"The window's down a couple of inches, so maybe he was here awhile."

"Looks like one shot. Exit wound on the left temple." Rebecca studied the two-inch crater between the corner of the victim's left eye and ear. The edges of the wound-a pastiche of skin, muscle, and bone-were exploded outward, indicating the shot had come from the opposite side. "Pa.s.senger?"

"Could be. Or else he met someone here who opened the pa.s.senger door, leaned into the car, and-bam."

Rebecca looked over her shoulder, scanning the empty parking lot between Market and Front Streets under the ma.s.sive arch of the Ben Franklin Bridge. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances, the lot was shrouded in shadow, but the potholed surface now appeared eerily bright under the halogen glare of the portable crime scene unit lights. A bevy of black-and-whites were parked along the perimeter, the reds and blues from * 151 *

RADCLY fFE their light bars adding to the surreal glow. Yellow crime scene tape ringed the block-square asphalt eld. "Desolate area under the best of circ.u.mstances. Had to be someone he knew to get him down here this time of night."

"Or someone he wasn't afraid of," Watts said.

"Or maybe someone he was afraid of. And couldn't refuse."

Watts grunted. "Can't wait to see what the surveillance team has to say about this."

Rebecca studied George Beecher, the man she had spent the previous three nights shadowing. She had been relieved of that burden after Captain Henry had a.s.signed round-the-clock surveillance on him.

Clearly, something had gone awry. "Anybody talk to them yet?"

Straightening slowly, stretching his back before casually adjusting his crotch, Watts shrugged. "Who the f.u.c.k knows." He looked around with a sour expression. "Between the bra.s.s and the press, it's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned three-ring circus. I can't even tell who's in charge of the case."

"Wait until the DA hears about this. She's going to have someone's head." Rebecca searched the crowd for Flanagan. Right now, what she needed was hard data. And Flanagan was the only one who would have it.

Watts grunted. "Well, as long as it ain't ours."

"Don't bet on it."

"You know, Loo," Watts said with uncharacteristic hesitancy, "this place is three blocks from Sloan's."

Rebecca gave him a sharp look, but the fact hadn't escaped her.

"You have a point?"

With his gaze xed somewhere beyond Rebecca's left shoulder, he nodded. "I don't like coincidences."

"Neither do I."

"We got company."

The increasingly dyspeptic expression on her partner's face tipped Rebecca to the ident.i.ty of the new arrival. Her own face expressionless, she turned to watch Avery Clark cross the parking lot toward them.

"Man, this guy gives me a giant pain in the b.a.l.l.s," Watts muttered.

"Me too."

Watts chuckled and shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if * 152 *

Justice Served expecting a punch-or getting ready to throw one. Rebecca doubted that he was aware of just how intimidating he looked-a bulky, hard-eyed, tough guy who could just as easily have been a thug as a cop. She hadn't the slightest inclination to rein him in.

"Well, Lieutenant, this is an unfortunate occurrence," Avery Clark observed, bending down to peer into the vehicle.

"I'd wager Mr. Beecher feels the same," Rebecca replied.

Clark straightened. "Yes, well, we have a bit of a problem, don't we?"

Rebecca said nothing, aware of Watts next to her, rocking back and forth like a rodeo bull ready to burst from his pen. Clark pretended not to notice.

"We've lost a suspect," Clark intoned as if it were news. "A high-pro le suspect likely to give us credible intelligence concerning a major crime organization in this city. That does not look good."

"To who?" Watts asked abruptly, the words chopped out with the force of a blow.

Clark spared Watts a glance before locking eyes with Rebecca.

"To anyone."

Rebecca took this to mean that some of the dirt from this asco was going to rub off on Clark, and he didn't like it. She didn't really care whether he liked it or not. What she did care about was that they'd had a brie ng in Police Plaza less than twenty-four hours earlier where they'd discussed their suspicions regarding George Beecher, and now he was dead. He was undoubtedly their leak, and now it appeared as if he might not be the only one. He'd been neatly and swiftly eliminated before they could question him.

"We need to move quickly to freeze all of his accounts, get his computers from both his residence and his of ce, and start looking for connections," Rebecca said. "Because whoever eliminated him is burying their trail right now."

When she turned as if to leave, Clark nonchalantly stepped into her path. "I'm wondering if this. .h.i.t might not be something a bit closer to home."

Beside her, Watts made a sound in the back of his throat that reminded Rebecca of an attack dog warning off an intruder. She said nothing, because she knew Clark's game. He was looking for information and hoping to goad her into providing it.

* 153 *

RADCLY fFE "Maybe this has nothing to do with anything...professional,"

he went on. "Maybe it's someone with a personal score to settle with Beecher."

Unfortunately, Rebecca knew what he was after and also what needed to be done to protect the integrity of her team. "I'll talk to her."

"I'll have one of my agents pick her up-"

Rebecca stepped forward so quickly that Clark took an involuntary step backward. With her face an inch from his, she shot out in a clipped, deadly voice, "You don't go near her. I'll question her. The report will be on Henry's desk by eight a.m. If you want to know what it says, read it there."

Clark blinked, a slow ush darkening his features. "I have jurisdiction-"

"You don't have d.i.c.k," Rebecca interrupted. "This is a homicide.

This is PPD business. The only reason you're standing here right now is because I'm trying to be cooperative. You touch any of my people and I'm not going to be so obliging in the future."

For a moment, they stood toe to toe in the unforgiving glare of the arti cial lights, looking like two ghters in the middle of the ring waiting for the starting bell to sound. Waiting to throw the rst punch.

Then, Clark abruptly pivoted and strode rapidly away.

"So now we know who's really got the b.a.l.l.s around here," Watts remarked appreciatively.

Rebecca icked him a look of amused irritation. "Let's go talk to Sloan."

* 154 *

Justice Served

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Michael surfaced slowly from deep sleep, roused by an annoying, repet.i.tive beep. It took her a few seconds to recognize the sound as the alarm from one of the security sensors. She rolled over with a murmur of protest and extended one arm. "Sloan, darling..."

The bed beside her was empty. Sighing, she drew back the covers, reached automatically for her robe at the foot of the bed, and absently tied the sash around her waist as she walked down the hall. Beside the elevator doors, a panel slid open at the touch of a b.u.t.ton to reveal a recessed cabinet holding a bank of security monitors. Squinting at the image on the screen above the blinking red light, she recognized Rebecca Frye standing on the small landing at the front entrance.

"Rebecca?" Michael asked after switching on the audio.

"Sorry to bother you, Michael, but we need to see Sloan."

"She's not here," Michael replied. "Maybe downstairs in the of ce."

"Can we come up?"

"Of course. I'm sorry. I'll buzz you in." Michael gave a small laugh. "I'm still half asleep."

"Sorry."

"No, no need to be. Come up. I'll put coffee on."

v Two minutes later, Rebecca exited the elevator with Watts by her side. They stopped just inside the loft, waiting.

"Good morning," Michael said with a smile, emerging from the kitchen alcove. She indicated the leather sofas in the living room.

"Would you like to sit down?"

* 155 *

RADCLY fFE "No, we're ne," Rebecca said out of habit.

"Coffee, then?"

Before Rebecca could answer, Watts jumped in. "That would be terri c. I can smell it from here."

"It'll just be another minute or so. Please, won't you sit down?"

Rebecca acquiesced, and they moved into the living room. Rebecca and Watts took opposite ends of a deep teal leather sofa while Michael settled on an ivory one across from them.

"Do you know where Sloan is?" Rebecca asked.

"No, I called downstairs while you were on your way up. No one answered, so I'm afraid I can't help you."

"It's pretty early," Rebecca said.

Michael laughed. "Sloan has no regard for time, especially when she's involved with a case. She keeps odd hours."

"But she was here earlier in the evening?"

"Oh, yes. We went out in the late afternoon and were back here by nine, I think. We..." Michael smiled faintly and blushed. "We went to bed early."

Watts shifted uneasily and made a point of gazing out the wall of windows toward the Delaware River. Barge traf c was already heavy on the river below.

"Would you happen to know about when you...got to sleep?"

Michael laughed softly. "I'm afraid I wasn't watching the clock, Lieutenant."

"No, of course not," Rebecca said evenly. "So you have no idea when she might have left?"

"I'm sorry, I don't. I seem to sleep very deeply once I nally nod off." Michael tilted her head, her expression quizzical. "Why don't you call her cell phone? Most of the time she forgets to turn it on, but since I've been...ill, she's very good about it."

"We will," Rebecca replied. At the moment, she wasn't actually interested in speaking to Sloan. What she wanted was to establish a timeline for Sloan's activities the previous evening. Hopefully, a timeline that would put her far away from the parking lot at Front and Market.

Rebecca waited until Michael had gone to the kitchen and returned with a tray holding coffee mugs, cream and sugar, and a small plate of * 156 *

Justice Served muf ns before continuing her questions. "Would you know if she made any phone calls last night from home?"

"No, I'm quite sure she didn't. We came in and went directly to bed."

Watts coughed and busied himself with his coffee.

"What about incoming calls? Did she perhaps receive a call and go out afterward?"

Michael frowned. "No. Nothing that I recall. What's going on?

Is...she's all right, isn't she?" She sat forward, paling visibly. "You don't think she's hurt or in danger?"

"No," Rebecca said quickly. "Nothing like that."

"But something's wrong. What's happened?"

Rebecca hadn't touched her coffee. She'd gotten little help from what Michael had given her, and that frustrated her. But the sudden change in Michael's appearance worried her even more. Michael was trembling, and there was something close to panic in her eyes.

"Michael, I..."

The nearly inaudible swish of the elevator doors sliding open brought Michael to her feet, and the sudden change in position made her light-headed. She swayed unsteadily.

The rst thing Sloan saw when she walked into her home was her lover, looking as if she was about to fall.

"Michael?" Sloan cried in alarm, reaching Michael's side in four long strides. "Baby, what's wrong?" She slid an arm around her lover's waist and eased her down on the sofa. She brushed her lips over Michael's forehead. "Hey. What happened? Did you get sick? Why didn't you call me?"