Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4)

by Black, Regan

  "That's an antique." She stared at the device as if it might disintegrate in her hand.

  "It's an older model, sure, but it's reliable." He showed her which buttons to push to listen or talk and how to change the channel. "Marion? I've got to get in there."

  "Is it safe?"

  He wasn't sure if she meant the radio or the situation on the other side of the door. He opted for the easy answer. "The radio? Sure. Now, don't let anyone on this floor, okay?"

  She nodded.

  "Good girl."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Trina did a couple sun salutations while she waited for Joel to show up. It seemed to be taking forever, though Jim had smacked the fire alarm as he threw himself out of the room in a panic she'd created.

  She smiled to herself. Slick Micky would have his hands full getting all his mules back in the barn. That gave her time to talk Joel into being sensible. Whatever the smuggler had on her old friend, she could make it all go away within moments if Joel would just trust her.

  The knock on the door was a surprise. The other guy hadn't shown that sort of respect. Though she hadn't expected courtesy, she found the lack of it annoying. Trina unfolded from forward bend and mentally braced for round two.

  Any preparation fell away as her eyes feasted on Joel. He looked weary, but even so, everything about him made her go warm and soft inside. She couldn't stop the smile.

  "Trina."

  He said her name with a scold, putting a chill on the sweet warmth she'd felt. She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "So he thinks you'll get the details out of me?"

  "Jim's pretty upset."

  "He'll get over it." She examined her cuticles. "It was only a pretend fire."

  "Be sure to mention that to the fire department."

  "You're turning me over to them?"

  "I could."

  She felt all the old insecurities bubbling up inside and hated him with a sudden intensity that could melt steel. He'd been different once. Now he was just like everyone else who'd let her down and made her feel like a freak.

  "Tell him it won't work. I'm not talking to you."

  "Jim won't care."

  "Not Jim!" She whipped around, her temper at full throttle. "Slick Micky. Tell him he can't use our past to get me to talk."

  "When did you start hiring yourself out as a saboteur?"

  So he hadn't figured out all the details yet. She didn't like how much it bothered her that he could learn she made her living killing people. It bothered her more that his opinion mattered even though he was working for their common enemy.

  "When did you sell out?" She tossed the words at him, ignoring his frustrated groan. "I thought you were dead."

  "I nearly was."

  Trina couldn't help it, she turned, looking for any visible sign of that horrible day. But his face was as flawless as ever, if she discounted the day's scruff shading his jaw. Slowly it dawned on her that she hadn't been imagining things on the el. She'd actually seen him on the train and Ben in his wake. Good grief. Since her return to Chicago she was acting as inept as her parents and teachers had always claimed. Mistakes like the ones she'd been making landed people like her in situations just like this. She deserved to be a hostage, a pawn, only to be sacrificed for the advancement of those in power. Once she eliminated Slick Micky, she'd retire and find another line of work.

  "At least tell me why you attacked me out there." Joel's voice interrupted her internal flogging. "You owe me that if nothing else."

  "I trussed up a couple petty smugglers." She shrugged. "Tried to leverage the take. It had nothing to do with you."

  "That's not what I mean. You put that god-awful day in my head, nearly took me out with those memories. Jim tranqued you to protect me."

  She met his hard, green gaze. "If I put anything in your head it was only because I was shocked you weren't a ghost." There. Let him deal with a little honesty for the sake of old friends. "That explosion marked my last day in this stupid town," she confessed on a whisper.

  "Trina."

  How did he put so much emotion into those two syllables? "I don't need your pity," she snapped. "Just put me in front of Slick Micky. I'll settle my business with him and be out of here and out of your way forever."

  Micky stared at her, baffled that she didn't realize he was Slick Micky. Growing up, others hassled her for being slow, but she wasn't. She'd always been an intelligent person with a mind that got tangled up in a skill few knew about and none understood.

  Then again, his family had kept plenty of secrets through generations long gone. Why would Trina know anything about the history and succession of Chicago smugglers?

  "What do you want with Slick Micky?"

  "A simple conversation."

  "On who's behalf?"

  "I do believe that's above your pay grade."

  He bit back a smile. Her sharp tongue hadn't changed a bit, though the body had only improved with age. Whoever had guessed her size missed. The clothes clung to ripe curves, making it damn hard for him to concentrate. He changed tactics. "Are you feeling okay?"

  "Huh?"

  "After the tranquilizer." And the wrestling match back at the storage center.

  "Oh. Yeah. I'm a bit tougher than your average girl."

  An understatement to be sure, and he'd met some way-beyond-average women. "You want to get out of this room?"

  "Only if Slick Micky is on the tour."

  "I promise you'll get your shot at Slick Micky." He owed her that much. Watching her weigh temptation, risk and reward, he wondered what it would take to get her to trust him.

  If they'd only known to appreciate that strange idyllic time peppered with angst that had been their youth. Life had grown, twisted, and doubled back on itself in a cruel joke that made them more strangers than friends now. "But first I'll show you around."

  "You're allowed to show me around?"

  "Within reason." He shrugged a shoulder as though it wouldn't take half a dozen security personnel to clear the halls and prevent any uncomfortable or untimely encounters. "Let me set it up."

  She snorted. "Like you have any real authority."

  The cure for any man's ego was a woman. Her low opinion of him grated against nerves rubbed raw by memory and missed opportunities. "You might be surprised," he snapped, leaving the room to make the arrangements.

  When he pushed open her door a few minutes later, she was flopped over the bed, her red hair screening her face. "Now's your chance," he said.

  She scooped her hair back and tipped her face up to his in a remarkably innocent move. Her eyes were bright with tears. Micky hesitated. Was this an illusion she was running, or was this the real Trina behind the bravado?

  "Great. Let's go."

  As she rolled off the bed, desire nipped at him. He wanted to roll her back, cover her lush body with his and forget everything outside this room. He cleared his throat and held out a brushed nickel bracelet. "You'll need to put this on."

  "Aw. A gift?" She sneered. "I couldn't possibly accept it."

  "Wear it or stay here."

  She studied him first and then the cuff dangling from his finger. He saw the curiosity get the better of her. "A tracking device?"

  "Mostly."

  She studied her wrist now. "With a lethal option of some sort, right?"

  "Not lethal." He frowned at the cuff. "Not usually anyway."

  "You're a pain in the ass." She glared at him, but snapped the cuff into place on her wrist. "And you can't keep a secret to save your life."

  "Really?"

  "Really. The tell is right here." She reached toward the side of his mouth, but he caught her hand.

  "I'll work on that," he promised, keeping her hand clasped in his. "Shall we?" He led her out of the room and down the now deserted hallway, enjoying the way her long-legged stride matched his own. She moved with a fluid grace that revealed a confidence she'd been missing back in high school.

  "So what brings you to Chicago, Tri
na?"

  "Work. What keeps you in Chicago, Joel?"

  "The same." At the elevator, he pushed the down button.

  "Exactly what does this tour involve?"

  "I heard you enjoyed the food here."

  "So you saw through the disguise?" He nodded as they stepped into the elevator car. Trina snorted. "This place is wired stem to stern isn't it?" She waved to the little glass lens in the ceiling.

  "Yes."

  "Secret entrances and passageways too?"

  "That's above my pay grade."

  She shoved his shoulder. "Stop it. Supposedly this smuggler's paradise is the biggest secret in Chicago."

  "Supposedly?" She'd nicked his pride again. He really had to regain his perspective.

  She kept up her verbal battery as they headed toward the gym. "You mean you've fallen for all of the Slick Micky hype? Crime bosses are a dime a dozen. Plenty of them are out there ready and willing to take advantage of any weakness."

  "What's Slick Micky's weakness?"

  "Everyone on the street knows he puts too much stock in his mules."

  Micky managed to laugh, though swallowing broken glass might have been easier.

  "Look at Dakota, he uses people like tools. It's the right attitude in the criminal world. You sharpen tools, use them, and if or when they break, you replace them."

  He glanced down at her, looking for any sign of the Trina he remembered. "Dakota's dead."

  "True."

  He wondered about the smirk on her face. "You've got some interesting connections if you know."

  The smirk evaporated in a hurry. What was she up to?

  "Is it true the woman who jumped out the window worked here?"

  "She was pushed out of the window," he clarified. "But yes, she worked here."

  Trina hit him with that electric blue gaze that saw too much. "You two were close."

  He could only nod, even though she was clearly assuming they were close in the wrong way. This was dangerous territory. Trina should remember Sis, but he wasn't sure he wanted to bring it up. Thankfully, they'd reached the gym.

  She gasped as he opened the door. "Wow. How the hell does he manage all this?"

  "He'd say time and patience."

  "And serious money." She looked at the clusters of equipment as she strolled over to a treadmill. "This is top of the line."

  "Yes."

  "Just so his mules are better able to outrun the law?"

  Micky gritted his teeth and pulled himself together. She didn't know and he didn't want her to know. Bragging about it would change everything between them. Trina wasn't a recruit, wouldn't be a recruit even if she hadn't been actively working against the Slick Micky system.

  "You've got a pretty low opinion of this place, but it's not so bad."

  "The place is fine. Clearly someone has worked hard to create this temple of safety and modern conveniences. It's the brain behind the place that results in my low opinion." She spun around, drilling a finger into his chest. "I can't believe you stay here, under his thumb, after what he did to you!"

  Nearly dying hadn't been a picnic. But living in the postmortem, waking up knowing everyone thought he was dead, well that had been a kind of freedom he'd never expected to enjoy.

  "Do you know what happens to Chicago if you take Slick Micky out of the equation?"

  "If?" She rubbed her hands together. "I believe in 'when'. Take my advice and start brushing up your resume, Joel."

  "How many people were here the night April helped you on the train?"

  "A couple dozen. Why?"

  "That's just a fraction of the operation. A fraction of the people making good money in a pretty safe way." He ignored her derisive snort. "Safer than a lot of other options."

  "You call running 'anything, anywhere, anytime' safe? You call his cut throat street tactics safe? This neighborhood isn't safe. It should be condemned.

  "You, my friend are deluded. Take me to Slick Micky or take me back to my cell. I'm done with you."

  "Trina." He would have to tell her, as much as he'd hoped to keep her out of it. She wasn't the sort to let it rest. He knew better than to try and keep her indefinitely. She'd find a way to escape and the minute she heard the truth from someone other than him, any chance at reclaiming a friendship was over.

  Maybe it was losing Sis, maybe it was the hurt of Trina actively working against him, but he knew that he didn't want to go through the next fifteen years – more likely forever – without Trina in his world.

  "Trina," he repeated when she refused to look at him. "Come on. I'll take you to Slick Micky."

  His team followed their movements through the signal in her bracelet, and being his team, they anticipated his destination based on his route.

  He could imagine Jim's reaction, but he was out of options. He could hardly let her go on hating him for the wrong reasons and he couldn't let her leave only to have to deal with her continued interference with his operation. So arriving at his office without censure or interruption from his staff was no small relief.

  He opened the door and ushered Trina inside. "Make yourself comfortable."

  "Right."

  "So cynical." But he knew she had reasons for her cynicism even when they'd been in school. He felt like offering some platitude about Slick Micky, but she'd only turn it around on him after he confessed.

  She boldly assessed the space, probably coming to more dire conclusions about the man she thought she knew. "What's he like?"

  "Fishing for details?"

  "Yes. No. I have a picture in my head is all. It'd be nice to have a little warning if I'm way off."

  "So share and I'll let you know if you're on target." He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

  "Forget it." She started to fidget, sending the bracelet spinning around her wrist. "Just go get him."

  "You'll stay right here?"

  "Yes."

  "No matter what?"

  "Cross my heart and hope to die." She added the movement to the childish phrase.

  God he hoped it didn't come to that for either of them. However she reacted to the news, he knew he'd be safe in the warehouse. He could only hope after she learned the truth that she wouldn't expose him to all of Chicagoland.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Trina wanted to believe the meeting was going to happen. Joel seemed sincere, but she wasn't sure he'd really deliver Slick Micky into her hands.

  She did her best to look benign while she waited. If Joel had any idea what she had planned for his boss, he'd never make the introduction. It still didn't make sense for her old friend to be here. Why would he team up with Slick Micky? The bastard had tried to blow him up just for horning in on the sugar business at the high school.

  The cuff weighed heavy on her wrist as she looked around the office for clues to the murdering scum's thought process. He was simple and efficient if the uncluttered desk, sparkling monitors and pristine keyboard were any indication. Most likely forced the mules to keep house for him.

  The king of Chicago smuggling had the world on a string, especially here in this labyrinth of the decaying industrial district.

  "But no personality I bet," she muttered, again picturing a squatty bald man with beady eyes. He had survival skills to stay at the top of a very cut throat game, but she could take him – physically if necessary. If Joel let her.

  Joel's potential reaction to the assassination of Slick Micky bothered her more than the likely scenario that she'd probably die right after she completed her assignment. She studied the hairline seam in the cuff, wondering whose finger was on the trigger. Joel's? Probably. Which meant no time for basking in her success. He'd been a nice kid with an enterprising mind. Other than confused, she wasn't sure what kind of man he was now.

  He'd always been a black and white sort of thinker when it came to people. She shivered, knowing which side of the line he'd put her on the minute he found out what she'd been doing with herself all these years.

  Mortifie
d at her emotional excess, she swiped away a tear and told herself what Joel thought didn't matter. She'd done what she had to do to survive. It wasn't like she'd had enough control to live with normal people doing normal things. And though she'd practiced, she'd never been good enough with mass illusions to go into show business.

  Not that she ever really dreamed of her name lighting up a huge marquis board in Vegas. The ridiculous, unbidden image brought a smile to her lips just as the door opened. She turned, prepared herself, and gaped at the man who'd been her recent hostage. "Ben?"

  "I usually go by Slick Micky."

  Her stomach lurched. She'd had the bastard in her hands? How had she so thoroughly misjudged this guy? Why hadn't she seen through this set up?

  "You really are beautiful," he said in a sort of awed way. With a weak cough, he rounded the desk. "Have a seat."

  She complied, just to buy a little time. So many factors and none of them added up. The man who'd brought all this together couldn't be so young or look so innocent. The Slick Micky in her mind wouldn't lower himself to pull a guard's shift. The driver, Darlene, hadn't treated him with enough respect. No one had that kind of acting ability under duress.

  "Well," he cleared his throat again. "You wanted a meeting." He leaned back and steepled his fingers under his chin. "What can I do for you?"

  She flashed the cuff. "Take this off?"

  "I can. But not just yet."

  "Understood." She studied his youthful face. "You're younger than I expected." Her mind clicked through the possibilities, the known and unknown and kept returning to the same conclusion: Ben could not be Slick Micky.

  "Everyone has an expectation." He gave her a shy smile. "It helps the street rep."

  Sure it did. But a smuggler with a killer street rep probably wouldn't be sweating over a meeting with her. Ben's upper lip was shining already. "You were playing it pretty loose over on the strip the other night." Good grief, the man was blushing. She used the memory she'd invoked to delve a bit into his head.

  Within seconds she had him back at The Levee bar, asking her out. She let it play out the way he'd hoped this time, murmuring the answers he'd wanted to hear.