Free Justice in the Shadows by Radclyffe Page A

girl pretending to be a guy? Who?”
    Jasmine turned and her gaze fell on Officer Dellon Mitchell.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    “No,” Rebecca said immediately. “Mitchell’s not trained for undercover.”
    “I can do it.” Mitchell’s voice was quiet and sure.
    “Undercover work takes practice, kid,” Watts interjected. “You gotta be the person twenty-four seven, because if you lose it for just a minute, you’ll get made. And then…”
    He shrugged his shoulders, and a heavy silence fell around the table.
    “Dell would be a sitting duck,” Sandy said into the ensuing void. “Nobody’s gonna take her for anything but a cop. Jesus, look at her.”
    “Sandy,” Mitchell interrupted, her voice low. “Take it easy.”
    “You’re just dumb enough to try it. Fuck, Dell.” Sandy slammed back in her chair, muttering something about moronic cops under her breath.
    Rebecca glanced sideways at the young blond, contemplating the ferocity in her voice. That’s just perfect. These two are already way too involved. God damn it. Another complication I don’t have time to deal with.
    “There’s no point in discussing it,” Rebecca said flatly. “We don’t even have time to create a good background cover for you, Mitchell. You can’t just one day appear. You need a history, a back story, contacts, people who know you as the person you’re pretending to be.”
    “That’s where I come in,” Jasmine said, her tone mildly conciliatory. “If I introduce her, she has instant credibility. Once she’s part of the group at the Troc, that buys her entrance to Ziggies with no questions asked. It shouldn’t take more than a matter of days to establish her as a regular.”
    “Yeah?” Watts asked belligerently. “And what about the little matter of Mitchell looking like a guy? She don’t, even if she does have short hair and not much in the way of tits.”
    “Actually, detective,” Jasmine said, “she doesn’t have to look like a man. She only has to give the impression of one. It’s in the walk, the attitude, the tone of voice.”
    “Oh, for fu—”
    “Let’s assume,” Rebecca interjected, sensing that Watts was about to blow a fuse, “that Mitchell can pass…”
    “I can.” Mitchell met Rebecca’s gaze. “Isn’t it what we do all the time, Sergeant? Play the game?”
    Rebecca studied the unflinching, deep blue eyes. So you know already? Playing the game—yes, that’s what we do. Pretending that the things we see don’t affect us, that the fear isn’t real, that the violence doesn’t touch us. That we aren’t bleeding inside.
    “Assuming that Mitchell is accepted by your friends at the Troc, how soon can we get her into Ziggies?”
    “There’s a big show at the club this weekend,” Jasmine replied. “A group of us usually go out after to celebrate, while we’re still…dressed.”
    Watts snorted. “To a topless bar?”
    Jasmine stiffened, and, for the first time, she looked angry. “Our choices are limited, detective.”
    “Where do you live, Mitchell?” Rebecca asked.
    “Independence Place.” Mitchell named one of the expensive high-rises just south of Walnut at 6th Street, bordering Washington Square Park.
    Rebecca shook her head. “No good. We’ll need to find you an apartment a little more downscale than that.”
    “There’s a place open in my building,” Sandy said quietly.
    Before Rebecca could object, Jasmine said, “That might be good. It wouldn’t hurt for Mitchell to have a girlfriend, either. Another piece of the picture.”
    Mitchell blushed and Watts snorted.
    “Okay,” Rebecca said, lightly slapping her palms on the tabletop. “Let’s go with this plan for now. Jasmine, you’re in charge of getting Mitchell…geared up.”
    “What’s your address, stud?” Jasmine asked. When Mitchell gave it to her, she added, “I’ll be over in an hour. Why don’t you bring Sandy, too. She can be our first audience.”
    Rebecca turned to Sandy. “What’s the situation at your