Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4)

by Black, Regan

Now, if anyone caught him out here, they'd think he was just feeling cocky enough to skip the body armor.

  Keeping a knee on her back, he was going through her pockets when Jim's voice came through the com link. "You're not in the office."

  "Nope." He tried and failed to conceal a cough.

  "I've got another treatment mask."

  Micky ignored that. "Did you get our people out safe?"

  "Yes."

  "Pick me up at the fence behind our unit." He smiled when Jim muttered an oath that surely wasn't flattering. "I've got the kidnapper here with me."

  "Of course you do. Any ID?"

  For the first time, Micky considered his prisoner. "Not so far." He reached to push her hair away from her face and choked for an entirely new reason. He recognized that fine-boned cheek, the auburn arch of brow over the closed eye. An eye he knew would be the clearest blue when it opened. "Well, I'll be damned."

  "Boss?"

  "Hurry," he managed, before his lungs seized once more.

  What the hell was Trina Durham doing out here? Why would she be involved and where the hell had she come from? She was supposed to be a simple, perfect memory tucked safely away with the rest of his youth. In one way or another he'd carried her with him through the years. First as a reminder of his purpose and later as a regret of things left unsaid and undone.

  Oh, he'd been in trouble with women before, but if her tendency to lash out first and ask questions later hadn't mellowed....

  Well, it sure as hell wouldn't be a gentle or sweet reunion.

  He couldn't even think about that. She stirred and he toyed with the stealth disk in his pocket. This wasn't the place for the kind of reaction or confrontation she was likely to express.

  So easy, better even, to go invisible and pretend he was still dead to her. Jim could take over with interrogation and he...was a freaking coward.

  Determined, he zipped the pocket protecting the stealth disk. Blast from his past or not, she was hip deep in this plot to take him out. He wasn't naïve enough to think she'd just give up the necessary information because they'd been friends once. He had no idea what she'd been through, what she'd been doing since they'd been parted by that explosion. His face would be a shock even if time had mellowed her spitfire personality.

  He growled, wishing he could mute the part of him that hoped she was just the same.

  The truck rumbled closer and he heard the driver downshift to turn a corner. On impulse, he pressed his lips to her temple. She was so lovely, her fair skin as smooth as warm silk under his lips.

  He saw stars when she landed a blow behind his ear, and though he tried, he couldn't catch any of the four feet his blurry vision registered as she darted away, trailing a string of curses.

  Pissed off old friend or not, he couldn't let his first solid lead get away. Surely Jim could get something useful out of Darlene and Ben. He'd contact him as soon as he had Trina safely subdued. With cuffs.

  Out of time. Out of options. Head reeling, he tossed the com link aside and reactivated the stealth suit. Then he stumbled through the fence after Trina.

  * * *

  Trina thrashed through the woods, desperate first to put some distance between herself and Slick Micky's team. When she was safe, she'd work on distancing herself from her own god-forsaken hallucinations.

  She glanced back, saw nothing, but heard the crack of boots snapping twigs and crumbling dry leaves.

  Legs churning, arms pumping, she pushed on, afraid of what might happen if she stopped. She dodged branches and hurdled debris, willing the research to kick in. She'd studied the aerial views. If she could just relax, she knew she'd find a way out.

  Relax? Could anyone really relax in the middle of a psychotic episode?

  It was the only explanation for seeing Joel's face on her captor, never mind being tackled by what had surely been a ghost. Her mind had never betrayed her like this. It was terrifying.

  She slid behind a log like it was home plate and forced herself to stop, listen, and think. There was a way out of this. She never got tangled in a situation without multiple exit plans. She was an accomplished professional, not the scared little girl she'd once been.

  True, this wasn't her best moment. It might even qualify as a massive failure, but it wasn't her first time at the dance. She could improvise. She would survive.

  A moment later she heard her pursuer, recognized his ragged breathing. Did all ghosts sound like that?

  She gave herself a mental shake. Not a ghost. It was something – someone – else. Later she'd analyze why she'd put Joel's face on it. For now, she just needed to eliminate the threat.

  She pushed up silently, just enough to put eyes on what chased her. Her vision said the area was clear, but her ears caught that same raspy breathing.

  "Trina!"

  She dropped back to the ground as her heart leaped into her throat. What the hell was happening to her? No one around here knew her name was Trina. Only Montalbano. Or a ghost. But ghosts were for nightmares and this area was far too rural for an urbanite Montalbano.

  She'd never heard of an auditory hallucination, though if she thought about it, she supposed it could be done. But those footfalls, coming straight for her position, were not a figment of her imagination.

  "Stop!"

  A blessed silence answered her.

  "Please don't run." The plea was followed by another fit of coughing.

  This invisible guy might not be a ghost, but he sure sounded like he had one foot in the grave.

  "W-won't hurt you."

  She believed it. More accurately, she believed she could take a guy who couldn't breathe. If she could just see him.

  "Show yourself."

  "You first."

  A rush of memory swamped her, but she battled back the youthful longing for the friend she'd lost. Joel wasn't waiting on the other side of the log. It was another trick from Slick Micky or his tac team and there was only one way to finish this.

  Steeling herself for the kill, Trina sat upright, eyes scanning the area.

  When a face and torso resembling Joel materialized right in front of her, she heard a buzzing in her ears and felt the past rush up and swallow the present as the world went black.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Dammit. Trina!" Micky jumped the log to find her slumped in the leaves. He felt around, making sure she wasn't hurt, then removed the stealth disk and zipped it away. Relieved she was unharmed, he swore at himself for scaring her into shock.

  He remembered how her mind had always been a rather troubling place; even dangerous when she was upset. If not for the damned effects of the jacked up cigarettes he would've handled this better. At least that's what he told himself as he patted her down, looking for a cell card or com link.

  Coming up empty he cursed his stupid obsession with privacy that made him toss his own com link. He wanted to haul her back to the storage center, but chasing her had worn him out. He was considering sending up smoke signals, when Trina's eyelids fluttered open, treating him to that vivid blue he remembered.

  "Welcome back," he said, with a smile.

  "Joel?"

  His heart stumbled at the name. No one had called him that for years. Even his mother used Micky now that he'd become top dog in Chicago.

  She reached up and brushed her fingertips over his cheek. "You're real?"

  He nodded. All the words he wanted were clogged in his throat, a jumble of nonsensical emotion and troubling questions.

  "Joel. I'm not hallucinating." She blinked several times anyway.

  "Nope. It's me." Her confusion was fading and he started to feel over-exposed as she studied him much too closely.

  She squirmed, nudging him back so she had room to sit up. "You lived."

  Those amazing blue eyes that had been warm with memories were freezing over as reality sank in. He could feel her hating him more with each passing moment. He couldn't blame her.

  "I –"

  "You let me believe you die
d."

  "Not on purpose," he said. He could hardly offer the truth. Though the kid he'd been wanted to justify it, to tell her everything, the man he'd become reminded him she was involved with those who wanted him dead.

  She shoved at his chest. "It's really you?"

  "Yes." He gave her room, as she got to her feet, remembering she'd always been a better thinker when she was moving. He couldn't help noticing how well time had treated her. She'd been beautiful at seventeen, but she was downright glorious now.

  "That's your storage place?"

  "What?" He struggled to put a leash on his reaction.

  "The storage center! Your family owns it?"

  "Well, yeah. Look, Trina we need to get out of here."

  "And you're letting Slick Micky come and go? What would your mother say?"

  His mother thought it had been a good investment. And since the profits kept her in a posh apartment in France he didn't think she'd complain anytime soon. But he wasn't about to go into those details.

  "She'd wonder how the hell you wound up in the middle of a kidnapping," he shot back. "Who are you working for?"

  "Myself," she cried. "Me! I didn't sell my soul –"

  Her lips kept moving, but her voice was swallowed by the boom of a car exploding and the shrieking of torn metal. Micky's vision hazed with memories as clear as the day of the attack. "Stop it, Trina," he begged. He felt as weak as he'd felt then. Weaker, as the old sensations were compounded by the baffling sense of betrayal that she would assault him this way.

  The nightmare ended so abruptly he was sure she'd run off again, except she was slumped at his feet.

  He thought the pounding in his ears was a side effect of her skill, but it was Jim thundering to his side. "You okay, boss?"

  "Did you kill her?" He turned on his security chief, a mix of fear for her and relief to be free of the assault churning inside him.

  "No. Tranq shot. I figured you'd want to interrogate."

  "Right." The man just kept proving himself indispensable. "Right. Thanks." He tried to shift gears, showing relief rather than worry over the fate of a kidnapper he shouldn't know.

  "Good job tracking her down, sir." He holstered his weapon and stared at Micky. "What the hell are you wearing?"

  "It's a thermal layer. Bartered. Thought it might be helpful after, y'know, the bad high."

  Jim shot him a look, but let it go, pulling a small bag out of one of his many pockets. "It was one hell of an obstacle course. Better do this again."

  "No thanks." Micky shook his head at the prepped breathing treatment Jim offered. "I'm fine."

  "Then you'll be fantastic soon. Argue with me and I'll sic the nurse on you."

  Good help was a pain in the ass. Micky grabbed the damned thing and unwrapped it while Jim settled the unconscious Trina over his shoulder.

  "She attacked me." He couldn't wrap his head around a Trina who would try to hurt him. Other than the one time she'd demonstrated what she could do way back when she'd asked for his help, she'd never tried to get in his head.

  "She attacked Ben and Darlene, what did you expect?"

  Well of course, out of context Jim wouldn't get why he was taking it so personally. "She was working alone?"

  "Far as I can tell."

  "Any signal jammers?"

  "Not that we've found."

  "No corruption of the security or video at the front office?"

  Jim shook his head and glared.

  Micky stopped asking questions and put the dumb mask up to his face. He tried to breathe slowly but after the chase and the shock of Trina's unprecedented attack but it wasn't easy. Micky grunted as he thought about the possibilities. He took another slow breath in and out, annoyed that it was helping.

  "Our signals weren't interrupted out here," Jim added. "She threw a lot of other shit at us, but not that."

  Micky made a keep going motion, hoping Jim would answer a few of his many questions just by luck.

  "The storage unit and the truck are intact, though it was all rigged to blow. My guy disabled it easy enough – said it was mostly for show."

  Interesting. What the hell was Trina after?

  "Ben and Darlene are fine. Embarrassed and pissed off, respectively, but fine."

  Micky nodded. The perimeter fence was in sight and he was ashamed to be so relieved. Even with the oxygen boost, he felt too damn weak.

  "Go rest in the truck, boss," Jim said when they were back on the storage center property. "We'll have things secure again in just another few minutes."

  Micky shook his head. With a last slow draw on the mask, he finished the treatment. "Put the girl in the back of the cargo truck and lock her down. I'll change the side panels and follow you back."

  Jim started to protest, then realized the futility of the effort. "You want anyone riding shotgun?"

  "No. Get Ben and Darlene back to the warehouse. Make 'em comfortable, but don't let them talk to anyone."

  "Sure thing."

  "No way," Darlene protested. She pushed away from the crowd of people at the truck. "I earned my own place."

  "It's just for a couple days." She shook her head, but didn't quite look him in the eye. "What is it?"

  She stuffed her hands into her pockets. "I got a cat."

  "For Christ's sake, Darlene."

  "I've been gone too long already."

  "Stop."

  "I'm not leaving him alone wondering –"

  "Just. Stop." He raised a hand. The business he'd run so smoothly for so many years was crumbling around his ears. When he found the murdering bastard who'd put this all into motion his vengeance would be slow and painful.

  "Jim, it appears Darlene needs to bring her cat in."

  To his credit, Jim's composure didn't crack. "Fine. The prisoner is secure. I'll adjust the route while you change the panels."

  "Fair enough?" He raised a brow at Darlene and she wisely darted out of his sight.

  True to his word, Jim had them ready to go within minutes. The stop at Darlene's place was almost as efficient. But when she emerged from her building with the cat carrier in her arms and two members of Jim's team carting paraphernalia, he remembered an important detail. Trina was allergic to cats.

  Rolling down the cab window, he called to them. "Put the cat back here."

  Darlene hesitated only until she saw the look on his face. "You won't let her hurt him?"

  He shook his head. "She's out cold and won't wake up before we get back," he said. "Ask Jim if you don't believe me."

  When the cat, in the carrier, was secured diabolically close to Trina, they headed back into the safety of his territory.

  He hadn't been this happy to be home since the first phase of his warehouse compound was completed.

  Still, having everyone safely back in the fold didn't mean he could stop thinking about the bastard trying to tear it all down.

  Leaving orders for Trina's security and care, he retreated to the privacy of his apartment, only to find an inbox full of reports flagged urgent.

  It seemed a detective finally connected Sis to Slick Micky's operation and was asking for any help the public could provide. They'd even posted a picture they claimed was Slick Micky. He studied the grainy two-dimensional image of him and Sis back in high school. Absolutely laughable. How had Brian rigged that one?

  Lovely. Now the private sector would be seeing him in every shadow, making an already challenging situation worse.

  It wasn't the money, though the monthly profit margin was certainly shrinking with the product locked down. He'd created slush funds, emergency funds, and funds designed to see him through forty rainy days. No, it was the professional insult that someone thought they could remove him, or worse, make him surrender at the first sign of adversity. Although he was sure adversity had more than one tally on the scoreboard.

  Knowing Trina was involved made it personal.

  He recognized the irrational, illogical leap of his thoughts and retreated to a shower with real h
ot water to restore himself. Good to be king, he thought as the water beat on his head and pelted the aches out of his neck and shoulders. He didn't abuse this ultimate perk, but he sure as hell appreciated having the option.

  Relaxed and refreshed, Micky pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and returned to the multitude of fires needing his attention.

  Tempted to check on Trina, he purposely applied himself first to the problem of the detective. He wanted to give the man a lead, but he didn't have a reliable direction. Probably wouldn't have a reliable direction until Trina woke up.

  With the notion of putting more strain on the Reverend, Micky sent an anonymous tip to the hotline, wording it as if he was one of the Reverend's victims.

  Jim's avatar popped up with an instant message alert. Micky responded to the greeting and though reluctant, he agreed to go down to the security office.

  He griped on principle when Jim greeted him. "Tell me why the video couldn't come to me?"

  "Huh. The nurse warned me you'd be a bear."

  Micky grunted. The near poisoning was becoming an easy excuse. He didn't like it.

  "Remember when I said corrupted?"

  Micky nodded.

  "It gets worse before it gets better. I didn't want anything Kyle found getting lost in translation."

  Fair enough. Folding his arms across his chest, primarily to ward off the chill in the room, he waited.

  Jim pressed something and the room went dark as the bank of monitors lit up and linked into one cohesive picture. Snowy static gave way to the street entrance closest to the dining hall.

  Micky watched the silent exchange of guards on duty. Situation normal changed about fifteen minutes into the new shift which included Ben's first time squatting at the gate.

  "It's Ben?"

  "Well, it sure looks that way. But apparently there's an odd layer on the feed."

  Micky kept up with technology as a matter of self-preservation, but it wasn't his strong suit. Just one of the reasons Jim, and the specialists he hired, were valued members of the team.

  "You're not alone, the whole idea's above my IQ too. That's why you're here, because I had one of the hackers take it apart for us."

  "All right."