Justice in the Shadows (9 page)

“Picking up…oh, come on! You know that what I do while I’m undercover doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the job.”

“Does that include fucking one of them, too?” Sandy jutted her jaw and wondered where the hell
that
had come from.
Like I care who she fucks.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Mitchell raked a hand through her hair in frustration. “I’m not going to be fucking anybody. Jesus.”

Neither of them said anything else until they were inside the high-ceilinged lobby. The elevator arrived and, when they stepped in, they were alone.

“You mad?” Sandy asked.

“No.”

“Sure?” Sandy leaned with one shoulder against the wall, her hip cocked, a strip of bare skin showing above the waistband of her tight slacks.

“Yeah,” Mitchell said hoarsely, her attention riveted to that pale smooth inch of flesh. She wanted to see if it was really as soft as it appeared. She felt hot and a little dizzy.

Mercifully, the elevator glided to a stop. “This is it.”

Suddenly shy, Sandy hesitated. “You sure about this? You know, if people see you with me—”

Impatiently, almost angrily, Mitchell took Sandy’s hand and pulled her from the elevator. “What do you think, that you have a big sign that says
hooker
around your neck? Let them think whatever they want to think.”

“What about your job? That could be a problem, right?”

Mitchell’s head snapped around. She stared hard at Sandy. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody.”

Frye said...I’m Frye’s now…
Mitchell jammed her key into the lock and twisted viciously. She pushed the door open and waited for Sandy to enter before walking into her apartment and flicking on the light switch to her right. “What did Frye say to you?”

Sandy couldn’t miss the current of desperate pain in Mitchell’s voice. “Listen…Frye was just looking out for you, okay?”

“I don’t need her to
look out
for me, especially not where you’re concerned. What did she
say?
“ Mitchell took a step forward, and when Sandy flinched, Mitchell jerked back, instantly feeling sick to her stomach. “God, Sandy, do you think I’d hurt you?”

“No.” Sandy shook her head. Tentatively, she placed her palm flat against Mitchell’s chest, just above her heart. “No, I…I don’t think that.”

Mitchell stood very still, afraid if she moved Sandy would take her hand away. The heat from Sandy’s small hand burned her skin through the fabric of her shirt. She couldn’t feel anything else except those few square inches of flesh, and in that one single spot, she felt terribly alive.

“I won’t,” Mitchell whispered. “Never. I swear.”

Tremulously, Sandy smiled. Mitchell’s heart thudded against her palm. She couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like that insistent pounding—wild and strong and strangely gentle.
Like Dell.
“Don’t ask me things, and I won’t have to lie.”

Mitchell took a cautious step forward. Sandy didn’t move her hand, but slid it higher up Mitchell’s chest, until her fingers touched the skin of her throat.

“That’s not how it works.” Mitchell’s voice was husky, her body taut with tension.

“How what works?” Sandy asked, unable to look away from Mitchell’s face.
Your eyes get so dark when you’re excit…oh god.

Sandy stumbled back and dropped her hand. Mitchell leaned toward her, breathing fast, but she did not follow.

They smiled at one another.

“You okay?” Sandy finally asked.

Mitchell nodded. “Yeah, you?”

“Sure.”

The doorbell rang.

Mitchell drew a deep breath. “Show time.”

———

Catherine pushed up on one elbow and brushed the hair from her face with her free hand. “What is it?”

“Christ, I’m sorry.” Rebecca sat up quickly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her voice was muffled as she said, “Look, it’s not you, okay?”

“I
could
point out that I’m the only one in bed with you, so it most likely
is
me—but I’m too old to waste my time on false pride.” Gently, Catherine rested her hand against Rebecca’s bare back. The skin was slick with the heat of their passion, the muscles tight with tension. “And fortunately, we’ve been together long enough that I believe you. So, if it’s not me, what is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” the detective ran a hand through her hair.
This is how it starts. First she’ll be confused, then she’ll be hurt, and eventually she’ll be angry. This is when it all starts to come apart.
“It’s nothing. I guess I’m just tired. Sorry.”

“Rebecca,” Catherine said as she sat up and slid a leg around each side of Rebecca’s body, wrapping her arms around Rebecca’s waist from behind at the same time. She rested her chin on top of her lover’s shoulder. “We’ve made love when you were so exhausted you could barely move a muscle. We’ve made love when you were still recovering from a gunshot wound. Lord, we’ve made love in places and at times when sane people couldn’t conceive of being turned on. This is not about being tired.”

Without looking around, Rebecca found Catherine’s hand where it lay on her stomach and held it. Catherine’s breasts were against her back, a soft warm comfort. Maybe, maybe this time it really would be all right. “It’s the case.”

“Mmm, I thought as much.” Catherine snuggled her cheek against Rebecca’s neck. “What’s worrying you about it?”

Rebecca heaved a sigh. “Just about every damn thing you can think of. I’ve got a rag tag team, short on cops and long on civilians—one of whom is a goddamned streetwalker.”
And another who’s my lover.
“I’ve got Sloan trying to smoke out an informant within the department—someone who might be mob connected, someone who probably tried to kill her once already. Watts’s career, maybe even his pension, is shot to hell if this operation runs afoul of someone with a lot more clout, or connections, than we can handle. I’m putting a rookie undercover, with no prep time and barely any back-up. Civilian back-up at that. Jesus, what a mess. I should be taken out and shot.”

“Don’t even joke.” Catherine stiffened, and for the first time, her voice held an edge. The nightmares had only begun to abate, and there were still nights when she woke in a sweat, images of Rebecca’s life bleeding away through her fingers.

“Sorry.” Rebecca turned her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re the team leader—the commander. Your burden is every bit as great as theirs, and you care.” Catherine kissed her gently. “You’re exactly the right person to lead them.”

Rebecca turned her face to Catherine’s neck and pressed her lips to the soft skin. She followed with her body, rolling over and pulling Catherine beneath her. Resting on her elbows, one thigh between Catherine’s, she gazed into the tender, knowing eyes that never failed to welcome her. It took her by surprise, every time, how quickly the comfort of Catherine’s gentle strength could transform into wanting. Feeling the sensuous rise of Catherine’s hips and the light brush of nipples against her own, Rebecca forgot everything except the heat rising within. When Catherine stroked her breasts, her abdomen, the swell of her hips, she let herself be carried beyond thought on the tides of their singular desire. Surrendering to the pull of Catherine’s mouth and the rush of fingers over her skin, Rebecca closed her eyes as Catherine claimed her, abandoning control as the knowing touch found the places that made her weak, made her gasp, made her cry out with the swift surge of pleasure rising too quickly to crest and break.

“Now there’s only you,” Rebecca murmured, riding the surge of excitement that gathered deep in her stomach and poured down her thighs, drowning her in pleasure. “Ah Catherine, you’re making me come.”

Catherine watched, awestruck, as Rebecca arched above her, braced on trembling arms, shuddering on the brink of orgasm.
So terribly defenseless, so terribly precious.
“I love you.”

Rebecca’s eyes flickered open, her usually piercing gaze glazed and unfocused. “I need…you. So much.”

“I’m here,” Catherine whispered, sliding her fingers from the pulsating clitoris, moving lower, inside, taking possession of what was hers. “And here.” She thrust deeper, and Rebecca tensed, poised to shatter. “And…here.”

As Catherine caught the skin below Rebecca’s jaw in her teeth, the sharp edge of pain cut through the deep well of pleasure, and Rebecca lost her tenuous grip on control. “Oh God, don’t…go.”

Catherine pulled Rebecca into her arms as she came, cradling her while the breath tore from her on a hoarse cry of fulfillment. “I’m here, I’m here,” she soothed, over and over until Rebecca relaxed in her embrace.

Sandy sat hunched on the edge of Mitchell’s bed, and, while Jasmine sorted through the clothes in Mitchell’s closet, studied Mitchell.

What would Mitchell look like as a guy? She wasn’t tall, but a bit above average height and well-built. Her shoulders were nicely developed and her hips and thighs toned and tight. That would help. But more than her body, there was her face. Chin and cheekbones boldly sketched by a few strong lines, large, deep set eyes, a generous mouth. Her dark hair, as close to black as hair could be, was just beyond short, and thick.
Combed the right way—yeah, that could work. And of course, she doesn’t have to look like a guy; she has to look like a really good drag king. Yeah, Dell can do that.

“What do you think?” Jasmine asked, addressing Sandy as she turned from the closet with a pale blue silk shirt in one hand and a pair of dark trousers and matching jacket in the other. “Maybe add a tie?”

Sandy studied the very nice suit, then shook her head no. “Too uptown. She’ll fit in better if she just looks like a boy version of herself.”

“What do you mean?” Mitchell asked, uneasy.

“She’s right,” Jasmine said, casting Sandy an appreciative glance. “We can’t just dress you up and expect it to work. You still have to be as naturally
you
as possible.” She put the clothes back.

“Can
I
look?” Sandy asked.

“Sure,” Mitchell said, resigned to having little say in the process.

A minute later, Sandy handed Jasmine first a pair of soft, well-worn black leather pants, then a snowy white T-shirt, and finally a pair of scuffed black motorcycle boots with heavy heels and a wide strap across the arch. “Have you got a jacket to go with these pants, Dell?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t suppose you have a bike, too?”

“Yeah.”

Sandy looked at Jasmine. “Well?”

“The guys at the Troc will die of envy.” Jasmine laid the clothes on the nearby dresser and turned to Mitchell, her expression suddenly serious. “The first time or two you’ll need help wrapping your chest. It’s not as simple as it sounds because you don’t want the ace to show under your shirt. Are you okay with me helping you?”

“I…sure.” Mitchell pulled her shirt from her jeans and began to unbutton it. “Let’s just do it.”

“I’m gonna get a beer. You got beer, Dell?” Sandy suddenly realized that she didn’t want to see Mitchell naked. Or rather, she
did.
A lot. And that was a good reason not to.

“In the fridge. You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Nah. I’ll hang out for a while.” She walked toward the door and said over her shoulder, “Have fun.”

Jasmine opened a small duffle bag she’d carried into the bedroom earlier and extracted a lightweight white cotton ace wrap. Keeping her gaze on Mitchell’s face, she approached with the ace in her hand. “Raise your arms.”

Mitchell complied, and Jasmine quickly and expertly wrapped it around Mitchell’s chest. “Too tight?”

“No.” Mitchell lowered her arms, flexed her shoulders. “Seems okay.”

Jasmine reached for the white T-shirt from the nearby dresser. “Let’s see how it lays. And remember, you’ve got to expand your movements, not make them smaller. Guys take up a lot of space.”

“Like cops.” Mitchell smiled and pulled on the T-shirt. “I’ve had plenty of practice acting like I’m physically bigger than I am.”

“I know. That’s a big reason why I think this will work—you’ve already got the walk. Plus, your face was made for this.” Jasmine took Mitchell’s hand and drew her to the bed. “I made a call to one of the boys as soon as the meeting broke up, and he took me on a quick shopping trip for your drag gear.”

Mitchell rubbed the back of her neck as she stared at the items laid out on her bed.
Oh jeez.

“I got a few different ones, because you need to wear one big enough to give you a bit of a bulge—that’s pretty much required for a drag king. But personally, I don’t go for the perpetually hard look. The packing dicks are just for show—they won’t function, but they don’t look like bananas in your pants, either.”

Mitchell picked up the pale pink packing dildo in its clear plastic envelope and squeezed It felt real. “Well, I’m not gonna need it to work.” She kept her face expressionless as she unzipped her jeans and pushed them down.

Abruptlu, Jasmine turned and walked to the floor to ceiling windows on the opposite side of the spacious room. Keeping her back to Mitchell, she remarked, “You’ve got an incredible view of the square from here. Of all of downtown, really.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell replied as she pulled the leather pants up and settled herself. “Okay.”

Jasmine turned. Mitchell stood with hips thrust slightly forward, a thumb hooked over the top of her pants, her fingers splayed across the leather, close to but not quite touching the subtle but definite swelling to the right of her fly.

“Well,
Mitch,
“ Jasmine said quietly, “I’m having a gender confusion moment.”

Mitchell laughed a bit shakily. “Good. So am I.”

“Ookaay.” Jasmine took a deep breath, wondering briefly how Sarah would feel about a full out cross-dressing date. Mitchell, just beyond androgynous now, was Eros personified. “Time for the final touches. Bring that chair into the bathroom. I need good light for this.”

A minute later, Mitchell sat down, automatically sliding a hand up the inside of her thigh to cup her crotch, adjusting for the new position.

“Good move,” Jasmine murmured, running her fingers through Mitchell’s thick hair. “Men and drag kings are fond of frequent manual dick checks.” She laughed. “Lest it disappear.”