Shield of Justice, page 14
Watts stubbed out his cigarette on the expensive parquet floor in the hallway outside Catherine’s office. “Why don’t you do it? Not much more there, and I’m ready to call it a day.” He strolled away, leaving Rebecca staring at his retreating back.
Chapter Twenty-One
Catherine slumped tiredly behind her desk and, even from two rooms away, could hear the angry voices outside in the hall. The excitement of the last few hours had dissipated, leaving her drained. She knew Rebecca was angry, and she understood, or thought she did as much as anyone could, the frustration and powerlessness that she must feel right now. To have this man, whose identity had eluded the police so thoroughly, suddenly reveal his presence in such an arrogant and taunting manner was an insult too bitter to contemplate.
And, Catherine reminded herself, now the man who has escaped her has made me an involuntary participant in all of this. She has got to feel torn between her professional obligation to maintain contact with him and her personal desire to shield me from him. What’s making it even worse is that I can’t cooperate with her investigation the way she wants. This on the heels of her partner’s death. What were they thinking to let her keep working?
But Catherine knew the answer to that question. This was what Rebecca did. This was who Rebecca was. She stared uneasily at her office door, wondering what future difficulties the return of the two detectives would bring. Clearly, Rebecca and her associate did not see eye to eye on the best way to proceed. Catherine imagined it must be very hard for Rebecca to deal with a new partner so soon after Jeff Cruz’s death, especially since Rebecca had had no real opportunity to mourn him. Of course, she’ll never have time to deal with his death as long as she can drive her feelings into some hidden corner by working twenty hours a day. I suppose she’s placing me in the same category—someone who creates feelings she’d rather avoid.
Rubbing at the tension between her eyes, she sighed softly and leaned her head against the back of her tall leather chair. Sometimes it was hard being a psychiatrist; it was too hard facing what many others never really saw. Now and then she longed just to live from moment to moment like most of the world, not really knowing, or caring, why she did or felt something. She longed to abandon for just a few hours her awareness of the struggle it was merely to survive.
When Rebecca let herself back into Catherine’s office, she found her asleep. They had kept the room lamps turned down deliberately in case anyone was watching from the street, and now, a pale sliver of moonlight fell across the slumbering woman’s face. Only Catherine’s soft, steady breathing broke the nearly dreamlike stillness in the room. Rebecca sank into the chair in front of the desk, remembering that the last time she had seen her like this they had been lying naked together.
For one brief moment, she forgot the case, and even Jeff’s death, content just to look at Catherine. Her face was soft in sleep, with only a hint of fine lines at the corners of her full lips to suggest that she was not as young as she appeared at first glance. She looked very beautiful to Rebecca, who rose finally and walked around behind the desk. “Catherine,” she murmured, shaking the dozing woman’s shoulder gently.
A faint smile touched Catherine’s lips as her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze widened with pleasure when she found Rebecca bending over her, an unexpectedly tender expression in her deep blue eyes. There was something else in Rebecca’s face, though—a tightness around the fine mouth and a weariness in the shadowed gaze that she had never seen before, not even when Rebecca had come to her in the first hours after Jeff’s death. Instinctively, she reached out to stroke the cheek now just a whisper away and spoke without thinking. “What is it, love?” she asked quietly.
Rebecca’s heart lurched at the words. He’s found you now, and I can’t stand the thought of him anywhere near you. He could hurt you, and I don’t think I could bear it. The idea of this madman touching you, even talking to you, is driving me crazy, and I don’t know how I’m going to leave you. I don’t know how I’m going to work. Ah God, I don’t know what I’m doing standing here wanting you so much I hurt all over.
“Rebecca?” Catherine asked again, pushing herself upright, her fingers lingering on that troubled face.
Rebecca forced herself to keep quiet. Her demons were her own problem, and it was time she began acting like a cop instead of allowing Catherine to take care of her again and again. She turned her head slightly and kissed Catherine’s palm. “I need to take you home,” she whispered quietly.
Catherine drew her hand away, recognizing the barrier that Rebecca had subtly erected. Rebecca might touch her, but she would not share her pain. Despite her understanding, Catherine was hurt. She needed to know this woman, all of her, not just the parts the rest of the world was allowed to see. She already knew Rebecca’s strengths—she could see them in her body, feel them in her touch, hear them in her words. But what of her fears and her needs? Would that part of Rebecca’s life always be closed to her?
“I have my car here,” Catherine answered, knowing, even as she struggled with disappointment, that this was not the time to search for answers, nor the time to expect Rebecca to lower her defenses. The investigation and her partner’s death were taking too heavy a toll on the detective’s physical and emotional reserves as it was.
“No.” Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t want you to drive home alone. Not tonight…not after this call. I don’t think you’re in any danger, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ll take you home and pick you up in the morning. You can come back for your car then.”
Catherine started to protest but then thought better of it. An argument now would not help either of them, and she suddenly realized she was exhausted. It was nearly ten o’clock, and, once again, she had missed a meal. “Burger break on the way?” she asked, rising stiffly from her chair.
Rebecca grinned at last. “I’ll do better than that, my dear Dr. Rawlings. I’ll treat you to pizza.”
“You’re on,” Catherine replied, slipping an arm around Rebecca’s slim waist.
The unexpected embrace caught Rebecca by surprise. She suddenly pulled Catherine close and held her fiercely. “I have to go out again,” she whispered into fragrant hair. “Things are beginning to move in this case, and I’ve got to stay on top of it. I wish I could stay with you tonight, but I’ll have one of the black-and-whites cruise by your place every half hour or so.”
“I’ll be fine.” Catherine leaned back in Rebecca’s arms, her clear green eyes meeting the deep blue ones now filled with worry. “I know that you’re concerned, and I understand that you have work to do. But I’m concerned, too. You haven’t slept enough in three days to account for one good night’s sleep, and you won’t be very effective if you can’t think straight.” And you could be hurt, too.
“I’m all right,” Rebecca said softly, silencing her with a kiss.
It was a slow, deep kiss that spoke of all that had gone unspoken between them—of need and longing and dreams long forgotten. It kindled desire in them both, and when they broke away at last, they were gasping.
“I don’t want to let you go,” Catherine murmured, sliding her hands under Rebecca’s jacket, up her back. “God, you feel good.”
Rebecca leaned into her, fusing her taller, leaner frame to the gentle curves and planes of Catherine’s body, kissing her again. Her hands traveled unbidden to Catherine’s breasts, feeling the softness of silk and the hard peak of her nipples beneath her fingers. “I’m not going anywhere,” Rebecca whispered against her ear. She moved her mouth lower, catching the skin of Catherine’s neck with her teeth, making Catherine moan softly. “Not. Just. Yet.”
Catherine pulled at Rebecca’s shirt, loosening it from her trousers, searching for her skin. She traced the muscles of Rebecca’s back, up and down her sides, and finally onto her abdomen, all the while feeling the blood rush from her head and pool in the center of her—hot and heavy and demanding.
Rebecca groaned, fired by the urgent play of Catherine’s hands over her skin. With one hand, she raised the hem of Catherine’s skirt, slipping up over hot smooth flesh, pressing against the restraints of her lingerie. “I want you so much,” she said hoarsely, insistent now as she fumbled with the buttons of Catherine’s blouse.
Legs trembling, Catherine moaned as Rebecca found her way inside her bra, fingers closing hard over her nipples. The swift sharp pressure streaked downward, drawing liquid heat shimmering from her core. “I should lock the door,” she gasped, both hands pulling at the buckle on Rebecca’s belt. She couldn’t seem to control herself. She was going to explode if she couldn’t get her hands on her soon.
“To hell with that—I’ve got a gun,” Rebecca rasped. She raised her head and looked around, eyes wild and fierce. Wordlessly, she slipped her arm behind Catherine’s knees and lifted her, carrying her the few feet to the couch. Laying her down, she pulled Catherine’s clothing aside and knelt on the floor next to her. Fingers stroking soft skin, she pressed her face against the warm flesh of Catherine’s thighs, breathing in her passion. With her lips, she sought the source, thirsting for the taste of her, desperate to absorb her into every cell, groaning as wet heat welcomed her. She slid both hands under Catherine’s hips, guiding her against her mouth. She immersed herself, seeking and probing for Catherine’s very soul.
“Oh yes, Rebecca,” Catherine cried, her hands twisted in Rebecca’s thick hair. “I want you there…right there…”
As Catherine grew hard under her tongue, Rebecca brought a hand between Catherine’s thighs. She pushed inward as she sucked harder, working the rapidly quivering shaft between her lips.
“Rebecca…” Catherine breathed, her voice an urgent whisper. “Make me come…please…now...”
Even as she heard the words, Rebecca felt the muscles spasm around her fingers, and she knew it had begun. She increased the pressure with her tongue, gripping Catherine as her hips heaved upward. She continued to stroke the pulsing flesh with her lips and tongue long after Catherine’s cries had ceased and her limbs quieted. Finally, Rebecca pulled herself up onto the sofa and stretched out beside Catherine, pulling the sated woman into her arms. Catherine’s arms came around her, and she felt soft lips on her neck.
“You’re wonderful,” Catherine sighed contentedly. “I’m completely demolished.”
Rebecca laughed quietly, tightening her hold. “I needed to touch you so much I couldn’t stop myself.” She pressed her lips to Catherine’s cheek. “I had to be that close to you.”
“I know,” Catherine said softly. “And I’m right here.”
For a time all too brief, reality vanished as they slipped into sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A relentless pain in her left side pulled Rebecca from a restless slumber. She shifted carefully on the office couch and reached between her body and Catherine’s to reposition her shoulder holster against her rib cage. Her watch showed that it was nearly three a.m. Her head ached and her body felt empty, drained. She realized she hadn’t eaten since early the previous morning. That, combined with sleep deprivation, was sapping her strength, but she couldn’t seem to stop. She had a rapist-serial killer and Jeff’s murderer on the loose. She had four other open cases, none of which she had touched in days. She forced herself upright and swung her legs to the floor.
“What are you doing?” Catherine asked sleepily, curling her body against Rebecca’s back and stroking her softly.
“There are things I need to do that can’t wait,” Rebecca said quickly, turning on the couch to face her. “I’ll take you home now, if that’s okay.”
“No,” Catherine said, sitting up beside her. “It’s already very late. You don’t need to take me home. I’m up now, and you should do what you need to do. I’ll just work here until morning.”
“How about I swing by and pick you up in a few hours? Can you sleep a while here?”
“You don’t need to come back,” Catherine said softly as Rebecca rose and began straightening her clothes. “But I’d like it if you did.”
Rebecca stopped, her eyes meeting Catherine’s. Then she leaned down and kissed her, and Catherine kissed her back. The kiss, possessive and demanding, lasted long enough to arouse her again, and she was uncomfortably aware of the fact that she was still swollen and throbbing. “I’d like it, too,” she murmured against Catherine’s mouth. “What time?”
Catherine thought about the next day’s schedule while she worked to ignore the pulse of desire that tingled along her nerve endings. “I have to be at the hospital at nine o’clock for rounds, and I should shower and change before that. Can you be here at 6:30?”
“Yes. Lock the door when I leave and don’t open it until you hear my voice. And don’t answer the phone.”
“But what if he calls again?”
“Then he’ll have to wait. I don’t want anyone to know you’re here alone,” Rebecca replied vehemently.
“Yes, I see. Of course.” Catherine met her steely gaze, reading the worry and anger in her eyes. “I won’t take any chances. Please don’t worry about me tonight. I’ll be fine here, and you’ll be back soon.”
Rebecca’s face softened suddenly. “Thanks. I know it’s hard being ordered around—”
Catherine stood and stopped her with a gentle hand to her lips. “Nonsense. In these matters, you’re the expert and I trust you.”
Rebecca reached for Catherine’s hand and squeezed it, then continued to hold it as she turned away. “Come lock the door behind me.” At the door, they exchanged one last, brief kiss, and then the detective slipped out into the hallway.
“Be careful,” Catherine whispered as the door closed firmly. She stood motionless for some moments, listening to the footsteps echoing down the empty corridor. The room suddenly felt chilly, and she pulled her raincoat from the rack behind the door and threw it around her shoulders.
She was worried, and she knew she had good reason to be. Rebecca was in far more danger than she was at the moment. She was all too aware of how quickly reflexes and thought processes could be impaired by fatigue and stress. She fought the anxiety, knowing she could not influence Rebecca’s behavior—that, in fact, Rebecca was behaving in the only way she could under the circumstances.
Once again, however, understanding was small comfort. She sighed deeply, pulled the coat tighter around her shoulders, and resigned herself to wait out the rest of the night on her own therapy couch.
*
Rebecca slowly turned the corner onto Locust Street, a seedy area populated with adult movie theatres, nondescript bars, and the grime-streaked facades of hotels indistinguishable from one another save for their neon signs blinking hopefully into the dark. Even at 4:00 a.m.—the darkest, loneliest part of the night—there were still a few people on the streets. The vagrants were all tucked away in their cubbyholes, in doorways or on subway grates, covered with bits of carpet or old clothes, their possessions gathered under their arms for safety. Here and there, a few prostitutes huddled in pairs or leaned singly against storefronts, hoping for one more trick before morning. And cars continued to cruise slowly by, the drivers’ faces cast in shadow as they surveyed the possibility of a quick antidote to their isolation.
She circled the six-block area several times until she finally saw her, standing alone in the doorway of an adult bookstore, her long legs bare to mid-thigh despite the inevitable chill of the hour. Rebecca pulled the Vette to the curb and rolled the passenger window down. “Get in,” she directed, just loud enough to be heard.
The girl’s surprised look of hopeful anticipation quickly turned to dismay when she recognized the detective. “Aww, man! Can’t you leave me alone? You’re gonna ruin my business.”
“Come on, don’t make me get out,” Rebecca said, pushing the curbside door open.
“Uh-uh. No way. You don’t have nothing on me…”
“Do you want to talk to me in here, or should I just walk around the streets with you a while?”
“Oh Jesus, I don’t need this,” she swore as she quickly crossed the pavement and slid into the low-slung front seat, the scant skirt riding high along her shapely thighs.
“Put your seat belt on,” Rebecca said as she pulled away from the curb.
Sandy snorted in disgust. “If you cared so much about my well-being, you’d stay the fuck away from me. People down here start thinking I’m a snitch, I could get hurt.”
“What people?” Rebecca said nonchalantly, her eyes on the road. The girl was right about getting hurt, and it wasn’t something that Rebecca intended to let happen. She protected her contacts. But it was more than that with this one. Every now and then, Rebecca thought she caught a glimpse of tenderness beneath Sandy’s bravado, an uncommon humanity that the life had not yet destroyed. “What people?” she asked again.
“Just people. And, besides, I don’t have any tips for you. Nobody knows nothing about no kiddie racket…or if they do, they aren’t telling me.”
Rebecca’s head turned slightly and met the gaze of the young woman beside her. The eyes that looked back were the eyes of the street—bitter and far older than her years. “It’s not about the chicken business.”
Sandy looked surprised for an instant but quickly recovered with an expression of disinterest. “Well, what?”
“A hooker was found dead last night at the Old Vic. Young girl, about thirteen.”
“So?” Sandy feigned indifference. “It isn’t the first time. She OD’d or what?”
Rebecca shook her head. “Looks like the john did it.” She looked directly at Sandy as she said, “I don’t want it to happen again. I want this guy…and I need help.”
Looking down at her hands, Sandy remained silent, unconsciously picking at a broken nail. “Sometimes ya can’t tell, ya know? A guy looks like Mr. Straightsville, and the next thing you know, he wants you to tie him up or let him piss in your mouth. It happens. You try to be careful, but sometimes you just can’t tell.” Her voice was flat as she spoke, and she didn’t raise her head.
