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“She’s not in the operating room?”

Henry looked perplexed. “No. No, they said something about a CAT scan.”

Some of the terrible pressure around Catherine’s heart eased. If they hadn’t taken her directly to the operating room, then she couldn’t be in grave danger. She might be hurt, but she wasn’t dying. Please, let that be true.

“I’m going down to radiology,” Catherine said.

“Of course,” Henry replied.

“You want me to come with you?” Sloan asked.

Catherine shook her head. “No, I’m all right.” She smiled at Sloan.

“Thank you for coming to get me. You should call Michael. She’ll be worried.” Suddenly, her expression changed to one of concern.

“Everyone else is all right? Dellon? Watts?”

Sloan nodded. “All okay.”

“Good. Good. I have to go.”

v

The Þ rst thing she saw when she exited the stairwell was Watts pacing in a tight circle with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

Then she saw Mitchell, arms crossed, face pale, leaning with one shoulder against the wall next to the entrance to the radiology suite.

Still in her tight black jeans and motorcycle jacket, with the curves of her face shadowed and dark, she looked like a dangerous young animal.

But her eyes, when they met Catherine’s, were drenched with pain.

When he saw her, Watts hurried forward. “I woulda come to get you, but Sloan wanted to.”

“It’s all right,” Catherine said gently. “It’s good that you’re here watching over her.” Her gaze moved to the closed doors. “Is she still in there?”

“Yeah, and they won’t tell us a goddamn thing.”

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“Well, they’ll tell me.” And then she pushed her way through the doors.

She saw Ali Torveau immediately, leaning over the shoulder of an X-ray technician who was scrolling through a series of images on a computer screen.

“Let me see the cranial cuts again,” the trauma surgeon instructed.

“Ali,” Catherine said, “how is she?”

Ali Torveau spun around in surprise. “Catherine. Lucky, I think. We’re not done with the head CT. When she came in, she was unconscious, but I’m not seeing anything other than some occipital swelling.”

“Where was she…shot?” Catherine found it almost impossible to get the words out, but she forced herself. As she asked the questions that were so hard to even conceive, she glanced through the viewing window into the room where the huge machine even now shrouded her lover’s body.

“The vest took the brunt of it,” Ali said. “We haven’t scanned her chest, and there was considerable bruising over the mid-thorax.

She may have a fractured sternum, but my main concern is her head.

She’s got a deep temporal scalp laceration that looks to be from a bullet wound.”

For a few seconds, Catherine’s vision wavered and she pressed her Þ ngertips to the countertop to steady herself. “Can I see her?”

Ali pulled over a rolling chair and guided Catherine into it. “As soon as the scans are done. I need this information, Catherine.”

“But she’s going to be all right?”

“Let me Þ nish my evaluation, and then we’ll talk, okay?” Ali’s tone was gentle but Þ rm, and her attention was once again on the monitor. “Peter, run that series again, will you?”

v

Hand in hand, Michael and Sandy pushed through the crowd of police.

“There!” Michael pointed, having caught sight of Sloan and Jasmine standing off to one side in the hallway by the elevators.

Sloan looked in their direction at the sound of Michael’s voice,

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and some of the tension drained from her face. Both she and Jasmine hurried to meet them.

“Hey,” Sloan murmured, kissing Michael quickly.

Michael rested her palm on Sloan’s chest, her eyes roving over her lover’s body. “You’re all right?”

“Yeah, Þ ne.”

Threading an arm around Sloan’s waist, Michael turned to Jasmine. “Sarah will be here any minute. I called her on the way over.

She’s bringing a change of clothes in case you want them.”

“At the moment, no one is paying any attention to me,” Jasmine replied. Gesturing to her skintight red dress and stiletto heels, she added, “But it won’t be long before they do. I think tonight I could do without the attention.”

As if on cue, Sarah emerged from the elevator, a canvas tote under one arm. When she saw the group, she approached with her usual composed expression. “Here you go,” she said as she kissed Jasmine brieß y on the mouth. “How’s Rebecca?”

“No word yet.” Jasmine squeezed Sarah’s hand. “I’ll be right back.

I just need to Þ nd a phone booth.”

“Where’s Dell?” Sandy asked sharply. Michael had come by to pick her up after Sloan called. When the phone had rung, she hadn’t been asleep. She’d been waiting. Waiting and trying not to think about where her girlfriend was or what she might be doing. She’d been entertaining visions of hunting down Irina and tearing her limb from limb. Now all she wanted was to see for herself that Dell was all right. She couldn’t have cared less what she might have done with Irina.

“She’s downstairs with Watts…where they took Rebecca.”

“Okay, thanks.” Sandy did a quick 360, spied the stairwell on the far side of the elevators, and headed for it. When she pushed through the Þ re door on the basement level, she saw Dell immediately. The rush of relief made her weak. That was nothing, though, compared to the way the look on Dell’s face made her feel when their eyes met. Warm and shaky and strong all at once. She took three steps forward just as Dell moved to her, and they ended up in the center of the hall with their arms wrapped around one another in a Þ erce embrace.

“You okay, baby?” Sandy whispered, running her hands up and down Mitchell’s back.

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“Rebecca’s shot,” Mitchell said, her face in the curve of Sandy’s neck. “God, Sandy. God.”

The tremor in her lover’s voice almost broke Sandy’s heart. “She’s gonna be okay, rookie. She’s always okay.”

“I’m so glad you came.” With effort, Mitchell straightened up.

“It’s like…everything is coming apart.”

“Look, rookie,” Sandy said, her voice Þ rm. “Frye will be okay.

She’ll be okay because…” She shrugged. “Because she’s what holds all you guys together, and that’s not gonna change. You need her, and she knows it, and she won’t let anything screw that up.”

“You think?” Mitchell whispered, needing desperately to believe.

Sandy smiled and stroked Mitchell’s cheek. “I know. ”

From a few feet away, Watts heard the words and whispered a silent prayer that Sandy was right.

v

GunÞ re echoed in Rebecca’s head. The smell of adrenaline and fear and hot metal permeated her consciousness. And somewhere, somewhere, struggling for dominance over all the other sensations, was the urgent need to reach Catherine. Catherine. She had to see her. Touch her. Tell her not to worry.

“Catherine,” she murmured.

“I’m here. Rebecca, darling, I’m here.” Catherine caressed trembling Þ ngers over Rebecca’s forehead, gripping Rebecca’s hand hard with her free hand. “You’re all right, darling.”

“Sorry.” Rebecca forced her eyes open, then blinked, even though the lights in the intensive care room were dim. After a few seconds of trying, she was able to focus on Catherine’s face. There was so much anguish in her eyes, Rebecca shuddered. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I know.” Catherine lifted Rebecca’s hand and kissed her knuckles one by one. “I know that. Don’t worry, just rest.”

“Sloan…Mitchell…my team…hurt?”

“No, darling. All okay.” Catherine kissed her gently. Only you.

Will it always be you here like this?

Rebecca frowned. There were things she couldn’t remember. She saw the dark, narrow alley and the back door of the row house, saw

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herself climbing the pitch-black stairwell and inching down the hallway, saw herself crouching in the doorway and the ß ash of movement from her right. She jerked slightly, hearing the gunÞ re again.

“What is it?” Catherine exclaimed as the heart rate readout on the screen over Rebecca’s bed jumped twenty points and alarm bells rang.

“Are you in pain?”

“He must’ve been sitting there watching TV with the automatic in his hand.” Rebecca grimaced. “Careful bastard.”

Catherine didn’t want to think about someone lying in wait, ready and willing to kill her lover. But she knew that for Rebecca, talking it out, working it out, was the best way to heal. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I went down, and he kept coming.” Speaking slowly, still vague, still in pain, Rebecca moved her eyes back to Catherine’s. “I was afraid he would kill me and you would be the one left hurting.”

Catherine caught her lower lip between her teeth, but it was too late to stop the tears. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“Catherine—love. I’m so sorry.”

“I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Catherine brushed away tears.

“I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want you hurt—ever.”

Rebecca squinted against the sudden rush of pain. “Christ, my head is exploding.”

“You have a concussion. A substantial one.” As she spoke, Catherine scanned the monitors rapidly. Everything seemed stable, and she looked back to her lover. “Your head is going to hurt for a while.

Your memory might be a little fuzzy.”

“I got hit. I remember that now.” Rebecca brought a hand to her chest and pressed lightly, then winced. “Couple of places, it feels like.”

“Yes.” Catherine closed her eyes against the images that came unbidden. Of Rebecca lying on the warehouse ß oor, a river of blood pouring from her chest. Rebecca lying pale and motionless in the intensive care unit. Closed her mind to the nightmare of losing her…the empty bed, the silent house, the barren life. She attempted a smile. “Ali says you’ll be out of here in a few days.”

“Good.”

Rebecca closed her eyes for so long that Catherine thought she

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was asleep. However, when she tried to withdraw her hand, Rebecca’s grip on her Þ ngers tightened.

With her eyes still closed, Rebecca said, “I’d quit if I could, so that you would never have to go through this again. But I can’t.”

“I know.” Catherine leaned down, kissed Rebecca’s lips. “It’s enough that you would if you could.”

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Justice Served

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Tuesday

I killed a man last night.”

Sloan said the words so quietly that it took a few seconds for them to register. When Michael understood the signiÞ cance of what her lover had just said, she tightened her hold on the woman in her arms.

Sloan lay with her head on Michael’s shoulder, one arm loosely around her waist. Michael rested her cheek against the top of Sloan’s head and slowly caressed her back.

“Is that what the detectives were talking to you about for so long at the hospital?”

“Yeah, they were taking my statement.” Sloan spoke with her eyes closed, savoring the warmth and scent of Michael’s skin. “Took my weapon too. Until the investigation is completed.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“I don’t think so. I shot the guy that shot Rebecca. No one is going to look too hard at the circumstances.”

Michael searched beneath the cool, even tone for what Sloan might not be saying. “This man…is he the one?”

Sloan was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. He could be.”

She shrugged. “I think there’s a fair chance we’ll never know.”

“And if we don’t? Can you live with that? Can you let it go?”

“Yes.” Sloan tilted her head back and opened her eyes. She smiled softly at Michael. “The only thing that matters to me is that you’re all right and that we’re together.”

Michael smiled and kissed Sloan softly. When she drew away, her expression became serious. “Have you ever shot anyone before?”

“No.”

“Are you all right with it?”

“He was going to kill Rebecca. Then he was going to come after the rest of us.” Sloan’s eyes never wavered; her voice remained steady

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and calm. “I didn’t enjoy it, but I’d do it again. If it was the guy that hurt you, I’m glad. Either way, I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

Michael nodded. “I think I’d rather you do your investigating with the computer from now on.”

Sloan grinned. “I think I agree with you.”

v

“Hey,” Watts said. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

Carla Reiser smiled up from her desk. “Fat chance. I’ve got about seven hundred more forms to Þ ll out.”

“That all?” Watts ambled in and sagged into one corner of the sofa. “The feds gone?”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Carla said fervently.

Watts chuckled. “I guess you liked spending the night with Clark about as much as I would have.”

“OfÞ cious, condescending men are not my favorite types.”

“If I was half as slick as most of the women I work with, I’d say something smart to that.” Watts shrugged. “I can’t think of anything.”

Carla smiled. “I don’t require that you be real smooth.”

“Good thing.” Watts felt around in his jacket pockets for his cigarettes, then gave up. “How did it go?”

“Like clockwork. One thing I’ll say for the federal boys, they’ve got plenty of manpower and neat toys. Once Sloan gave us the names, we had audio and video surveillance up and running on the suspects here and at their homes within hours.” Carla stood and walked to the counter where a full pot of coffee steamed. As she poured a cup, she said, “As soon as we got the green light from Lieutenant Frye, we took everyone at once. Only one of the suspects was on shift here last night, and we just walked him out to a car and put him in it. No muss, no fuss.

Clark had secondary teams who picked up the other guys at home.”

“Is Clark doing the interrogations?”

“That’s my understanding.” Carla lifted the pot and an inquiring eyebrow in his direction. At his nod, she Þ lled another cup and handed it to him as she sat beside him on the sofa. “Clark made it crystal clear that the smuggling operation was his jurisdiction and we weren’t getting any piece of the arrests.”

“Any way you look at it, though,” Watts said as he sipped gratefully

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at the coffee, “the organized crime organization in this city just took a big hit. Personally, I don’t think Clark is going to get anyone to ß ip on Zamora, but the feds will bag a nice number of midlevel guys. Enough to make the papers.”

“That’s Þ ne with me,” Carla said. “As long as my docks are clean again, I don’t care who gets the glory.”

Watts nodded appreciatively. “I’m with you.”