Justice for All (29 page)

The unmistakable sound of a zipper sliding down, a grunt, then the liquid sounds of someone sucking. He was collecting a little bonus pay before leaving, which meant that the party was probably going to break up soon. Within minutes he was breathing heavily, and Sandy prayed he would pop quickly before other men began rousing to leave. His grunting increased and the sucking turned to gagging chokes. The bastard wasn’t letting her breathe, and it was all Sandy could do not to vault over the bed and smash him in the face. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, closed her hands until her nails dug into her palms, and told herself she would only make matters worse if she were discovered. He gave a hoarse cry and she slowly let out her breath. It was over, and within seconds, they were gone. Trembling, she got to her knees, checked that the room was empty, and hurried to the door. The hall was clear.

The lights in the main rooms were still turned down low, but as soon as she angled toward the couch she realized something was wrong. Darla wasn’t there. Quickly, she hurried back down the hall the way she had come. Beyond the room where the coats were stored was another room, and she could hear the wet slap of flesh on flesh. She could also hear Darla crying no.

Bastards.
Sandy shoved open the door and stormed across the room all in one motion, yelling, “Hey! That’s my girl.”

A heavy man with his pants down around his thighs had Darla pinned to the bed, one hand on her throat, the other on his cock, which he was trying to shove between her legs. Even in the half light, Sandy could see Darla’s eyes bulging. He was choking her for real. Sandy shoved his shoulder with both hands as hard as she could, catching him unawares and forcing him to release Darla as he stumbled. He was too quick for her to avoid the slashing backhand blow that caught her across the face and knocked her onto the floor. She felt her lip split and managed to roll partially onto her side so that the kick caught her on the back, and not in the face. The force of the blow knocked the air from her lungs, and a buzzing filled her head as another kick skidded off her temple. She gagged, gasping for air, and dimly heard Darla screaming. Then angry shouts in English, then Russian. Someone lifted her onto the bed next to Darla, who gathered her into her arms.

“Leave her alone,” Darla shouted. “That bastard was choking me.”

“Let it go,” Sandy mumbled, still dizzy and sick. “Don’t fight them.”

Darla pressed her face to the top of Sandy’s head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You told me not to go anywhere with anyone. But he said to come with him and I—”

“S’okay. S’okay.”

“We go now,” one of the Russians who had brought them said impatiently. He grabbed them by their arms and yanked them up. “Now.”

Sandy’s right arm was numb, but her shoulder was in agony, and when he jerked her up, her knees gave way. “Wait. Just a minute. Please.”

“No,” he said fiercely and dragged her down the hall toward the door.

Her vision swam and she was only dimly aware of the elevator, the bright lights of the lobby, the cold night air. “Darla?”

“I’m here, honey,” Darla whispered.

Baby,
Sandy thought as the doors to the Navigator opened and the big man pushed her inside.
Dell, baby, I’m so sorry.

Sloan swirled the melting ice cubes absently in her glass, then swallowed the rest of the vodka while keying in a new diagnostic with one hand. She was close. Very close. There was a ghost in her machine, and she intended to find it and follow it.

“You’re not quite as good as you think, are you,” she murmured.

She thought of the men she’d seen earlier that night with Kratos Zamora. Somehow, none of them struck her as likely candidates to be her hacker, but appearances really meant nothing. Still, they all looked like handlers or enforcers. Maybe Gregor, the brother, was more than just a figurehead. Maybe he was the brains after all.

While the program ran, she wandered back to the small kitchen to replenish her drink. It was almost dawn. She’d told Michael she wouldn’t be long. That was hours ago, and Michael would be asleep, which was what she really needed, not Sloan’s restless anger. Sloan poured an inch into her glass, not bothering with ice, and leaned against the counter as she sipped it. Her nervous system twanged as if a continuous current ran through it, keeping her edgy. The vodka stirred a fire in the pit of her stomach and with her ass pressed into the counter, she thought of Michael kneeling in front of her in the bathroom earlier, taking her into her mouth, soothing her even as she burned away her unrest.

She sighed and put her glass in the sink. When she returned to her desk, code scrolled rapidly down her screen. It might be a while. She clasped her hands between her knees and fought not to think about the images of Michael and Zamora that had covered her screen earlier. Mocking her. With an oath, she shot upright and her chair spun away.

She covered the distance to the stairs in a few rapid strides and was in the loft seconds later. She only slowed as she reached the corridor leading to their bedroom. She did not want to frighten Michael. She undressed in the semidarkness and slid into bed, nude. Carefully, she pressed against Michael’s back, sliding her arm around Michael’s waist.

Michael murmured and rolled over, drawing Sloan’s hand to her breast. “Sloan?”

“It’s me, baby.”

“Is it late?”

“Yes.” Sloan kissed Michael’s forehead. Her skin was smooth, warm, her breasts soft against Sloan’s chest. She rubbed her hand up and down Michael’s back, feeling calmed by the caress.

“Are you all right?” Michael asked.

“I just needed to be with you.”

Michael ran her fingers through Sloan’s hair. “Do you need to make love?”

“No.” Sloan pillowed her head on Michael’s breast, realizing that the beat of Michael’s heart, the scent of her skin, the touch of her hand was enough. For now, in this moment, she had everything she needed. “I just need this.”

“Go to sleep, darling. Can you do that for me?” Michael murmured.

“Yes.”

“And will you be here when I wake up, so I can have you? I need you.”

“I’ll be here.”

*

Watts pulled open the passenger door and slid into the front seat. Puffing slightly, he snapped, “Head down to the corner and turn right. They’re moving and we’ve got trouble.”

“Got it.” Rebecca started the sedan and took off in the direction Watts indicated.

Dell rocketed forward from the backseat. “What’s going on?”

“Three guys just came out a side entrance—right around the corner in that narrow service alley we passed—with Sandy and the black girl. Darla.” Watts glanced over his shoulder. “One guy was holding Sandy up. She wasn’t walking any too steady. Drunk maybe. Or high.”

“No,” Dell said instantly. “She wouldn’t be. She doesn’t use, and even if she has to take a hit of something to keep her cover, she’s careful to keep her head on straight.”

“There.” Watts pointed through the windshield. “Four cars up. The Navigator.”

“I see it,” Rebecca said calmly. “What’s your read, Watts?”

“I couldn’t tell for sure, but if Sandy’s not high, she’s hurt.”

“Fuck,” Dell exclaimed. “Fuck! We have to get her out of there.”

Rebecca dropped back when one of the cars in front of them turned off, leaving them too close to the Navigator. Without another backup car to work with them, they couldn’t leapfrog, making it more likely the driver of the SUV would pick up on their presence. She had to think looking for a tail would be SOP for those guys. “They’re heading for 95.”

“There’s a two-block stretch that’s pretty deserted right before the on-ramp,” Watts commented casually. “We could probably take them there. They’re sure to have firepower. If they use it, it could turn into a clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks.”

Rebecca glanced back at Dell, then at the road. “Detective, you make the call.”

Detective, you make the call.
Just like that, everything inside Dell went still. Sandy was in the SUV ahead of them. Maybe seriously hurt. An innocent civilian was with her. And her partners, her fellow cops, were in this car waiting for
her
to decide what they would all do next, putting their lives in her hands. What was happening was bigger than her fear, bigger than her anger. If she traded Sandy for any one of the others—the lieutenant, Watts, Sandy’s friend—Sandy would never forgive her, and she would have failed in her duty. She’d been trained to lead soldiers in battle. To make the necessary sacrifices. And to never, ever, leave one of her own behind. She had never feared for her own life, and she had been honored to be responsible for the lives of her fellow soldiers.

“Here’s the plan,” Dell said, her voice steady and strong.

*

Sandy bit her lip to keep from crying out every time the heavy vehicle hit a rough spot in the road. Her chest hurt and she couldn’t take a deep breath without causing a sharp pain to shoot down her side. She leaned against Darla, who steadied her with an arm around her waist.

The Russian next to her grunted what sounded like a curse as a flashing red light shot through the back window. Sandy pushed herself upright, despite the pain. The man sitting next to the driver turned around, the craggy black and red shadows shifting across his face making him look like Hellboy. Only not as hot.

“You do not talk,” he said.

The man next to Sandy drew an automatic from under his jacket and placed it on the seat between his leg and Sandy’s, his hand on the grip, his finger on the trigger. She glimpsed movement in the front seat and realized both men had their weapons out. The road was almost deserted, with only an occasional vehicle passing. The night was dark. Perfect spot for an ambush.
Oh my God, Dell,
Sandy thought.
Don’t be a hero. Please, baby.

“We won’t be starting any conversations,” Sandy snorted. “We don’t want nothing to do with the fucking cops.” Even though every movement felt as if her chest were tearing apart, she shifted closer to the man beside her, ignoring the gun on the seat, and leaned her head against his upper arm. “I’m just sitting back here with my man and my girlfriend. Fuck them if they don’t like it.”

“Good,” the man in the front said, facing forward again as the strobing red light was replaced by a harsh white glare from the cruiser’s spotlight.

Sandy tensed as the driver rolled down his window.
God, please don’t let them shoot anyone. Please.

“Good evening, sir,” Sandy heard a man say. Not Dell. Not Dell. It didn’t sound like Watts, either. “You appear to have a short in your right rear taillight. It keeps blinking on and off.”

“I will repair it right away,” the driver said.

“Are you sure your electrical system is okay?”

Sandy saw a shadow cross the driver’s face as the officer outside the vehicle leaned down and looked in the window.

“Looks like you’ve got a full house here,” the state police officer said. “You don’t want to break down out here this time of night. The next service station is a good twenty miles away.” He nodded at Sandy. “I don’t imagine the young ladies would enjoy sitting out here in the cold for a few hours.”

“Everything looks fine,” the driver said, his tone friendly. He gestured to the dashboard. “No warning lights. It must be a loose connection. I will have it repaired immediately.”

“All right then. I’ll follow you for a few miles to make sure there’s no problem.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Ladies.”

And then he was gone and Sandy could breathe again. The man beside her relaxed infinitesimally, placing his gun back inside his jacket. Sandy slumped, the effort of having held herself upright leaving her sick and dizzy. Awash in sweat, she felt cold and shaky and a little bit like she might throw up. Darla circled Sandy’s waist and gently eased her down until her head was pillowed in Darla’s lap.

“Close your eyes, honey,” Darla said. “We’ll be home soon.”

Home.
Sandy closed her eyes. She really wanted to be home. She wanted Dell.

*

Rebecca’s phone rang and everyone in the car tensed. She found the speaker button and held the phone up for Mitchell and Watts to hear. “Frye.”

“Three men, just like you said. Two in front, one in the left rear. Two young females—also in the rear—one Caucasian, one African-American. Both conscious. Looked okay as far as I could tell.”

“Did the men seem suspicious?”

“Let’s just say I’m glad I’m wearing Kevlar. They didn’t look jumpy. They looked cool. Very cool. Professionals.”

“You can pull off their tail in another mile. They know you can place them with those two girls. They’re not going to do anything that might jog your memory.”

“I thought if I asked for IDs I’d be pushing it,” the Statie said.

“Agreed. They know you’ll have their plates. Better for them to think it was a courtesy stop. Nice work. We owe you one.”

“Don’t worry.” He laughed. “We’ll collect.”

Frye disconnected and rested her phone in her lap. “That should give Sandy and Darla a little bit of a safety net. Those guys won’t want their bosses to know they were stopped, and they’re not going to want Sandy and Darla’s pictures circulating around the law enforcement channels.” She took a quick look at Mitchell. “Good thinking, Detective.”