Shield of Justice, page 8
“I drove to an AA meeting that night. That was four years ago. We never talked about it again.”
“He trusted you, Rebecca. And you didn’t let him down.” She felt some of the tension in Rebecca’s tight muscles dissipate, but she knew the pain remained. “Where have you been all night?”
“After I told Jeff’s wife about…about him, I went to a bar.”
“Did you drink?” Catherine asked evenly.
Rebecca laughed harshly. “I sat there with it in my hand for a long time.”
“What stopped you?”
Rebecca met Catherine’s gaze, her defenses shattered by the memories she hadn’t wanted to relive. “I thought about you. I don’t know why…I…I just thought…if I told…if I came…Ah, Jesus, I don’t know why I came. I’m sorry…I…”
Catherine stroked Rebecca’s cheek lightly with her fingertips, pushing the hair back from her forehead. She hadn’t meant to touch her, but listening to her, watching her struggle not to give in to her agony, was breaking her heart. Rebecca wasn’t her patient, and she wasn’t a psychiatrist at the moment. She was a woman wanting desperately to comfort the woman she cared for. She leaned slowly forward, whispering, “You were right to come. I’m so glad you did.”
At the touch of Catherine’s hand on her face, the fiber of Rebecca’s resistance snapped like a straw in the wind. The unconditional tenderness pierced her armor like the pain could not, eclipsing her consciousness until there was no reality except the hazy green of Catherine’s eyes, the heady aroma of her scent. She needed the respite of this woman’s embrace more than she needed air to breathe.
“Catherine,” she gasped and found Catherine’s lips, bruising them unintentionally with the force of her kiss. She devoured Catherine’s mouth, sucking her, drinking her in—desperate for her. Already past thought, she pushed her back against the couch, fumbling with the tie of her robe, wanting to feel her skin. She groaned in surprise when Catherine yanked her shirt from her trousers and slid her hands up her back, the sensation of warm hands on her skin making her impossibly aroused.
Her blood was molten, searing her veins—everything moving so fast—all so good, too good to stop. Moaning, drowning in the feel of Catherine’s tongue thrusting insistently against hers, she struggled to contain her need. But it was far too late—once unleashed, she could not call it back. Desperately, she pulled away from the kiss and lowered her mouth to Catherine’s breast, catching the nipple between her lips.
“Oh, God,” Catherine cried, holding Rebecca’s face to her, forcing her nipple harder into Rebecca’s seeking mouth. She closed her eyes, arched her back with the sharp pleasure of it. “Rebecca…”
Rebecca couldn’t hear the plea. She was burning, the very breath in her lungs evaporating from the heat. When she felt Catherine’s arms tighten around her, pulling her close, she lost it. Flinging one thigh over Catherine’s, she pressed her down on the sofa and slid on top of her. “I can’t…I can’t…I’m sorry,” Rebecca choked brokenly, aching with the fierce rush of blood through her pelvis, consumed by the agonizing pressure of Catherine’s leg between hers, her clitoris ready to burst. Eyes closed, she thrust frantically, unconsciously, driven by instinct and need.
“Yes…yes,” Catherine urged, driving her hips upward, forcing Rebecca to the edge.
“Ooh…,” Rebecca moaned, hips pumping erratically in a frenzy of release. Head flung back, arms rigid, she cried out with each wrenching spasm. Finally she collapsed, shaking, into Catherine’s arms, groaning faintly with the lingering pulsations, gasping for breath.
“Rebecca, Rebecca,” Catherine murmured, gently running her fingers through the damp blond hair as she cradled Rebecca’s cheek to her breast.
Rebecca closed her eyes and let herself drift in the solace of Catherine’s body. Surrendering to the salvation of that strong, sure embrace, she savored a peace she had long forgotten.
Chapter Twelve
Rebecca sat up with a jolt. The sun streaming through the bay windows into her eyes had awakened her. As consciousness returned, memory did also, and pain rode the coattails of remembrance. The finality of Jeff’s death twisted through her, an unrelenting ache she would carry with her for a long time. She drew a shaky breath, trying to ease the fist of agony in her chest and looked around the room. Jesus, God…Catherine’s living room.
The sight of her jacket neatly folded over the arm of a nearby easy chair brought back vivid images of the night before—Catherine listening to her; Catherine consoling her; Catherine comforting her. And then you just about jumped on her. You must have been out of your mind, Frye! God, what must she think? Of course, you didn’t give her much choice, after all. Christ, you came all over her like a kid on his first date. And she probably just felt sorry for you.
Her face burned with a conflicting mixture of dismay and renewed desire. She remembered her loss of control with embarrassment, uncertain whether she had the courage to face this compassionate woman after what had happened. Even as she struggled with the thought, she yearned to touch her again. The want was so powerful it left her shaking. I need to get out of here. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.
She pushed herself reluctantly to a standing position and started to straighten her disheveled clothing. As she tucked her shirttail into her trousers, she discovered her shoes and belt beside the sofa. God, where is my gun? She looked about frantically, relaxing slightly when she saw the shoulder holster hanging on the knob of the closet door. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed Catherine removing that. It was part of her.
“Everything all right?” a soft voice inquired.
Rebecca turned around to find Catherine in the kitchen doorway, watching her, a faint smile on her lips. She looked more beautiful than Rebecca remembered. Her wavy hair, highlighted in bright sunlight, shone with rich reddish tones streaked throughout the darker auburn. Here and there a faint silvering of early gray only served to accentuate the elegant planes of her face. She wore a pale green silk dressing gown, and the look of desire in her deeper green eyes sent a bolt of arousal directly between Rebecca’s legs. Her head began buzzing, and she was instantly wet.
“Catherine, I…” she began tentatively, searching for words through a faint fog of uncertainty and desire. She ran a hand through her hair. “I should apologi—”
“Shh, don’t even think of it,” Catherine commanded, her smile deepening as she crossed the space between them.
“It’s not how it looks,” Rebecca tried again, watching her draw near, suddenly powerless to move. Captivated by the intensity of that sensuous gaze, she forgot what had been so important to explain. “I don’t usually do that.”
“No, I don’t imagine you do.”
“Listen…if you want me to go…”
Wordlessly, Catherine reached out and curled the fingers of one hand in Rebecca’s hair, pulling her head forward into a kiss. It was a deep, sure, demanding kiss that left them both breathless.
When she released the stunned woman, Catherine teased, “Does that answer any questions for you?”
Rebecca took a long, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry about last night…I mean…the way I…the way it…” I didn’t mean to come like that. I couldn’t stop it. I was crazy for you.
“Don’t be sorry. You were beautiful, and believe me, I have never enjoyed anything more. Being wanted that much is very exciting.” She paused, ran a hand lightly over Rebecca’s chest. “Don’t you know how much I’ve been wanting you?”
Rebecca shivered as Catherine’s fingers brushed over her breast. With a groan, she pulled the astonishing woman into her arms. She kissed her mouth, the soft skin of her eyelids, the smooth slope of her neck. She felt Catherine’s pulse quicken under her lips, and her own heart thudded loudly as she found that inviting mouth again. She jerked in surprise when Catherine’s hands slipped under her shirt, cupping her breasts, teasing her swiftly hardening nipples.
“Easy,” she gasped. “I’m locked and loaded.”
Catherine laughed throatily and ignored her plea. She stroked the firm planes of Rebecca’s abdomen, moving lower with each caress. “Be strong, Detective,” she murmured.
Rebecca hissed in a breath as Catherine tugged at her fly. One touch and I’ll lose it. Again. “You’re dangerous,” she growled, pushing Catherine’s fingers away. “And I never got to finish what I started last night.”
Reaching under the hem of the dressing gown, she ran her hand up the smooth, bare flesh of Catherine’s thigh, the silk gathering around her forearm in soft folds. She slipped her fingers smoothly between Catherine’s legs, into the waiting wetness, finding her clitoris, distended and slick with arousal. She stroked her, sliding the sensitive bundle between her fingers, tugging gently.
“Oh my God…Rebecca…” Catherine cried, clinging to her, her forehead pressed to Rebecca’s chest, her legs shaking. “That’s so good. So good.”
Just as Rebecca felt Catherine grow rigid, a sharp cry of surprised pleasure escaping her lips, the beeper in the pocket of the folded jacket went off. She stiffened and paused at the sound.
“Don’t…stopdon’tstop…ohGoddon’tstop…”
“No,” Rebecca breathed against her ear, circling her harder, following the motion of Catherine’s questing hips. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”
Catherine jerked several times, moaning with each surge of release, and then grew still in the circle of Rebecca’s arms. Finally, she leaned back, her face flushed, her green eyes still cloudy with passion. “Tell me that wasn’t your beeper.”
“I could, but I won’t lie to you. I have to answer,” Rebecca said huskily, her hands moving to Catherine’s hips, still caressing her. Her own legs were trembling so badly she wasn’t sure she could stay standing. She had been on the verge of coming herself—would in a second still—if Catherine touched her. “I’m sorry.”
“God, it’s not your fault,” Catherine murmured, pressing her forehead hard against Rebecca’s shoulder, trying desperately to steady herself. Shaking still, she stepped back reluctantly. “Go. Answer it. I’ll get us some coffee.”
When Catherine returned with two steaming mugs, Rebecca was standing by the tall window next to the front door with her back to the room, looking out onto the street. Catherine hesitated, reminding herself of the toll the last twenty-four hours must have taken on this woman and knowing that it wasn’t the time for them to get involved. But, God, she wanted her. It made no sense, but it wasn’t her mind that was doing the talking. It wasn’t exactly her body either; it was an even more dangerous combination of the two. Need and desire, both physical and emotional, were conspiring to make her lose all sense of good judgment. Still, too many demands on someone in Rebecca’s state right now could destroy her. She wanted her, but most of all she wanted her to heal. Then, she hoped, there would be time.
“What is it?” she asked, handing Rebecca one of the mugs.
“Internal Affairs.” Rebecca’s face was a careful blank. “They need to interview me, and they need me to go over our cases with them. See if we can turn up anything on Jeff’s killing.”
“Today?” Catherine wondered what kind of people would put Rebecca through something like that less than twelve hours after her partner’s death.
Rebecca laughed grimly. “Try two hours ago.” She set her mug down on the window ledge and turned to Catherine. “I wish I could stay. Being with you is…good.” She stopped. She wasn’t certain how it had happened, her being here like this with this woman who made her feel so much, and who made her long for even more. She hadn’t been looking for it—hadn’t even known she’d wanted it—but she recognized what she was feeling for Catherine Rawlings, and it scared her.
“You can always come back, Rebecca. I’ll be here, and I want you to come back. Whenever you can, whenever you want.”
Rebecca nodded. “I will.” She strapped on her holster and pulled on her jacket. At the door, she turned to face Catherine one last time. “Thank you for last night…all of it.”
Catherine held the door open, watching the detective walk quickly down the steps and up the street. Come back soon, Rebecca. Come back safely.
*
An hour later, freshly showered, in a crisp white shirt and navy suit, Rebecca walked into the squad room, her eyes hard and her expression indecipherable. Men looked at her and nodded as she passed, no one saying anything. The general atmosphere in the room was subdued, without the usual banter and complaining. She walked directly to her desk and stared impassively at the man seated at the adjoining one.
“What the hell are you doing in Cruz’s chair?” Her voice was granite. “And what the hell are you doing with those files?”
William Watts looked at the expression on her face and then glanced around the squad room for support. No one offered any. “Just getting acquainted with the caseload. The captain told me to tell you that you and me are going to be partnered up.”
She stared down at him coldly, then turned on her heel and stalked away. By the time she reached Captain Henry’s door, she was boiling. She pushed the door open without knocking and crossed the room toward his desk in two furious strides.
“What do you mean telling Watts we were going to work together?” she demanded, not even registering the amazed look on Henry’s face. “I don’t want another partner, and if I did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be him. He’s a lazy sleaze, and I won’t ride with him.”
The captain rose in one fluid motion, his arms braced on the desk as he leaned toward her until their faces were nearly touching. “Frye, if I tell you to work with Bozo the Clown, you do it. And you smile about it, too.” He bit off each word, his face a thundercloud of anger. “Now you turn your ass around and get the hell out of my office!”
She met his angry gaze evenly, her fists clenched at her sides, trying unsuccessfully to lower her voice. “Listen, Captain—”
“No, you listen. You just lost your partner. It’s tough…I appreciate that. But you’ve still got a dozen open files, including the River Drive thing. You can’t do it alone, and Watts is available. If he’s an asshole, learn to live with it. I don’t care how you do it, just do it!”
“What’s he got? Friends in high places?” she asked, her blue eyes dark with scorn, mindless of rank or protocol. All she could see was Watts sitting in Jeff’s chair, at Jeff’s desk—where Jeff should be right now, telling her about his night with Shelley. She was shaking, but she didn’t know that.
Henry’s neck muscles tightened, and a flush rose to darken his features. His voice was deadly cold as he spoke. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Sergeant. Just this once. Because you’re a good cop. But don’t think I won’t bust your ass out of here if you step over the line.” He watched her carefully, wondering if she was even listening. “IAD wants to see you. Take care of that, and then get back to work.”
She didn’t reply, there was nothing she could do.
He watched her turn and walk away, wondering if he was making a mistake leaving her on the streets. She was one of his best. He thought she would crack if he put her behind a desk, so he had argued against it when the chief of detectives suggested it for her own safety, just in case the hit on Cruz had something to do with a case the two of them were working. Seeing her now, skittering on the edge of control, he hoped he was right.
*
Catherine knocked and then entered Janet Ryan’s room. Barbara Elliot was sitting close to the bed, her fingers entwined with Janet’s.
“Hello, Dr. Rawlings.” Barbara’s voice was tired, but her smile was genuine.
“Hello, Barbara.” Catherine returned the smile as she approached the side of the bed. “Hi, Janet. How are you feeling?”
Janet looked better. The bruises still disfigured her normally attractive face, but the swelling had begun to subside. Both eyes were open now. Their expression was bright.
“I’m much better, thanks. I’ve been up walking a little, and I’m not taking the pain medication.” She glanced at her lover fondly. “When can I go home?”
Catherine grinned. “I can see you’re feeling better. The neurologists want to keep you a few more days, just for routine observation. I know it’s hard being here, but let’s be safe, okay?”
“All right, if you think it’s best.” Her disappointment was clear.
“I do,” Catherine replied firmly. Then, her voice softening, she asked, “How are the flashbacks?”
Janet grimaced. “I’m still getting them, especially at night. Just bits and pieces…of my brother and me when I was small.” She took a deep, quavering breath. “I never realized it had gone on for so long.”
Catherine nodded sympathetically. “They may get worse as you recover from this attack, Janet. You may remember other things. We’ll talk more about what to expect, but for now, I may want to try you on a mild sedative, nothing too strong. Let’s think about going home in a few days, all right?”
Janet looked at Barbara questioningly.
“I really want Janet at home, Dr. Rawlings. Everyone is nice to us here, but it’s so impersonal. I don’t want her to come home until you think she’s ready, though. Whatever you decide is fine.”
Catherine spoke with them a few more moments, promising to look in on Janet later in the day, and then left to complete her inpatient rounds. When she stepped out into the hall, a neatly dressed young man moved hurriedly to intercept her.
“Dr. Rawlings? Is it true that Janet Ryan witnessed the rape on River Drive earlier this week? Has she been able to describe the assailant?”
Catherine stepped back a pace, nonplussed. “Who are you?”
“Mark Tyler. Daily News. What about it, Doctor? Did she witness the rape?”
