared at the ceiling in the semi darkness, “you had help finishing it.”

Rebecca waited for Catherine to continue, wondering what she was going to ask or what she hoped to hear. When the silence between them expanded to fill the room, Rebecca spoke out of a desperate need to break through the barriers between them. “Every night I poured a glass of scotch and sat staring at it… I don’t know for how long. Then I’d get up and pour it down the sink.”

Catherine turned on her side to study Rebecca’s profile in the moonlight. “Does anyone know?”

Startled, Rebecca replied, “Who would know?”

I should know. But this wasn’t the time for that. “Watts… or Whitaker?”

“No,” Rebecca replied abruptly. Then, aware of her defensive tone, she added more softly, “I can’t talk to Whitaker about this, Catherine. I’m still waiting for him to sign off on my incident evaluation. The last thing I can tell him is that I feel like getting drunk.”

“I understand, believe me. I see people every week who don’t want their employers to know. Still, it would probably help if you talked to…someone about this,” Catherine said carefully. “A friend or…me.” Gently, she stroked the length of Rebecca’s arm. “But keeping it inside is going to make it harder not to drink.”

“I know. I think I’m past it now. I emptied the bottle down the drain tonight.”

Catherine felt a small swell of relief, but she knew it was never that easy. “And the next time?”

After a pause, Rebecca answered quietly, “Next time… I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you,” Catherine whispered. “What you did, not drinking, was incredibly difficult, Rebecca. I’m proud of you.”

Rebecca turned on her side to face Catherine, her palm resting on the crest of Catherine’s hip, their bodies only inches apart. “I want to make things right between us. And I don’t know how.”

“What we’re doing right now will make things right between us,” Catherine said, her voice tight with emotion. “I need to know you, Rebecca. Not just all the strong, brave, wonderful parts of you, but the parts that are uncertain or lonely or…frightened.”

“I need practice at this.”

“So do I,” Catherine admitted. “I haven’t cared about anyone like this before, Rebecca. You bring up feelings in me I didn’t even know I was capable of having. Before you, my life was ordered and settled and comfortable.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Rebecca said with a hint of laughter.

Catherine laughed, too. “No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t bad at all; it was just not remarkable. Being with you is quite remarkable.”

“Captain Henry told me that I could be promoted to Lieutenant if I wanted it,” Rebecca said in a low voice. “I could tell him yes.”

“Do you want that?”

“I wouldn’t be on the street as much. I’d have more regular hours.”

Catherine leaned closer and kissed the point of Rebecca’s shoulder. “And you’d do that for me?”

“No,” Rebecca said, her eyes meeting Catherine’s. “I’d do that for us.”

“Maybe someday,” Catherine said softly, stroking the edge of Rebecca’s jaw with her fingertips, feeling the muscles bunched tightly beneath her fingers. “Right now, I’d rather you just share your life with me, not change it for me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that with anyone, but I’ll try. I swear to God, I’ll try.”

“Good. You can start in the morning.” Catherine slipped her fingers into the hair at the base of Rebecca’s neck and guided the other woman down on top of her. “But right now, I’d rather not talk.”

Rebecca slid her thigh between Catherine’s legs and leaned on her elbows, staring down into Catherine’s face. “I feel like part of me is missing when I’m not with you.”

Maybe it was her words, maybe it was the pressure of warm firm muscle against her nerve centers, but a surge of desire so powerful it caused every muscle in her body to tense wrenched a sharp cry from Catherine’s throat. She wrapped her calves around Rebecca’s leg and thrust hard into her, forcing the blood to pound faster through her already swollen flesh. Pressing her lips to Rebecca’s ear she whispered raggedly, “I don’t want to… think. Make it so I can’t.”

First, Rebecca kissed her until she couldn’t speak. Then she found her nipples, and teased them, tormented them, until she couldn’t breathe. Then, she touched her, stroked her, and finally filled her… until she couldn’t do anything except feel.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

THE PHONE RANG at 6:40 a.m. Rebecca groped for the receiver and fumbled it to her ear. “Frye.”

“You up yet?” Sloan asked, her never ending, nearly irrepressible energy practically palpable over the line.

“No. You been to bed yet?”

“Nope. But I’ve got something for you.”

Rebecca sat up in bed, and Catherine rolled over to rest her head against Rebecca’s stomach, wrapping one arm around her waist. Rebecca threaded the fingers of her free hand through the thick tresses at the base of Catherine’s neck. “Tell me.”

“LongJohn finally showed up last night, and he’s dangling bait in front of BigMac’s… nose. You’ll have to see the transcript, but basically, he’s offered BigMac a show. A live show.”

“Excellent,” Rebecca rejoined, her mind already prioritizing her day’s work. “I need as many details as you can give me. I’ll be over in an hour.”

“I’ll put the coffee on.”

Rebecca leaned toward the night stand to hang up the phone.

“What is it?” Catherine asked sleepily.

“Sloan’s got something for us.”

“I take it that means we’re getting up?”

Rebecca slid down into bed and settled Catherine into her arms. “We’ve got a few minutes. You can sleep a little longer.”

Catherine ran her palm along Rebecca’s ribs and down to the base of her abdomen, her fingers settling lightly in the cleft between Rebecca’s thighs. “I wasn’t thinking of sleeping. The last thing I remember from last night is feeling like my entire body had disintegrated. It was wonderful, but at about the point where my arms and legs disassembled, I think I lost consciousness.” She laughed softly, edging her fingers lower as she spoke.