In Pursuit of Justice Read Online Free
Author: Radclyffe
doing.”
“Meaning what, Rebecca?” Catherine asked, her voice rising sharply. “Putting yourself in the line of fire before you’ve even healed from the last gunshot wound?”
“What?” Rebecca stopped dead, staring at her, completely perplexed. “You don’t think what happened is normal, do you? It’s a one in a million thing. Most police officers never even have to draw their weapons in the line of duty their entire careers.”
“I don’t care if it’s ‘one in a million’ when it’s you,” Catherine replied softly, unable to keep the tears from her voice. “You’re the only one I care about.”
Rebecca’s frustration at her own sense of helplessness disappeared in the face of Catherine’s clear distress. “Hey,” she said gently, moving quickly back to her and slipping firm arms around her waist. “Are we fighting?”
“No,” Catherine sighed, leaning her cheek against Rebecca’s chest. “ We’re obsessing.”
“Uh-uh…cops don’t obsess. We just act.” There was a playful tone in her voice, but on some very basic level, she meant it. What she did, she did by instinct and reflex. Part of it was training and part of it was just her. When you stopped to think, you got yourself—or someone else—killed. Unfortunately, it probably wasn’t the best approach to relationships, but it had never mattered so much before. “Cops don’t go in too much for self-analysis. Nothing worse than second-guessing yourself out on the street.”
Catherine snorted. “Don’t think I haven’t heard that before—from every cop I’ve ever talked to.”
“Well then, see? It must be true.”
“Detective?”
“Hmm?”
“Shut up.” And then Catherine kissed her, forgetting for the moment that her detective was still healing, forgetting that she was worried about her safety, and even forgetting that she was angry—so angry—for her risking her life with no thought to how Catherine would survive the loss. She kissed her hard, enjoying the feel of those familiar arms tightening around her, thighs pressing close, hands claiming flesh. She kissed her until her own breath fled and her trembling legs threatened to desert her. “Much better,” she finally murmured.
“Yeah. I’ll pick you up at 7:00 for dinner,” Rebecca said, her voice low and throaty. Another minute of that and she could forget the gym, because she wouldn’t be able to walk.
“Yes.”
As the door closed, Catherine listened to Rebecca’s footsteps fading to silence. A silence so deep she thought she might drown in it.
*
“Well, well, well…will you just look at what’s arrived to brighten the mornin’,” a voice bearing a hint of Ireland crooned in her ear. “And looking mighty fine as ever.”
Rebecca finished the upward motion of her arms, deposited the barbell on the cleats, and turned her head on the slant board to eye the redhead kneeling by her side. Sparkling sea-foam eyes, faintly frizzy shoulder-length red hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, a dusting of freckles across pale skin. And a smile to light the darkest night. “Flanagan know you’re loose?”
“Oh, no,” Maggie Collins, the senior crime scene technician, whispered conspiratorially. “The general is mighty busy combing through a raccoon coat with a magnifying glass lookin’ for dandruff and whatnot. She didn’t see me sneaking away on my lunch break.”
“She gives you a lunch break now?” Rebecca asked, sitting up on the end of the weight bench and toweling off. Her navy blue T-shirt with the police logo on the left chest was soaked through, as were her sweatpants, and she’d only been working out for fifteen minutes.
“Aye. Something about human rights requirements in the workplace.”
“Huh. Amazing. What’s she trying to find—DNA from the shed scalp skin?”
“That or from a hair follicle that isn’t too desiccated to type.” Maggie offered the detective her unopened plastic bottle of water. Frye was shaking, and
“Meaning what, Rebecca?” Catherine asked, her voice rising sharply. “Putting yourself in the line of fire before you’ve even healed from the last gunshot wound?”
“What?” Rebecca stopped dead, staring at her, completely perplexed. “You don’t think what happened is normal, do you? It’s a one in a million thing. Most police officers never even have to draw their weapons in the line of duty their entire careers.”
“I don’t care if it’s ‘one in a million’ when it’s you,” Catherine replied softly, unable to keep the tears from her voice. “You’re the only one I care about.”
Rebecca’s frustration at her own sense of helplessness disappeared in the face of Catherine’s clear distress. “Hey,” she said gently, moving quickly back to her and slipping firm arms around her waist. “Are we fighting?”
“No,” Catherine sighed, leaning her cheek against Rebecca’s chest. “ We’re obsessing.”
“Uh-uh…cops don’t obsess. We just act.” There was a playful tone in her voice, but on some very basic level, she meant it. What she did, she did by instinct and reflex. Part of it was training and part of it was just her. When you stopped to think, you got yourself—or someone else—killed. Unfortunately, it probably wasn’t the best approach to relationships, but it had never mattered so much before. “Cops don’t go in too much for self-analysis. Nothing worse than second-guessing yourself out on the street.”
Catherine snorted. “Don’t think I haven’t heard that before—from every cop I’ve ever talked to.”
“Well then, see? It must be true.”
“Detective?”
“Hmm?”
“Shut up.” And then Catherine kissed her, forgetting for the moment that her detective was still healing, forgetting that she was worried about her safety, and even forgetting that she was angry—so angry—for her risking her life with no thought to how Catherine would survive the loss. She kissed her hard, enjoying the feel of those familiar arms tightening around her, thighs pressing close, hands claiming flesh. She kissed her until her own breath fled and her trembling legs threatened to desert her. “Much better,” she finally murmured.
“Yeah. I’ll pick you up at 7:00 for dinner,” Rebecca said, her voice low and throaty. Another minute of that and she could forget the gym, because she wouldn’t be able to walk.
“Yes.”
As the door closed, Catherine listened to Rebecca’s footsteps fading to silence. A silence so deep she thought she might drown in it.
*
“Well, well, well…will you just look at what’s arrived to brighten the mornin’,” a voice bearing a hint of Ireland crooned in her ear. “And looking mighty fine as ever.”
Rebecca finished the upward motion of her arms, deposited the barbell on the cleats, and turned her head on the slant board to eye the redhead kneeling by her side. Sparkling sea-foam eyes, faintly frizzy shoulder-length red hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, a dusting of freckles across pale skin. And a smile to light the darkest night. “Flanagan know you’re loose?”
“Oh, no,” Maggie Collins, the senior crime scene technician, whispered conspiratorially. “The general is mighty busy combing through a raccoon coat with a magnifying glass lookin’ for dandruff and whatnot. She didn’t see me sneaking away on my lunch break.”
“She gives you a lunch break now?” Rebecca asked, sitting up on the end of the weight bench and toweling off. Her navy blue T-shirt with the police logo on the left chest was soaked through, as were her sweatpants, and she’d only been working out for fifteen minutes.
“Aye. Something about human rights requirements in the workplace.”
“Huh. Amazing. What’s she trying to find—DNA from the shed scalp skin?”
“That or from a hair follicle that isn’t too desiccated to type.” Maggie offered the detective her unopened plastic bottle of water. Frye was shaking, and
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