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“Maybe,” Sloan said. “If Clark doesn’t get to them first.”

“Clark doesn’t know we have this information. And for now, that’s exactly the way it’s going to stay.”

“That’s not gonna win you points for interagency cooperation, Loo,” Watts said. “Could put you in a tight spot, especially since the brass told us to play nice with the feds.”

Rebecca rolled her shoulders, fighting a headache that had beat at the back of her skull for the last two hours. “If anyone in the PPD thinks this unit is going to lay down so Clark can fuck us over again, then they haven’t been paying attention.”

Watts grinned. Sloan stared at the table, her expression remote.

“So what does that mean for Mitch’s part of the operation? Him and Irina?” Watts asked. “Maybe Sandy got us everything we need.”

“Sandy only got us a piece,” Dell said before Rebecca could answer. “Those pictures don’t tell us who’s putting the clients and the Russians together. We need the connection, hopefully someone close to Zamora, and Irina knows the men who know them. Those are the guys we want. Irina can get me close to the key players. And then we can put on some real pressure.”

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“I agree,” Rebecca said. “We’ve got verification of one piece of the puzzle. But we need someone higher up than street-level soldiers like the men who picked Sandy up last night.” She nodded at Dell. “We still need Irina, and I imagine the Russians want her brought back in.

They know she’s alive. And they know how much she knows. I think it will be safer and smarter if she initiates contact now. A show of good faith on her part.”

“What if she can’t bring me in with her?” Dell glanced round the table uncomfortably. “You said it yourself. She knows a lot. They could decide she knows too much, especially since the house she lived in was raided.”

“If it looks like she’s in trouble, we’ll pull her out and try to get Sandy back in again. That’s probably a good idea anyhow. We know these guys are interested in—”

Dell shot to her feet. “No!”

Watts coughed into his hand and muttered, “Sit down, kid.”

Rebecca stared down the length of the table at Mitchell, watching the young detective struggle with her emotions. After a few seconds she said to the room in general, “Would everyone take a break, please.

Except for Detective Mitchell.” After the door closed behind their colleagues, she said, “You have an objection you would like to make, Detective?”

Dell automatically stepped to attention. “Yes ma’am, I do. If I might speak freely.”

“Go ahead.”

“Sandy’s hurt. They could have killed her last night. She’s not trained to do this.”

“Do what, Detective?”

“Work undercover,” Dell shot back. “She doesn’t know how to fight. She doesn’t carry a gun. She doesn’t have any goddamn backup.”

“And you conclude from this?” Rebecca asked. “As a cop, Mitchell, not as her lover.”

Dell sucked in a breath. “The risk of sending her back in again is unacceptable.”

Rebecca scanned the faces of the men in the images splayed across the wall, a silent gallery of users and abusers. She wondered fleetingly

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what separated her from them, and if the shield of justice was after all only a façade to hide the crimes of those sworn to uphold the law.

“I won’t argue, although I don’t completely agree.” Rebecca spoke quietly, trying to separate the cop in her from the woman and the friend. After a few seconds, she stopped trying because she could only be who she was. “But I will point out this. Sandy is trained. More than you for the work you’re doing with Irina.” When Dell started to protest, Rebecca cut her off. “She has street training. Real-life experience. She handled herself perfectly last night. Probably better than you would have. Or me.”

Rebecca sighed. “She got into trouble not because of the situation, but because she did what she would’ve done if she’d been in a bar on Delaware or a street corner on Arch. She defended one of her own. It had nothing to do with her being at that party because of this investigation.”

“You’re saying it’s her fault,” Dell said flatly.

Rebecca shrugged. “Probably as much as it’s your fault you got stabbed or my fault that I got shot. We do what we do because we can’t do anything else. Neither can she.” Rebecca put her hands flat on the table and leaned forward. “I guarantee you this, Mitchell. If we tell her to stop, she’s going to laugh in our faces and go out there on her own.

And I for one would rather know where she is and what she’s doing.

I’d rather be sitting in a car on the street in front of that hotel than sixty miles away.”

Dell looked down at the floor. When she spoke, her voice was low and rough. “You know her better than I do. You’d probably be better for her than me.”

“Well, that’s fucked-up logic on many levels.” Rebecca laughed.

“Forgetting Catherine, which is impossible, I don’t love Sandy the way you do. Not with my last breath. So unless there’s something else you want to say to me, I think we should let that topic rest.”

“Noted.”

“Look, Mitchell. It’s been a hard night. We’re all tired. And before you and I decide what’s best for Sandy, we’d better check with her.”

Dell finally smiled. “Oh yeah. Not a bad idea.”

“That’s why I’m the lieutenant.” Rebecca walked around the table and dropped her hand on Dell’s shoulder. “If she goes out again, I promise you she’ll have backup. They didn’t check the girls last night.

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They don’t think of these girls as a threat. That’s to our advantage.

We’ll wire her somehow.”

“Okay.” Dell colored. “I’m sorry for the outburst, Lieutenant.”

“Forget it. I’d have done the same.” Rebecca thumped Dell lightly on the arm. “In fact, I have. Now let’s get the team back in here and work out a plan to put these guys out of business.”

v

“Okay. Jason.” Rebecca pointed. “Your job is to ID the rest of the clients. DMV, Armed Forces databases, newspaper archives. You know the drill. They’re too high profile to be hidden. Run the SUV plates…

maybe we’ll get lucky there and turn a name that isn’t fake.”

“On it.” Jason closed his laptop, tucked it under his arm, and headed out into the main office.

“Mitchell. Get some sleep. Then I want you to show Irina copies of these photos. See if she can ID the Russians or any of the clients.”

“I’ll see her tonight,” Dell said.

“Right. Good.” Rebecca turned to Watts. “I’m going to pay Clark a visit later. You stay close in case Mitchell needs backup. Mitchell…

Watts is your first call if you so much as go out for pizza with Irina.”

“Make sure you call me, kid.” Watts shrugged into his raincoat. “I thought I’d check to see if we’ve turned up anything on the computer forensics at the pier too.”

Rebecca grinned. “Do that.”

With the room emptying, Rebecca faced Sloan, who closed the door behind Watts and leaned against it. She’d been wondering if this moment would come. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

Sloan hooked her thumb over the waistband of her jeans. “Hear what?”

“Whatever it is you’ve been chewing on the last couple of days.

Trying to decide whether to handle it on your own or not.”

“What makes you think that?” Sloan held Rebecca’s gaze without blinking, her eyes a cold, flat indigo. Storm clouds at sunset on a winter night. When Rebecca said nothing Sloan grinned wryly. “Okay. You know how we’ve been thinking Clark’s ultimate goal is to use us to turn someone in Zamora’s organization?”

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“SOP for the feds. They make most of their cases by squeezing the guys they’re trying to put away until somebody cracks and makes a deal. This time we’re the nutcracker.”

Sloan nodded. “So I think someone on the other side is looking for the same thing.”

Everything in Rebecca went completely still. Fury ate at the edges of her control. She would not tolerate an assault on her team. Not on the streets. Not in secret. Not anywhere. “Who?”

“Me.”

“Michael?” Rebecca couldn’t think of any other threat that would be powerful enough to tempt Sloan to cross a line. And she knew with absolute certainty that Sloan had been considering it for the last two days. The question was, what line. Rebecca could not imagine Sloan betraying the team, which left only one option. “How did they get to you?”

Sloan gestured to her laptop and pulled a jump drive from her pocket. “Sit down. I’ll show you.”

Rebecca yanked out a chair at the conference table and Sloan slid the laptop in front of her. Rebecca watched the images of Michael with Kratos Zamora flash by, one after the other. “Son of a bitch.”

“Yes.” Sloan removed the jump drive and slipped it back into her pocket.

“Have a seat.” When Sloan hesitated, Rebecca said, “Don’t fight me on this, Sloan.”

Wordlessly, Sloan sat across from Rebecca.

“Have they approached you with an offer?”

“No.”

Rebecca frowned. “Then what the hell have you been trying to work out for the last few days?”

Sloan shrugged. “Whether I was going to take out Zamora. And if I did whether that would neutralize the threat.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake. Who else knows about this?”

“No one.”

“Michael?”

Sloan shook her head.

“Jesus.” Rebecca wanted to climb over the table and knock Sloan on her ass. The problem was, she understood. And she also understood that Sloan could not be contained by the ordinary rules of engagement.

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She had not been trained that way and she didn’t have the temperament for it. She was as close to rogue as a member of a team could be and still be trustworthy. But Rebecca trusted her. She trusted her because Sloan was sitting across from her right now telling her she’d been considering her own brand of justice. “Can we prove who sent the pictures?”

“No, and we never will be able to. I can tell you where they came from.” Sloan shrugged. “Well. Not just yet, but soon. But that doesn’t prove who entered the data. And, unless an overt threat is made, they’re just pictures. Michael was at a business meeting. Zamora moves in the same circles. No crime in that.”

“But you think you can get a name.”

“I guarantee it.”

“I don’t want you to take a single breath between the time you know the name and the time you call me with it. Are we clear?” Rebecca watched Sloan’s eyes, because the answer would determine the future of their team and their friendship.

Not a muscle flickered in Sloan’s face until she said, “Crystal, Lieutenant.”

Rebecca shoved to her feet, suddenly very tired. “I’m going to grab a few hours’ sleep. Then talk to Clark.”

“What are you going to tell him about this?”

“I’m not going to tell him anything. If he knew, he’d bury you so deep you wouldn’t see daylight for a year.”

“He could try.”

“He could do it.” Rebecca stopped with her hand on the doorknob.

“I want you on this team. I need you on this team. And Michael needs you with her. You’re not alone anymore, Sloan.” She opened the door, then looked back. “And if anyone kicks your ass, it will be me.”

v

Michael stood by the windows and looked out at the river. Sloan was somewhere behind her. The loft was dark, the only light coming from the fireplace. The reddish glow reflected off the walls of glass as if the world were on fire. For a few terrifying moments, Michael felt as if her life was crumbling to ashes. She’d listened to what Sloan told her, trying to take it in. She’d understood the facts, but she had no context for the actions. She had no reference point in her life for such events.

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She wasn’t frightened by what Sloan told her, but she was terrified by the fact that Sloan had not told her until now.

“What did Rebecca say?”

Sloan stood a few feet away, afraid to cross the gap between them.

Michael’s hair shimmered like red gold, and her slender frame looked fragile and so far away. Sloan’s chest constricted with the sudden fear that Michael would somehow slip into the night and she would lose her.

“Something along the lines that I’m an ass. That if I didn’t do exactly what she said she’d kick mine.”

Michael turned, hugging herself. “She’s right. On both counts.

Except she might have to get in line for the ass kicking part. Behind me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not good enough.” Michael crossed the few feet between them and slapped her palm against Sloan’s chest. “You think so little of me that you don’t trust me to handle a problem? How do you think that makes me feel?”

“Michael, I—”

“Am I your partner, Sloan? Or just the woman who keeps your bed warm?”

Sloan jerked back. “God, Michael! I love you. I love you with all my heart. You’re the only thing in my life that really matters to me.”

Michael cupped Sloan’s face in both hands and kissed her softly on the mouth. Then she drew back and stared into her eyes. “Then treat me that way, Sloan. Not like I might break. Not like I might leave you because I’m angry or because things are dangerous or difficult. Treat me like I’m the woman you want to stand by your side. Forever.”

Sloan started to shake and looked away, but not before Michael saw the glitter of tears on her cheeks. Her anger evaporated, replaced by an enormous, aching need to take away her pain. “Oh, baby.” She pulled Sloan into her arms and stroked the back of her head. “I love you. I love you even when you’re an ass.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloan whispered, burying her face in Michael’s neck.

“I know. And later,” Michael said, pulling Sloan’s T-shirt from her jeans, “I’m going to want to know everything that Rebecca said.” She slid her hands up Sloan’s back, then down the tight muscles on either side of her spine. She kissed Sloan’s neck and dug her fingers into

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Sloan’s tight butt, dragging Sloan against her body. “And everything that you’re going to do about it.” She sucked Sloan’s earlobe, then bit down until Sloan groaned. “But first, I want to go into the bedroom.”

She insinuated one hand between their bodies and cupped Sloan’s crotch, squeezing the soft denim in her palm. “I want you to make love to me.” She caught Sloan’s lower lip between her teeth and tugged, then slipped her tongue into Sloan’s mouth. She toyed with Sloan’s tongue, teasing and taunting until she was breathless and Sloan’s hands were on her breasts, inflaming her. “What do you say, Sloan?”

“Yes,” Sloan gasped. “I say yes.”

v

“Why offer her Witsec when we can get what we need without it?”

Clark drained the glass of bourbon and gestured to the hotel bartender for a refill.