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Her auburn hair fell in waves to her shoulders, and for the first time, Rebecca noticed the silver at her temples. She was elegant and beautiful and tender and wise. She was also strong and intuitive. She was all the things that Rebecca was not, and Rebecca could still not understand what it was Catherine needed from her.

She stopped by the end of the bed, feeling disadvantaged in nothing more than a hospital gown and a pair of gym shorts. “Aren’t you supposed to be in clinic?”

“I’m playing hooky.” Catherine turned from the window, her gaze going immediately to the bruise. She quickly smiled, but not fast enough to cover her flinch of distress. “It’s good to see you out of bed.”

“I’m clean, too.”

“Even better.” Catherine crossed to Rebecca and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Not bad. I don’t suppose you know when I’m getting out of here?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Catherine tried to keep her tone light.

“Since I expected that would be your first question, I made some calls on my way over.”

She appraised the damage to Rebecca’s face. Even though she knew, rationally, that Rebecca would heal, she couldn’t prevent the sinking feeling she got in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the injury.

The bullet had glanced off Rebecca’s skull just above her temple. The impact had been enough to flay open her scalp and give her a hairline fracture, but the neurosurgeons assured Catherine once the concussion resolved there would be no permanent damage. Still, it was impossible to erase the image of Rebecca lying so still and pale on a stretcher, her blond hair matted with congealing blood. Catherine tried to tell herself it was because Rebecca was so skilled, so good at what she did, that she’d managed to avoid serious injury. If she pondered the possibility that it was only luck that had kept the bullet from striking Rebecca a half-inch lower or a half an inch farther to the right and killing her

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Justice for All

instantly, she’d never be able to sleep again when Rebecca was out on the streets. Luck was far too fickle a lady to be the guardian of her lover’s life.

“Ali said she’ll stop by as soon as she’s finished in the OR, and if you promise to behave, she’ll let you go.”

“I’ll promise her anything she wants,” Rebecca said.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “It’s a good thing I trust Ali Torveau, then.”

“You can trust me.” Rebecca slipped her arm around Catherine’s waist and kissed her. When she felt Catherine’s resistance, she loosened her hold and eased back. She looked away, fearing what she might see in Catherine’s eyes. “I should get dressed.”

“Let me get your clothes.”

“I can do it.” Rebecca walked to the tall narrow closet next to the door. “I know you have patients waiting.”

“I want to drive you home.”

“That’s okay,” Rebecca said briskly. “I’ll call one of the team.”

She opened the closet. A shirt and clean pair of jeans hung on hooks where Catherine had placed them when she’d brought them from home. They weren’t officially living together, but they might as well be. Rebecca still had her small, spare apartment above a mom-and-pop grocery store in South Philadelphia, but she spent almost every night in Catherine’s Victorian near University Hospital where Catherine was the assistant chief of psychiatry. They’d been talking about living together, but that was before the shooting—the second time Rebecca had been shot in the line of duty since she and Catherine had been together. She wouldn’t be surprised if Catherine wanted to reconsider. Every other woman Rebecca had ever been with had eventually decided that the demands and risks of her job were too much to deal with.

“You should get back to work,” she told Catherine without turning around.

A pair of hands slid over her shoulders and Catherine leaned ever so gently against her back. With her mouth very close to Rebecca’s ear, she whispered, “I’m not going anywhere and you can’t chase me away.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Rebecca stared into the closet.

She hadn’t realized she was cold until the heat of Catherine’s body

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warmed her. She never realized what she needed until Catherine gave it to her without being asked. She covered one of Catherine’s hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Turn around.”

Slowly, Rebecca turned.

Catherine’s heart clenched at the fear she glimpsed on her lover’s face. Rebecca was the bravest, strongest woman she’d ever known, and she couldn’t bear to think that anything she had said or done might have put that look in Rebecca’s eyes. “Do you love me?”

“More than my life,” Rebecca whispered.

Catherine laced her arms around Rebecca’s neck. “As long as that’s true, I’ll be right here.”

Rebecca clasped Catherine’s waist and kissed her again, and this time nothing stood between them. Immediately, her heart felt lighter.

Catherine was a few inches shorter than her own six feet, and she loved the way Catherine’s body fit against hers. Holding her, knowing Catherine was hers, was like shining a light in the dark places in her soul. “I love you.”

“That’s all I need, Rebecca.” Catherine feathered her fingers through Rebecca’s sleek, fair hair. “It’s really so simple.”

Rebecca leaned her forehead against Catherine’s. “Why can’t I understand that?”

“You will, darling. You—”

The hall door swung open at the same time as a sharp rap sounded, and a brunette in surgical scrubs breezed into the room. Ali Torveau, Rebecca’s trauma surgeon and a good friend to them both, planted her fists on her slim hips and regarded them quizzically.

“Why is it every time I have a cop for a patient I end up finding her in a clinch with some good-looking woman before I even have a chance to sign the discharge papers?”

Catherine slipped out of Rebecca’s arms. “This is not a clinch.

Clinching is for teenagers. What you witnessed is an embrace.”

“Uh-huh. Looked a lot like a clinch to me.” Ali pointed toward the bed. “Rebecca—in bed.”

“I feel fine,” Rebecca protested.

“Down,” Ali repeated with just a hint of a growl.

“Okay. Okay.” Rebecca stretched out on the narrow bed. As soon

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Justice for All

as she did she noticed that her headache dialed down a notch or two.

She decided to keep that information to herself.

“Any double vision?” Ali flicked the beam of a penlight back and forth between Rebecca’s eyes.

“No.”

“Headache?”

“No.”

“Let’s try that one again. Headache?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca could see Catherine’s concerned expression. “Mild. Nothing worse than a bad hangover.”

Ali swung her stethoscope from around her neck, hooked it in her ears, and pressed the bell to Rebecca’s chest. “Take a deep breath.

Again. One more time.” Then she straightened and slung the stethoscope over her shoulder. “Fortunately the x-rays don’t show any evidence of sternal or rib fractures. I don’t expect you’ll have the same kind of pulmonary problems you had after the chest wound.”

The last thing Rebecca wanted was Ali reminding Catherine of another brush with death. “Look, this was nothing. I was wearing a vest and it did its job. I got caught with a glancing round. The ER guys should’ve sent me home with a couple of stitches.”

“We all know what happened, darling,” Catherine said quietly.

“And we all know what could have happened. Let’s just—”

Another knock sounded and a slightly overweight, gray-haired man in a brown suit that was shiny at the knees lumbered in. He took in the group and quickly looked at the ceiling. “Is everything covered?

I hope not.”

“You should be so lucky.” Rebecca had never been so happy to see her partner, William Watts. She hadn’t wanted to work with the sometimes crude, reputedly over-the-hill detective after her longtime partner had been executed along with another undercover cop just less than a year before. But her captain had insisted and it hadn’t taken her long to realize that Watts was no burned-out cop putting in time until his pension. He was astute, hardworking in his own laid-back way, and most importantly to Rebecca, completely trustworthy.

Watts grinned, his blue eyes twinkling in his heavyset, ruddy face.

“I always thought those little hospital johnnies were a turn-on. Better view from the back, though.”

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“Jesus,” Rebecca muttered. “Get out of here so I can get dressed.”

“Getting sprung, huh, Loo?”

“Yes, and you’re my ride.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be outside.” He nodded to Catherine and Ali as he headed out the door. “Ladies.”

“I can drive you home, darling.” Catherine glanced at Ali. “If you’re going to let her go?”

Ali stood back from the bed. “Your CT scan shows a small hematoma just below that hairline fracture in the left temporal area.

Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time it resolves over the course of a few weeks. Every once in a blue moon we see delayed bleeding, usually from a vein tearing during excessive exercise or something else popping because of severe hypertension. What that means is you need to take it easy. No driving for two weeks. No workouts, no jogging, and no vigorous sex.”

“Got it,” Rebecca said through gritted teeth.

“There’s an even smaller chance, maybe one in five thousand, that this hematoma could resolve with a small area of scarring. Scarring in the brain equals a focus of irritation, and we sometimes see seizures. If you notice weakness, numbness, olfactory disturbances, memory loss, tremors, I need to know about it immediately.”

“What about prophylactic Dilantin?” Catherine asked.

Rebecca’s stomach tightened at the slight quiver in Catherine’s voice. She hated this—she just wanted it over, fast.

Ali shook her head. “The risk is smaller that she’ll have problems than the potential complications of taking the drug. I’d rather just wait and watch.” She fixed Rebecca with a piercing stare. “If I have your word that you’ll follow instructions.”

Rebecca reached for Catherine’s hand. “You have it.”

“Good enough. I’ll leave prescriptions for you at the nurses’ station.

You can pick them up on your way out. I want to see you next week in clinic.” Ali started toward the door, then looked over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay. Keep the rest of your people that way too.”

“I plan to,” Rebecca said.

v

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Justice for All

Watts was slouched against the wall next to the door when Rebecca and Catherine walked out.

“You really should go downstairs in a wheelchair,” Catherine murmured.

Watts grinned and Rebecca shot him a look. “By the time someone finds one, I could be relaxing in the car. You did park out front in the fire lane, didn’t you, Watts?”

“Right at the curb, Loo.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.”

Catherine sighed. “I can’t fight you both.” Then she stepped closer to the big detective. “I’m counting on you to look after her, William.”

The smirk disappeared from Watts’s face and he straightened, warmth replacing the usual sarcastic gleam in his eyes. “Yes ma’am.

I’ll do that.”

“Move it, Watts,” Rebecca grumbled. The last thing she needed was babysitting. She kissed Catherine’s cheek. “I’ll see you later. Don’t worry.”

Catherine brushed her fingertips over Rebecca’s uninjured cheek.

“Get some rest.”

“I won’t do anything strenuous. Promise.”

The three rode down in the elevator together and then parted in front of the hospital as Catherine hurried off to the medical arts building down the block. Rebecca eased into the front seat of the department-issue Crown Vic and was instantly at home. The interior smelled of smoke from Watts’s cigarettes, grease from the McDonald’s containers on the floor in the backseat, and the unmistakable scent of dozens of bodies. For the first time in days she felt like herself.

Watts settled his belly behind the wheel and pulled out into traffic.

“Your place or the doc’s?”

“Neither. Let’s head to the office.”

“I don’t want to get my balls in a vise here, Loo. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

“No one said I couldn’t sit in a chair and talk.” Rebecca leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Assemble the troops.”

“I ought to be wearing a cup,” Watts muttered. “My balls are aching already.”

“Shut up, Watts.” Rebecca smiled to herself when she heard his happy chuckle.

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v

JT Sloan took the call at just after 2:00 p.m. Watts’s message to meet at the unofficial headquarters of the HPCU in her private office building was a welcome reprieve to a life prison sentence. She’d just spent the last five hours working with two detectives who, along with her, made up the fledgling Electronic Surveillance Unit at the Philadelphia Police Department. In a moment of pure insanity, she’d signed on as the civilian consultant to help set up the unit and train the newly assigned detectives whose knowledge of cybersleuthing began with being able to turn on a computer and ended with signing on to the Internet for their e-mail. Fortunately, they made up for their lack of knowledge with eagerness. Still, there was a limit to how long she could rein in her temper, not one of her talents.

“Gotta run, fellas,” she said, clipping her phone back to her belt.

“Go ahead and start the downloads from the archives.”

Lloyd Elliott, a sandy-haired, boyish-looking detective who was the reverse of Sloan’s black haired, blue-eyed good looks, straightened up in his chair in alarm. “Without you? What if—”

Sloan waved a hand and headed for the door. “There’s nothing you can do I can’t fix. Have fun.”

Hearing their grumbles as she made her escape, she laughed. There was a lot to be said for being her own boss. On her way to her Porsche, she made another call.

“Michael Lassiter’s office,” a smooth, sophisticated voice answered.

“It’s Sloan. Is she around?”

“Of course, Ms. Sloan. I’ll get her.”

“Just Sloan,” Sloan said automatically. She wasn’t sure why her partner’s executive assistant couldn’t get that straight.

While she waited, she put the top down on the Carrera and took a deep breath of the cool autumn air. The sun was bright, but it lacked heat. She should probably get her leather jacket out of the trunk, because she’d feel the chill in just her usual white T-shirt and blue jeans, but she didn’t bother. She wasn’t going far and she liked the freedom of the air blowing against her skin. She’d spent three days behind bars once and

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Justice for All

that was enough to make her hate any kind of confinement for the rest of her life. She pushed the thought away. All that was behind her.

“Sloan?”

“Hi, baby.”