Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4)

by Black, Regan

  "I'm going to ask you to trust me."

  Trina frowned, her feet taking root on the cracked cement of the sidewalk. "You'd better explain."

  "It's safe, I promise you. But...well. I just have to clear visitors."

  "With who? You can't say you live around here." She turned a slow circle, as if inspecting the area from a point of fear. "It's gotta be condemned." Anticipation had her senses humming and she had to fight the urge to fidget as adrenaline pumped through her system. So close. This was Slick Micky's lair. Had to be. She flexed her hands. So very, very close to the man who'd killed her best friend.

  "I know how it looks. Just trust me," April pleaded.

  Trina hunched her shoulders and shot a wary glance in the direction of the el. "Okay." She let April guide her up the stoop and through the gaping doorway of an abandoned store front. The interior wasn't much improvement from the street, except the observers were limited to a couple junkies lumped in a corner.

  Her visual inventory caught a concealed security camera, covering the door they'd walked through and Trina surreptitiously searched out two more less obvious lenses. How many people were on the other end of that camera feed? And why? She could believe Slick Micky was paranoid, but so was the police department. If this was some sort of drug sting, she knew she could skate. Her identification matched her current disguise and her story about a bully on the train would hold up as long as April didn't flake out as a witness.

  She leaned closer to April and whispered, "What is this place?"

  "It's safe. I swear. Just give me a second." She gave Trina's hand a little squeeze and moved toward the junkies in the corner.

  They spoke too low for Trina to hear the exact words, but she picked up the hiss of aggravation. Apparently April wasn't supposed to bring friends home. The girl held her ground, her spine straight and her chin high, and eventually the completely sober men in junkie disguises backed down.

  "All set," she said happily, waving Trina over.

  One guy asked her name with all the charm of a drill sergeant. "Katrina," she replied, giving the name that matched the id in her pocket as she memorized the eyes of both gatekeepers.

  "Come in, have some dinner," April said. "Then we'll see."

  "See what?" Trina felt uncomfortably like a stray puppy as April led her away.

  April looked back over her shoulder. "Nevermind. Aren't you hungry?" She turned toward a stairwell that looked less than reliable. Before Trina could protest the broken treads, April pushed open a hidden door and led the way into a dimly lit, spotless hallway.

  As the door closed behind her, Trina struggled to mute the panic and excitement that warred for emotional dominance. Her target was within reach. Neither secret entrances nor security details would keep her from the goal.

  She moved forward even as her mind calculated an exit strategy, hoping April believed any signs of eagerness were food related. There were a couple turns, approximately a single story's worth of stairs down followed by another long stretch of hallway before April stopped and smiled into a security camera.

  Trina had no doubt she could take out the king of Chicago smugglers, but surviving the task was looking like a bleak proposition.

  Trina gave her best impression of an uncertain, lost girl – not a big stretch – as the small eye panned to her. She waited for a trap door to open beneath her feet, but electronic locks hummed and snicked and the door swung open on a silent mechanism.

  Seriously cool, high tech stuff.

  What had probably been a corporate cafeteria in its prime was still a dining hall but with more warmth than the original designers had intended. The concrete floor was painted like an Italian terrace, the tables varied in size and shape and the aroma coming out of the kitchen set Trina's mouth watering.

  "Holy shit. How'd you learn the secret handshake to get in here?" Slick Micky had spared no expense here. How had the murderous bastard managed to keep it hidden?

  She turned when April sniffled. "What?"

  "I was invited by – " She cleared her throat and forced her mouth into a brave, wobbly smile. "Well, she's gone now, but she was a great lady and a good friend."

  Trina wanted to push, but April looked so vulnerable she decided to wait. "So you live here?"

  "Not here exactly. But we can eat and then you can think about the next step."

  While that sounded a little on the cult side of foreboding, Trina wasn't about to turn down a good meal.

  As they went through the line and Trina indulged in an Irish stew and chunk of fresh bread that was the source of the fabulous aroma, April explained how things worked in the tidy, private community. She introduced her to the other girls when they were seated at a large table.

  Trina deflected a flurry of personal questions by keeping the focus on April's quick thinking on the train. "She promised to teach me the move."

  "I can do that." April nodded. "Definitely."

  "You should take one of Jaden's self-defense classes," the girl named Chloe suggested.

  "Jaden?" Trina didn't like the calculating gleam in her eye.

  "Yeah." The girl twirled her sunny blond ponytail. "She teaches here regularly, but she's got a studio on the outside."

  "You make it sound like prison here."

  "Just the opposite." Chloe gave a smile designed to hide a multitude of secrets. "We've got it so good, there's no point taking a chance on the streets."

  "What is the catch here?" Trina watched the other girls decide to shut her out with a simple glance. She played it innocent. "There's gotta be some serious cash invested to make a place this sweet."

  That earned her a flutter of snickers until ringleader Chloe shushed them all. "Better tell her the catch, April."

  Trina wanted to give the calculating Chloe a quick personal nightmare, but some remnant wisdom stayed the urge.

  "No catch." April smiled at Trina, then looked at each of the others at the table. "Not tonight."

  Though she'd effectively ended the quest for information, Trina couldn't blame April. If this wasn't Slick Micky's operation, he had some cunning competition. It seemed the only way to find out was to let April recruit her, but she wanted all the details, clauses, and commitments up front.

  "We're heading up," Chloe announced, pushing back from the table. "You coming, April?"

  "In a minute."

  Chloe shrugged. "Your problem if you skip. Sis isn't around to cover your ass any more."

  Suddenly 'brave April' from the train was spitting mad and standing toe to toe with Chloe. "I'm aware, thank you."

  Trina braced to break up the fight, but Chloe backed down. "You're feisty tonight."

  "No, Chloe," April clarified. "I'm pissed. I'll be up in a minute." April glared until Chloe and her crew were out of sight. "Sorry about that," she said, with a tired smile for Trina. "We're supposed to be family here. She's such a bitch."

  Trina laughed. "Oh well, you've nailed it. Families are full of dysfunction and strife. Bickering was just part of the daily charm at my house."

  April frowned at her empty water glass.

  "Is there someone who can walk me out and you can go do whatever you need to do?" A strange emotion clogged her throat. Regret, she realized, for putting April in a tight spot.

  "I'd really like you to stay. It's safe here and that guy on the train won't be happy you got away."

  "He doesn't know how to find me."

  "Right." April's eyebrows lifted. "But no one will ever find you here."

  "That's sweet and friendly." And she was remarkably short on sweet and friendly in her life. "But I can't. I don't even know what you do, um, upstairs."

  "Nothing bad. Well, not too bad."

  Trina fiddled with her spoon, thinking back to the stew that had been as good as her grandmother's. It wasn't the only thing she missed from her original life, but it ranked up there with the things she missed most.

  "I really can't say more unless you decide to stay."

  "How can I
decide without information?"

  April chewed on her lip. "I know. But look around. Do we look so unhappy?"

  Trina shook her head. That was the thing, everyone looked far too content for living in the dangerous heart of a burned out industrial district. Gut instinct told her this was the right place – no way there could be more than one smuggler with this sort of set up. It was too extensive, too deceptive, too protected. But her gut couldn't settle on the best course of action.

  Staying put her under a microscope. Impossible to know for how long. She might get a shot at Slick Micky tomorrow, or it might take weeks to get close enough to the target. Either way, finding a safe way out of this complex might prove the bigger challenge.

  Going could end her best chance to identify and lop off the head of Chicago's king of smuggling. Walking away from a golden opportunity didn't appeal, but leaving would grant her another day to hunt on her own terms.

  She stilled the internal debate long enough to listen to her instincts. This was Slick Micky's house. He held home field advantage. The element of surprise wouldn't last long even if only half the cameras were live.

  Survival trumped the payday and momentarily suppressed the need for vengeance.

  "Why don't you teach me that move, then point me toward the exit."

  Chapter Five

  Micky disconnected and sighed over the report from security. Not only had April made a delivery when he'd ordered a lockdown, she'd brought in a stray. "Why do I work with females?" Naturally, his empty apartment didn't offer an answer. He didn't expect his grief over Sis to fade any time soon, but dealing with the day to day crap she'd managed for him was getting old fast.

  Of course he knew every mule on his team by name, and in most cases he'd memorized their personal histories. He coordinated routes and taught them how to build clientele. That didn't mean he took the time to say individual good mornings or tuck them in every night.

  Sis would've pulled April aside, explained the situation again, and dealt with the stranger. Now it was up to him.

  He rubbed at the ever present tension in his neck and considered his options. He had an order of coffee beans stuck on the back of a semi with expired plates delayed in Oklahoma. He'd ordered real cigarettes from a new supplier out of Canada and needed to personally meet the damn ferry later tonight.

  And somewhere out there a hitman still hovered like a storm cloud in August, dark and ready to strike.

  If Brian hadn't kept him out of the police station, Micky would have to believe all his luck was gone.

  But luck or not, he wasn't about to roll over for his enemies and leave the team unprotected. He was well educated in the ways of criminal enterprise, but he'd been raised to appreciate the people at the heart of the business. It was a harsh world out there, but he knew how to keep them all in business. As long as they weren't exposed.

  Sis had recruited April, so the girl must have some sense. Sis never brought anyone in out of pity or a sad tale. Which meant there had to be a good reason April brought in a stranger.

  He buzzed his security team. "Have Ben Trumble ready to talk with me in five minutes. If the stray leaves, have her followed."

  It was highly unlikely she'd refuse the life April was surely describing in far too much detail, but assumptions were as dangerous as hitmen in the world of smuggling.

  Choosing the private access route, he headed to his office and was sitting at his desk, a picture of calm when Jim knocked on the door.

  "Enter."

  The door swung open and Jim announced the guest with as much pomp as any London-bred butler, "Ben Trumble, meet Slick Micky."

  Ben just stared, his feet rooted to the floor until Jim shoved him inside and pulled the door shut behind him. Micky could almost hear the kid's knees knocking. If this kid pushed Sis out the window, he was one damned fine actor.

  "You armed?"

  "No. No sir."

  "Didn't try to get anything past my team? Haven't tried to get word to the Reverend?"

  Ben shook his head. "Not since I woke up in Miss Leigh's place."

  "What did you try?"

  Ben took a sudden, keen interest in his shoes. "I tried to slip out of a window."

  "And?" Micky was dying to know how the notorious Cleveland secured his home.

  "Who wires windows with tasers? On the inside?"

  "Nasty. Sit down," Micky ordered. "So what did Leigh tell you?"

  The kid sat like he had a titanium rod in his spine. "She said I could get my sorry self together or she'd take me back to the church and let the Reverend deal with me."

  "He still might deal with you if he finds out you've changed sides. Assuming you change sides."

  "I know that. But Jim says he can teach me things to increase my odds."

  "He can. And he will, if you prove yourself trustworthy."

  "I'll do anything, sir." Ben leaned forward, equal parts earnest and desperate. "This is a nice place you've got."

  "Seen the whole thing already?" Was there a damned open house going on no one thought to mention?

  "No. Just the office and bunkroom. Haven't been allowed anywhere else. Oh. And they let me squat with the guard at one entrance."

  That was something. "Security makes the world go round." And real coffee kept the guards alert. "What do you know about me?"

  "Only that you're the best at what you do, sir."

  "And what do you believe I do?"

  "Run the best of everything anyone wants in the city."

  Good to know the street rep was still solid. "So why do you want to kill me?"

  Ben paled. "I don't sir. I never did. No way. It was an order, that's all. One I didn't want to follow, but I had to. To move up the food chain."

  "What was waiting for you?"

  "Sir?"

  "Up the food chain," Micky clarified, hoping to hell it was only nerves making the kid obtuse.

  "More money."

  Micky waited.

  Ben sighed. "Taking you out gave the Reverend more room on the street. He said bigger territory meant everyone got a bigger cut. I woulda been a legend to make that happen."

  "That's what matters most? You want to be a legend?"

  "Beats the hell outta being a patsy."

  Micky couldn't disagree. "The Reverend's got a nasty reputation. How'd you fall in with him?"

  "My sister came to Chicago a few years back. She said things were good and she sent money home, but there's been no news since January. I came looking for her and wound up at the church when I ran out of cash."

  Micky swore. The Reverend was a damned pariah who ran a shelter con to draw in fresh blood for his brothels and personal staff.

  "You ever find your sister?"

  "Not yet."

  "She's not hooking for the Reverend?"

  "No, sir. I don't believe she ever – " he gulped, "– did that. I went to the address she gave us, but her place had been rented again by the time I got there."

  "Nice neighborhood?"

  Ben nodded vigorously. "Outta my league. People remembered her and told me she left one morning and then that was it. She never came back."

  "What kind of work did she do, Ben?"

  "She was a clerk at the courthouse. It sure must have paid better up here than back home."

  "Uh-huh." But Micky was more than halfway done with the puzzle of Ben's sister. He'd had a mule daring enough to run contraband at the courthouse. She'd been one of the first girls he'd lost in that rash of disappearances Brian's police force had eventually pinned on a corrupt judge last spring. He didn't want to ask her name, didn't want to hide the recognition. "Gotta picture?"

  "Not on me. It was on my cell card. Miss Leigh turned that over to your guys when I arrived."

  Micky nodded. "I'll see what I can find out. What'd you do back home, Ben?"

  "Little bit of everything." His eyes went wide. "Legal, I swear. I mostly fixed stuff for folks."

  "So becoming a hitman..."

  "Not my best id
ea." He raised his right hand like he was about to testify before Saint Peter. "I never killed anyone in my life. But it was the only way to move up. I couldn't get anywhere with the Reverend just as me."

  "So how did you plan to take me out?"

  "I've got good aim. I was gonna shoot you."

  "You were going to shoot a man you've never seen?"

  "I had a description," Ben insisted.

  "On your cell card?"

  The kid looked away, ran a hand through his hair. "The Reverend told me where to look for you."

  Micky raised an eyebrow.

  "Down around the old Levee district."

  "Was I there?"

  "No, sir." Ben shook his head. He cleared his throat. "What are you gonna do with me?"

  "I've been thinking that over. I could use a little extra protection for a job tonight. You'll have to do some heavy lifting."

  "I'm strong."

  "Can you swim?" The kid nodded. "Great. Be ready by ten. Get some cold weather gear from Jim. You'll be checked for weapons going out and coming back. If this works for us, I'll see where you might fit in around here. Provided you want to stick around."

  Ben nodded again.

  "Go on then," Micky finished with a jerk of his chin. "Jim's waiting for you."

  Ben got to his feet, offering far too much gratitude, but he paused at the door. "For the record, sir, the description was all wrong."

  Micky managed to stifle his laughter until he was alone again.

  * * *

  In all her days, Trina had never met a more secretive group of people. Quite a revelation considering her profession. Assassins didn't have conventions or block parties, but the good ones had cover identities deep enough to pass the gossipy neighbor test. In her experience, telling people what they wanted to hear, or at least enough to keep them distracted, meant you could do pretty much whatever you wanted to do. Even if that was hiring yourself out as a mistress of death.

  She hid a smile at that dramatic moniker, as she climbed the stairs to the el station. From there, she looked back over the dreary street and crumbling buildings. People didn't go to these extremes to hide if they didn't have something valuable to protect. In this case it had to be the top dog of smugglers.