6. Justice For All - Неизвестный

“I’m good for it any time.”

“Thanks.” Rebecca considered the more pressing matter they needed to square away. “About this fund-raiser—”

“Michael is going,” Sloan cut in. “She already had it scheduled—a business thing. I forgot she told me. I’m still hoping to talk her out of it.”

“She doesn’t have to get anywhere near Zamora,” Rebecca said evenly. “If it comes to that.”

Sloan hesitated, then looked out into the main room, checking that no one was around. “Something doesn’t feel right about this, Rebecca.

Not any of it. I don’t trust Clark. He’s always working the angles for himself, and he doesn’t care who pays the price.”

“I’ve got the same feeling, but I can’t put my finger on the reason.

I’m going to talk to Clark today about Witsec, and I’ll see if I can get a better feel for what he’s not telling us.”

“Call me. I’m heading over to Police Plaza for a while and check on my boys. Make sure they haven’t fried the system while I’ve been gone.”

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“Thanks for lending me your car yesterday.” Rebecca grinned.

“Nice ride.”

Sloan sketched a salute. “Just don’t let Watts drive.”

Rebecca watched her walk away. Sloan was volatile at the best of times and she’d been wrapped tight since Michael was injured. Still, Rebecca trusted her. Whatever it was Sloan had done for the Justice Department, she’d been good at it or Clark wouldn’t have pulled her back in. And Rebecca needed someone with that kind of experience.

Sloan would keep her head, as long as Michael didn’t get drawn in.

Scanning the work area, Rebecca headed for the huge bank of windows at the far end. As she expected, Mitchell was waiting there, slouched with her hands in the pockets of her black jeans, rocking back and forth in her heavy motorcycle boots.

“You want to finish your report?” Rebecca asked.

Dell continued to stare down at the choppy gray surface of the river. “I’m sorry I lost it. I know he doesn’t mean half the things he says.”

“He probably means the other half. But I promise you he’ll always have your back.”

“I know.” Dell faced Rebecca. “Irina is used to protecting herself.

She handled the bartender at Ziggie’s last night really well. I think she can get me inside.”

“You think the Russians will contact her again?”

“Once the word gets out that she’s been spotted at Ziggie’s, yeah, I think so. Especially since she’s reaching out, like she wants to get back to work.”

“You’re going back tonight, right?”

Dell nodded. “I’m taking her to the Troc first to meet the guys.

And Jasmine.”

“Good.” Rebecca studied the young detective. She looked calm, despite the enormity of the operation and her position on point. She looked solid. “How’s Sandy doing?”

“She’s good.” Dell took a breath. “I don’t think she should stay at her apartment if Irina’s going to be down the hall.”

“I don’t imagine Sandy’s too happy about that.”

“She’s okay. But if trouble follows us home, I don’t want her around. Besides, with Sandy working the streets for you, I think it would be better to put some distance between us.”

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“You’re right, but she’s not going to like it.”

“I can put her up in my condo for a while.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t think so. Too isolated. I know their security is tight, but none of us are close enough if there’s trouble.”

She watched a tugboat push a huge oil barge up to one of the refinery docks. “She can probably stay here with Michael and Sloan.”

“Oh, man, you think so? This place is like a fortress. And Sandy really likes Michael.”

“I’ll check it out. In the meantime, how are you doing with Irina?”

“Okay, no problem,” Dell said, flushing.

“You need to keep some objectivity there,” Rebecca said. “You can’t let yourself get attached.”

“I know.”

Rebecca had run cops undercover before, but usually sting operations on porn dealers or pimps. Nothing this long term or at such a distance. She needed to know what might shake Mitchell up. She needed to know what might get Mitchell killed. “Are you going to be all right with her and the physical situation?”

“I don’t feel that way about her. I mean, she’s attractive and…”

Dell looked away, then squared her shoulders and met Rebecca’s gaze.

“I can’t help getting turned on sometimes. It’s not like I mean to, or even want to. I…I’m keeping my focus, though.”

“I think it would be tough getting up close to her and not feeling anything at all.” Rebecca was proud of Mitchell for admitting something that a lot of cops wouldn’t. Whether it was drugs or girls or easy money, temptation was everywhere, and no one wanted to admit to being tempted, even when they managed to resist. “But you need to keep your head clear. And that includes not feeling bad about reactions out of your control.”

“I’m trying. I’m good.”

“I want you to talk to Catherine about it.”

Dell stiffened. “I don’t—”

“Not a request, Detective.” Rebecca gripped Mitchell’s shoulder.

“I trust you, okay? But you’ve got to be completely on top of things.

For your own safety. For Irina’s. And for Sandy’s. You read me?”

“Yes ma’am, Lieutenant.”

“Good. I’ll tell her you’ll be by today.” Rebecca touched her

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knuckles briefly to the edge of Mitchell’s jaw. “You’re doing a good job.”

“Thank you,” Dell whispered as Rebecca walked away, the praise running through her like a warm caress. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

v

“Of course I’ll make time to see her,” Catherine said when Rebecca phoned her. “I’ll tell Joyce to fit her in whenever she calls. What about Irina?”

“I’m on my way to see Clark right now,” Rebecca said. “Hopefully we’ll be able to put her with you in the next day or so.”

“All right, darling. Are you driving?”

“Yes, but not very far. Just—”

“How’s your vision?”

“Perfect. A little headache,” Rebecca volunteered, “but otherwise no problems at all.”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“Yes.”

“Go home for a few hours this afternoon. Take a nap.”

Rebecca did some quick mental calculations. She wanted to shadow Mitchell when she took Irina to the Troc and Ziggie’s, and that meant being out on surveillance most of the night. In fact, almost everything that was going on in the operation was going to happen at night. She could take a few hours’ downtime during the day. She wouldn’t ordinarily, but Catherine asked so little of her. “All right. I will. I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Thank you, darling. I love you. I’ve got to go. Patients.”

“I’ll call you later. Love you.” Rebecca disconnected and pulled into the underground parking lot below the federal building at Sixth and Market. With any luck, she’d be able to track Clark down.

v

Kratos Zamora touched the edge of the linen napkin to his mouth, then deposited it next to the china plate in front of him. He placed the heavy silver knife and fork engraved with the crest of the Union Club together on the plate and smiled at Talia. Seated across from him,

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she wore a red dress in a style appropriate for a business meeting, but even the subdued lines and conservative cut couldn’t hide her inherent sensuality. He enjoyed the persistent arousal her presence always instilled. He always found the unattainable exciting.

“How was the lamb?” he asked.

“Delicious.” Talia sipped her wine, aware of the glances from the mostly male diners. Only a few years ago, women had not been welcome as members of the elite business club, and she wagered that Kratos had not been welcome either. At one time his lineage would have been enough to deny him entry, but now, money was the main requirement. Money legitimized everyone and abolished social divides, at least on the surface.

“Might I hope that the reason for your lunch invitation was simply that you wanted my company?” Kratos inquired, reaching across the table to stroke Talia’s hand.

Carefully, she shifted her hand to her wineglass, not wanting to make the movement appear as a rejection to him or anyone who might be watching. Swirling the claret before sipping, she allowed the wine to linger on her tongue, inhaling slowly, savoring the bouquet. She knew he was watching. His eyes were hungry. “I’ll need some time to breach Sloan’s system.”

“But you can do it.”

Talia smiled. “Of course.”

“Good.”

Talia was silent as the waiter glided up to the table. When he inquired if there was anything else she needed, she replied, “Espresso, please.”

“Very good, madam. And for you, sir?”

“Just coffee.”

When he disappeared as soundlessly as he had arrived, Talia said,

“Someone like her could be very valuable.”

“What do you mean?” Kratos asked.

“She could do anything she wanted and no one would have the expertise to detect it. And she has direct access.” Talia shrugged.

“Interviews, files, evidence—all of it.”

“Can’t you do the same thing?”

“I’m touched by your faith,” Talia said with a faintly mocking

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lilt. “Yes, given enough time. But I can guarantee that Sloan’s primary agenda right now is to make the central files as impregnable as possible.

It would be so much nicer if she were helping us get in rather than working to keep us out.”

“What kind of leverage do we have?”

“This.” Talia reached into her purse and withdrew the photograph of Sloan and the blonde in the ambulance. She’d added another clipping after searching newspaper archives that morning.

Kratos took the two photographs and stared at the woman who had caught his attention in the surveillance videos. The caption said her name was Michael Lassiter. Michael. She was wholly feminine, and the androgyny of her name only heightened her allure. Enjoying his instantaneous erection, he brushed his thumb along the outline of her body. “Sloan’s lover?”

“It would appear so.”

“We can’t touch her.” He shook his head. “Not after all the attention our Russian friends stirred up recently.”

Talia laughed softly. “You can’t honestly think I was suggesting something as crude as that, can you?”

Kratos frowned. “What then?”

“How would you like to get to know Ms. Lassiter personally?”

“I’d like nothing better,” he said, his gaze drifting to her mouth.

“Almost nothing.”

v

Avery Clark didn’t keep Rebecca waiting long, once she’d found his office in the warren of hallways lined with nondescript wooden doors and frosted glass windows. She announced herself to the lone secretary in the tiny waiting room and had just settled into an uncomfortable, thinly upholstered chair against the wall when Clark himself opened another unadorned door at the rear of the room and gestured her inside with a surprisingly friendly smile.

Rebecca followed him into the inner office and closed the door, waiting for him to walk around behind his plain gray metal desk before she sat in yet another uncomfortable chair in front of it. With his jacket off and his white shirt sleeves rolled up, Clark was standard government issue—somewhere between thirty-five and forty, brown hair, dark steel-

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framed glasses, conservative haircut, conventional suit, dark tie, plain shirt. Wedding ring, hip holster, sharp eyes.

“Lieutenant,” he said, settling into the fake black leather desk chair. He tilted back slightly and swiveled a few degrees from side to side. “Back to work already? Glad to see that injury isn’t slowing you down.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca replied, wondering just how glad Clark really was to see her back on the job. Her headache had ratcheted up the moment she’d walked into the federal building. She doubted the dull throbbing behind her eyes had anything to do with her injury. She’d never liked the politics of law enforcement, but now that she’d been promoted, she had no choice but to navigate the murky waters populated by self-interested elected officials, federal agents, and local police.

Power and control were the sought-after prizes, and public perception often more important than results. It wasn’t a game she liked, but she had to play.

“I appreciate you all helping us out,” Clark said.

“We didn’t exactly have a choice on that, since you went over our heads with the plan.”

Clark shrugged, his smile still in place, his expression a mixture of false innocence and self-satisfaction. “Time was of the essence, so I just wanted to avoid getting bogged down in red tape. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“What I’d appreciate,” Rebecca said, holding his gaze, “is a look at the statements from Irina Guterov and the other girls in that house, along with whatever you have on the Russian connection to local crime.

You want us to do your legwork and the brass agrees. I don’t intend to do it blind.”

“Well,” Clark said as if he were thinking, “the girls didn’t really give us much. They don’t know very much. Most of them don’t even speak English.”

“Irina does.”

“True, which is why we can use her.” Clark’s eyes narrowed.

“Girls like Irina are not that easy to replace. The Russians need women like her to indoctrinate the new girls into the system. The fresh ones have to be taught how to behave at private parties, what to expect when they go to a video shoot, how to handle johns at the clubs. They’re going to want her back, and soon.”

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“I agree.” Rebecca crossed her legs, letting her arms drape casually along the wooden armrests. His casual dismissal of the plight of the girls, all victims, even Irina, grated on her. But she hadn’t come to fight a battle she couldn’t win. “What makes you think we can trust her?”

“She doesn’t want to go back to Russia.” Clark shrugged. “And then there’s the matter of her sister. She wants to find her. She wants to protect her. All things considered, we’ve got serious leverage.”

“Where is her sister?”

Clark shook his head. “No idea. The sister arrived here after Guterov. Not that long ago, apparently, as some sort of reward for Guterov’s cooperation in running the other girls. Except the Russians didn’t put them together the way they promised.”

“Using a little leverage of their own,” Rebecca mused. Keeping Irina obligated to them—first with promises to bring her sister to this country, then by stringing her along and keeping them apart.

“Yes. Threats against families are one of the traditional means of controlling these girls.”

“So the sister might not even be in the city.”

“Possibly, although she probably is. They don’t cycle them out of here that quickly, and I suspect they’d keep her close in case Guterov threatened to stop working if they didn’t produce her.”