Shield of Justice (7 page)

Catherine complied, and they lingered long after the other diners had departed, only leaving when neither of them could hide her weariness. They drove in companionable silence through the now quiet streets, and, for the first time in weeks, Rebecca didn’t think about work. What she thought about was the hint of Catherine Rawlings’s perfume that drifted to her on the night breeze. When she pulled up in front of Catherine’s brownstone, she realized suddenly that she didn’t want the evening to end.

“Catherine, I…” Rebecca began, turning to face her companion in the close confines of the front seat of the sports car. She faltered, wondering what in hell she was doing. She wanted to tell her how great the evening had been, and how much she wanted to see her again, but the very words felt foolish. Even if the timing weren’t terrible, which it was, she couldn’t imagine why a woman like Catherine Rawlings would be interested in her.
What could I possibly have to offer?

“Yes?” Catherine’s expression was warm and welcoming as she responded.

Rebecca flushed and looked away, her jaw tightening. She sensed Catherine waiting, but too many disappointments haunted her, holding her a silent hostage.

Catherine touched Rebecca’s arm gently, causing her to look at her in surprise. “I had a wonderful time tonight.”

“Me, too,” Rebecca answered, amazed at how good it felt to say that. “A very good time.” She hesitated, took a breath. “Maybe we could do it again?”

“I’d like that.” Then Catherine added, hoping that her intuition wasn’t way off base, “Rebecca, for the record…I’m a lesbian. If you didn’t already know that, I’m sure you would soon. Also, not necessarily for the record, I find you very attractive.”

Rebecca’s pulse quickened. “I should say something suave right now, and I’ll be damned if I can think of anything.”

Catherine laughed, then continued seriously, “I have no idea what your situation is, or what your interests might be, or even if…” She stopped, realizing that she was in danger of babbling, which was completely unlike her. “I
do
want to see you again. I just want you to know that I have no intention of doing anything to make you uncomfortable.”

Unable to hide the quick surge of pleasure, Rebecca grinned. “Catherine, there is
nothing
about you that makes me uncomfortable.”

The doctor grinned back as she slipped from the car. “That, Detective Sergeant Frye, is very good news.”

Rebecca waited until Catherine had unlocked and opened her door before pulling away. Catherine stood, her hand on the doorknob, watching Rebecca drive out of sight. They were both still smiling.

At 7:45 the next morning, Rebecca met Jeff in the squad room. It was their morning routine to review open cases and map out the day while they got jump-started with the high-octane dregs of the night shift’s coffee.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, regarding her across their file-strewn desktops. He deferred to her not so much because she outranked him but out of long habit. He’d worked with her since he was a rookie detective, and he was comfortable with her steering their investigations.

Rebecca grimaced. “I’ve got a court appearance at noon to give evidence in that racketeering trial. Until we get something from the crime scene techs, I thought we’d finish some of the paperwork on the cases heading for the dead files.”

These were inactive investigations, cold trails abandoned for lack of leads after fruitless weeks of searching or, even more frustrating, cases where witnesses were unwilling to appear in court. She hated to abandon cases she knew she could get convictions on, but too often, people refused to cooperate, either from fear of exposure or retaliation. It was another disheartening part of working Vice she had learned to live with.

He scowled at the mountain of paperwork piled on his desk, muttering, “I can’t face this today.”

“Give me some,” Rebecca said amiably, reaching out a hand. “I’m just filling time until court. I was going to drop by the lab just to make a little noise. See if I can shake anything out of Flanagan. It’ll keep.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow and took a good look at his partner. She was dressed as usual in well-fitting linen trousers and a tailored cotton shirt, but something was different. There was an aura of freshness and energy about her that he hadn’t noticed in months. “Something happen?”

“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked absently, tossing a finished folder to one side.

“Well, you look like something good happened. Something break on the River Drive case?”

Rebecca blushed. After dropping Catherine off the night before, she’d found herself more restless than usual. Her normal antidotes hadn’t seemed to work. She’d driven around, stopped at the gym for a late workout, even contemplated cleaning her apartment when she’d finally arrived home. Eventually, she’d stripped down and pulled on a tank top and pair of loose boxers, finally deciding to try to sleep.

She stretched out on the bed, something she hadn’t done since her last lover left. Amazingly, when she shut her eyes, it wasn’t the case she thought about, but Catherine
—
the astonishing warmth in her gaze, the tender tone of her voice, her gently curving smile. She remembered, too, the light scent of perfume and the outline of breasts under a sheer silk blouse. Heartbeat quickening, without intending it, she imagined the soft weight of breasts in her palm
—
nipples stiffening under her fingers
—
and the heat of pale, perfect skin under her lips.

She brushed her hand under the thin cotton of her tank top, gasping at the quick contraction of her nipples. She squeezed them firmly, her legs parting involuntarily as she began to harden and swell. She drifted, thought surrendering to sensation. Light teasing strokes down her abdomen made her shiver. Legs tensed as one hand trailed up the inside of her thigh, fingers finally slipping under the edge of the loose shorts. Breath rushing in and out—not thinking, just feeling—all her attention focused on the pressure between her legs. Moaning softly, spreading wetness over the hard prominence of her clitoris, circling, pressing from side to side, feeling it
become impossibly larger. Legs twisting in the sheets as she clenched her teeth, denying herself as long as she could. When the
distention became almost painful, she broke. Bearing down harder with her fingertips, she worked herself faster, pushing toward the edge. Groaning, her skin flushed with the heat of need and loneliness and desire, she hovered on the brink. So close, she tugged at the engorged base, arching her back, every muscle tensed to explode. She shouted when it hit, grabbing herself with her whole hand, squeezing out the last spasm as she jack-knifed on the bed from the force of the orgasm.

She looked at Jeff, her expression carefully blank. Something had happened all right, but she wasn’t about to tell her partner that she had awakened, still wet from the night before, with Catherine Rawlings on her mind. She didn’t want to think too much about wanting her last night…this morning…now. She didn’t want to admit to herself just how much she had enjoyed her company. She knew only too well how devastating it could be to need a woman.

“No,” she said, more harshly than she had intended. “There’s nothing new. I might get to interview Janet Ryan this afternoon, though, if Catherine gives us the green light.”

Jeff didn’t miss the first-name reference, but he let it pass. They were as close as two partners could be, and he considered Rebecca his friend, but he knew better than to ask for details. He respected the distance she demanded in their relationship.

“Sounds good to me. Want me along?” he asked.

Rebecca thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “Not this time. She might talk easier if it’s just me. Then again, she might not talk at all.”

Jeff loosened his tie a fraction of an inch, which was his only concession to the stifling heat in the room. He was always Brooks Brothers neat, unlike most of the other male detectives, who seemed to cultivate the disheveled look. “I agree. The two of us could put her off. I’ve got a meet with Jimmy Hogan later anyhow. He called this morning.”

“Has he got something for us on Zamora?” she asked with interest.

Jimmy Hogan was an undercover narcotics agent who had infiltrated a multistate drug distribution network. He’d been under almost six months when he’d first contacted them with the news that the same organization was trafficking in kiddie porn and maybe in the kids themselves. He said he’d tip them to the details if he could do it without blowing his cover.

“Don’t know,” Jeff said as he drained his coffee cup and got up to get a refill. He motioned with the cup inquiringly to Rebecca, but she shook her head no. “He said he couldn’t talk, but that he had something hot for us.”

“Good,” she said sharply. Like most cops, she hated anyone who preyed on children. “Let me know if you get anything we can roll on.”

“Right,” he said absently as he walked away, wondering if he’d be able to get home for an afternoon quickie with Shelley after the meet with Hogan.

*

Shortly after four p.m., Rebecca stepped off the elevator onto the inpatient psychiatry floor. Turning left toward the patient rooms, she saw Catherine leaning against the counter at the nurses’ station, studying a chart. She slowed and took advantage of the opportunity to observe the psychiatrist unawares, noting the easy way she stood, her sleekly tailored skirt outlining shapely legs. Even the slight frown of concentration couldn’t diminish the delicate allure of her features.

Rebecca knew what she was feeling as she looked at Catherine Rawlings, and it worried her. She didn’t
want
to be stirred by her, but she was, and it wasn’t just physical, despite her erotic fantasy the previous night. The swift rush of desire was bad enough, but what she
felt
when she saw her, the ache of longing—that more than worried her. It scared her. That was downright dangerous. To make matters worse, she was in the middle of an ugly case, and the last thing she needed was a personal complication. Rebecca had stopped walking without realizing it and was standing a few feet away, awash with conflicting reactions, when Catherine looked up.

“Hi,” Catherine called as she pushed the chart aside, smiling in welcome. Not even thinking to hide her pleasure, she surveyed Rebecca’s tall figure with appreciation. She knew very well that she had been distracted all morning, an unusual circumstance for her, and she also knew very well why. She’d been thinking about seeing the detective again, remembering the swift stab of excitement she’d experienced when she’d been favored with that brilliant grin the night before. There had been nothing ambiguous about
that
reaction. She’d been…aroused in a way she couldn’t recall ever having been before.
Pheromones
, she thought, watching Rebecca Frye, long-limbed, lithe, and so commanding, and felt that tingle start again.
Whatever they are, she’s got them
.

Rebecca forced herself to start moving again, ignoring the heat spreading through her as she noted Catherine’s admiring glance.
It’s probably all in my mind
, she chided herself. She deliberately kept her face impassive. “Hello. Is this a good time to talk?”

Catherine recognized something of Rebecca’s uncertainty. Detective Sergeant Rebecca Frye might know exactly who she was in the world, on the streets, but it was plain to Catherine that the woman behind the badge was much less certain of what she wanted or needed. But some things could not be rushed.
Go slow
.
She doesn’t trust you—or herself.

“I’ve just finished speaking with Janet,” she said. “I think she’s ready to see you.”

“Good. Does she know I’m coming?” Rebecca asked, grateful that she was able to focus on the case and pretend that the faint hint of Catherine’s scent did not affect her.

“Yes
.
I thought it best to prepare her.”

“How is she?”

Catherine shrugged, a small frown puckering the skin between her finely arched brows. “She’s still quite disoriented and badly shaken. She knows there are things she can’t remember, and the dread of what they might be is terrifying her. She wants to remember and is scared to death at the same time. She’s very frightened, Rebecca.”

Rebecca recognized the cautionary tone in Catherine’s voice and responded defensively, “I’m not going to interrogate her, Catherine.” She immediately regretted her flash of temper when she saw the surprise in Catherine’s eyes.
Hell, I’m too sensitive around her
.
I can’t run an interrogation being worried that I’ll offend someone.

Still, she placed her hand on Catherine’s arm, leaning toward her slightly as she spoke. “I’m sorry. I just want to find out how much she can remember. I won’t push her, I promise.”

Catherine covered Rebecca’s hand lightly with her own, very conscious of the pressure of Rebecca’s fingers on her. Even that innocent touch sent her pulse racing.

“I trust you, Rebecca. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let you see her.” She pressed Rebecca’s hand again and stepped away. “Come on, I’ll take you to her.”

*

Janet Ryan, a twenty-five-year-old computer analyst, lay propped up on several pillows. The narrow, slatted hospital blinds were drawn against the afternoon sun, allowing stripes of light and shadow to fall across the bed like bars. The television, perched on the wall opposite the bed, was tuned to a TV talk show. The hostess raced up and down the aisles, thrusting her microphone at the members of the audience. There was no sound.