Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4)

by Black, Regan

  No, this was not Slick Micky. Taking him out would just tip her hand to the real smuggler who was probably watching via camera or two-way mirror.

  She knew she'd guessed right when the door burst open again. "Stop it! Right now, Trina!"

  "Stop what?" Trina blinked up at Joel. "I'm not hurting him. Look for yourself. He's actually enjoying it."

  Joel glared at her and signaled a couple of guys clad in black to help Ben out of the office.

  She counted it a victory that no one had zapped her through the cuff. Huh. Maybe it was only a tracking device after all. As soon as she was certain one way or the other, the smuggler would pay for using Joel against her.

  "What do you want with Slick Micky?"

  "I keep telling you, that's between me and him."

  "And whoever hired you." On an exasperated sigh, Joel planted himself in the boss's chair. "Then talk, Trina. Because you're looking at him."

  She stared at the man across the desk and willed his words away. Joel couldn't be her target. Fate wasn't that cruel. The murderous smuggler she'd come to kill was an old, squatty, bald guy with beady eyes.

  Joel laughed aloud, startling her. "That's quite an image."

  She was so off balance, she didn't know if she'd used her mind or her voice to share the picture she'd developed. "This is impossible," she whispered.

  "As impossible as me being dead?"

  Anger was her rallying call. "Don't make fun of me! I–I lo- lost you! I saw that explosion swallow you whole."

  "It wasn't pretty."

  Trina ignored the tears racing down her cheeks. This inexplicable cruelty was as devastating as the attempt on his life had been when she was a teenager. She clutched her midsection, searching for a tangible anchor in a world lurching under her feet.

  "I'm sorry you're shocked."

  She wanted him to be sorry for letting her suffer, for letting her believe the worst, for leaving her alone when they both knew how much she'd needed him. Looking up at him, through the wash of tears, she saw the hard truth in his cool green eyes, in the stern set of his jaw.

  "All these years..." she began, but her emotions choked her. All these years, she'd sainted him in her mind. Joel had been the young gallant whose life had been snuffed too early by the obsessive greed of a crime boss. All these years, she'd used her sweet memories of him as a balm against the ragged truth of her life and livelihood.

  To be merely shocked by the truth was the least of her problems. And his.

  She had a contract, guaranteed by deposit, to eliminate Slick Micky. Montalbano would not rest until the notorious smuggler was dead. He'd offered her an obscene sum, which she'd happily agreed to, for the primary purpose of exacting vengeance for one deceased Joel Mickleson.

  Well. Two birds, one stone, as they said.

  Her eyes were clear as her thoughts slowed and her emotions settled. Nothing had changed. Not really. She'd arrived in Chicago alone and friendless, intending to leave the same way. No, nothing had changed because the man sitting across from her would soon be as dead as she'd believed him to be for all these years.

  Had it been only minutes ago that she worried over surviving the assassination? Now, she didn't care as long as he went down. Permanently.

  "Trina?"

  "Yes?" She used her sleeve to blot her eyes and face.

  "Why did you kidnap my team?"

  Why did you abandon me? She smothered the child inside who wanted answers. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she'd cared. "To get close to Slick Micky. To get his attention. Make that your attention. You've managed to surround yourself with very devoted people."

  "Thank you."

  As if she'd been trying to compliment him.

  "I had help. We had a business plan and we were careful about it."

  "Oh?"

  "You remember Sis?"

  She steeled herself against the vulnerability he was showing, looking instead for a way into his mind. "Should I?"

  "She helped me distribute product back in the day."

  "Oh. That's right." Trina had a vague picture now, but it was more from the image in his mind than hers. "How is she?"

  "Dead."

  "I'm sorry for your loss."

  The chill Micky felt went bone deep and he thought he might never get warm again. This Trina was nothing like his old friend. This Trina not only knew about Sis, she was capable of pushing her out a window. Or convincing her to jump. He fought off a wave of nausea, wondering if she'd induced it.

  Her lovely blue eyes had changed. Not just cold, they were flat now, yet charged with a current he couldn't describe. It didn't make sense.

  After the scene at the storage center, he knew she could manipulate his perceptions and make him see things. He wondered if this was an illusion designed to unnerve him. Grappling to maintain control, he was grateful for the team standing by if she did try something.

  "She was pushed out a window several days ago." That news elicited a flutter of lashes, as if she were coming out of a trance.

  "That was Sis? Man, I knew I was on the right track."

  "What?" Micky struggled against the urge to pull out the tequila. But if Trina had killed Sis, no amount of alcohol would dull the pain. "Explain yourself," he roared.

  Startled, she jumped in her seat and, for a moment, she looked like herself again. "I was hired to umm, find Slick Micky. According to the information provided, I thought I was on the right track when a body went splat and wrecked my surveillance."

  "Oh my God."

  "Relax. I didn't kill her, but I know who did."

  He snatched up the phone and was waiting for Jim to pick up when Trina sneered. "Isn't this interesting?"

  "I'm not playing games, Trina."

  "Oh, I beg to differ. Let me see if I can put it together." She tapped her lips and he hung up the phone. "Your right-hand girl was helped out the window, the cops have no real leads, and you want revenge."

  "Close enough."

  "Guess you owe me one."

  "How so?"

  "The guy who killed Sis is already dead."

  "How do you know?" He didn't like showing this ice-clad bitch any weakness, but he couldn't hide the pain.

  "Because I killed him."

  "Why?"

  Her face twisted into an awful grimace. "It's what I do."

  She was messing with him. Oh, he had no doubt she knew something about it, but Trina couldn't kill anyone. Not really.

  A voice in his head mocked his willful denial. But he just couldn't accept such cold brutality, not even from this new, dangerous version of Trina. She was mad, furious, and just trying to get even for all the hurt he caused her.

  "Thanks for nothing." He picked up the phone again, punched in the code. "I'll have someone show you out."

  "Out where?"

  "Out of here. Go tell whoever you're working for Slick Micky's not rolling over so easy."

  "You don't believe me."

  "I believe you're pissed off and trying to hurt me, sure enough."

  She lurched to her feet. "His name was Atlas."

  Micky rolled his eyes, though it took all his willpower not to ask the questions racing around his mind. Who hired a guy named Atlas? How had he learned about Sis? What was the next move?

  Trina trembled with fury. "He was hired on behalf of Dakota who likes to toy with his enemies."

  Anyone with a basic working knowledge of Chicago crime could know that. "Whatever. You've had your fun, now get the hell out."

  "Oh, I haven't begun to have fun with you yet."

  "Something to look forward to." But he recognized that feverish light in her eyes. She was about to attack. He pressed the remote in his pocket and enjoyed the view as the shock raced across her amazing face as the cuff put her down.

  The cuff was programmed to send an alert to security when activated and the team burst into his office, Jim leading the charge. "You okay, boss?"

  "Yeah. Take her back to isolatio
n. No restraints. Just lock it down and keep the monitors on."

  They probably shouldn't be sedating her this much.

  "You got it."

  "Put April on the detail as her only contact. And no one goes in or out of that room."

  Jim nodded and followed his team as they dragged Trina's limp form away.

  In the horrible silence that followed, Micky poured a shot of tequila and tossed it back. He just couldn't make it add up. Sure she'd been tough as nails physically and mentally with the whole kidnapping thing, but killing a guy named Atlas?

  He didn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it, even after watching her eyes change and shed her humanity, turning into empty, distant windows. Trina hadn't had the best home life, he knew that, but growing up rough didn't make a person a killer.

  What if the rough home life and the psychic skills had caused her to snap?

  He poured another shot. He could 'what if' this situation until he was as dead as she seemed to want him.

  "Is it helping?"

  He looked up, ready to snarl at whoever dared to intrude, then recognized Jaden Michaels peeking through the door. He waved her in. "Not really. You want any?"

  "Nah. Put it away. Unless you'll cut me a break on the bill if you're drunk."

  "Not a chance."

  When she grinned like that he understood why Brian would do anything for her. Jesus, that was dangerous ground. He'd had too much emotion and tequila.

  "You're in a bad way. Want me to come back later?"

  "I'll only charge you late fees."

  "Naturally," she said, rolling her eyes. "Here's the receipt for the transfer. Did I forget anything?"

  Micky gave it a cursory glance. "Looks good."

  "Thanks for giving us a pass on the extra meals."

  "What the hell?" He lifted the receipt, hoping the numbers would stop dancing.

  "I knew you didn't look at it! What's wrong, Micky?"

  "Bad blast from the past, nothing to worry about."

  "Mmm-hmm."

  "It's been eventful since you left, can we leave it at that?"

  "Do you need my help?"

  Did he? Micky stared as she lounged back in the chair. "It's not business." Though the root of the trouble was business, he was more upset about the invisible injuries between him and Trina. His lies, her illusions. He rubbed his cheek. When he thought of the secrets that protected his team, he realized they were two sides of the same coin. What a kick in the ass. He put the tequila away to avoid anymore unwelcome introspection.

  "You need to make this your last trip until you hear from me," he said. "Things are hairy around here just now."

  "Is it about the woman who was killed? I only met Sis a couple times –"

  He waved his hands to cut her off. "It's nothing you can do anything about."

  Jaden leaned forward, her voice full of compassion. "I'm sorry, Micky. If there's anything Brian or I can do, name it."

  "Thanks, but I dug this hole myself. I'll climb out of it on my own too." Hopefully. He changed the subject. "Hey, did you hear about some crazy battle royale out West?"

  She got to her feet and shot him a dazzling smile. "Yeah, I heard some stories. Seems settled now, though."

  He'd bet his entire stash of coffee she'd been in on the settling. "Be careful," he said as she reached for the door.

  "I'll be just as careful as you."

  God help her. Just as weary, but more at ease thanks to the tequila and conversation, Micky tried to reason out the next step.

  Trina was safe and his team was safe from her. Based on her behavior with Darlene and Ben, he figured she wouldn't try to hurt April. Killer or not, an idea he still wasn't sold on, she exhibited a code of honor about innocents.

  Turning to his monitor, he pulled up the records out at the storage center. His fingers fumbled, a casualty of the liquor, but he soon had what he was looking for. Trina had rented a unit under a false name. In a matter of minutes, he'd learned what cut rate motel room she'd rented and had a team in mind to gather her personal things. He sent the request over the internal email, inviting anyone monitoring the signal to intercept it. Anything to bring his enemies to light.

  He tried to weigh the tasks ahead of him, and knowing who hired her was certainly a priority, though it wasn't something he'd figure out half drunk and exhausted.

  Leaving his office through the secret door, he savored the cool solitude of the private routes he'd built into his fortress. At his apartment, he noted the blinking alerts on his monitors, but he ignored them in favor of a quick ion shower and his bed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The dreams turned into nightmares as bad as they'd been immediately after the accident. His skin blistered and raw, the slightest move had him crying out in pain. He fought his way to the surface, and rolled out of bed, sweating and angry that Trina had dredged all this up.

  She'd seemed morally offended that he hadn't sent her a post card or email telling her he'd lived.

  As if that had been possible. He'd been fighting for his life. The spray-on skin had erased most of his burns and the remaining scars were always concealed so no one could point to a single distinction that might identify him as the Slick Micky. The unexpected infection in his seared lungs had kept him hospitalized. The doctors had all but given up, unable to identify the cause and cure the infection. He hadn't thought about this in years. Didn't want to think about it now. He scrubbed at the rough, puckered scar tissue on his chest. With the startling force of a flash-bang grenade, remembered details of his past clicked into context with the present.

  He yanked on jeans and grabbed a shirt, pulling it over his head as he ran, barefoot, up to the infirmary.

  The tile was cool under his feet as he barreled into the empty nurse's office. Hands on the keyboard, he was trying to break her password while his foot worked to drag her chair into place.

  Having succeeded with the chair, but failing with the password, he called down to security. "Unlock the nurse's computer."

  "Oh, no," she said from behind him. "You will not breach patient privacy. Sir," she added with plenty of disrespect.

  He dropped the phone to plead his case. "I only want my file!" He jumped out of the chair and rolled it closer to her. "And the report about whatever substance I inhaled."

  She glared at him.

  "Please." He gently nudged her into the chair and rolled her back to the desk.

  "Doc told you to look at the analysis and report."

  "I did look."

  He let her rail at him, only half listening while she called up the information he needed. It was the first real lead he'd had on defining who was sabotaging his operation. He wasn't about to slink out just because she was angry.

  "Can we switch?" He was trying to read as she clicked quickly from screen to screen.

  "No. I'm printing it out for you. Patient Privacy." Micky mimicked the words as she said them, bouncing impatiently as her printer spit out one slow page at a time. He made a mental note to get her an upgrade.

  "Thank you!" He smacked a kiss to the top of her head. Finally he had every page of the report on the new drug, his own health history, and the chemical breakdown of the substance in the packing material.

  He found the nearest bed and used it as a table, hoping the facts lined up with his theory.

  "I'm going back to bed," the nurse announced.

  "Sweet dreams," he called after her. "Wait!" He braved her darkest glare. "Is Chloe still struggling?"

  "She's been fine. Back to her routine by now, I'm sure."

  "Good." Micky turned back to his analysis. Comparing his health history to the chemical breakdown of the tainted packing material he found what he was looking for. The same substance that had seared his lungs in the explosion, was also in the packing material.

  If he was right, someone who knew he'd be sensitive to the chemical was behind the tainted shipment. Sure, members of his team would've been affected like Chloe, but when he'd looked into an
y problem, he'd be debilitated. And he had been.

  He thought of where Sis had been when she'd been pushed out of the window. Knowing there were no coincidences from that point forward, he worried over how they'd found her and if they'd tortured her to get a bead on him.

  It was a frightening revelation to know an enemy from his past was still so determined to take him out and take over his operation. The list he'd given Brian was two names too long.

  The Reverend had only known him as Slick Micky. Unless he'd paid someone or hacked into the medical records, he wouldn't know of this specific weakness. The Reverend was too cheap, too shortsighted to bother. Still, Micky couldn't be unhappy about sending the cops to give the jerk some grief. Competition was one thing, but the Reverend was running a sick game over there on the other side of town.

  Paring down the list gave him real hope that he'd survive this with his team intact. But it left a bitter taste in his mouth to know Trina was in the middle of it. No, she couldn't know his medical history, but someone was obviously using her to bring him down. It made his head hurt and put an ache in his chest.

  The adrenalin of discovery was giving way to the post rush exhaustion. He'd get nowhere trying to interrogate Trina at this hour. Gathering the papers into a sloppy stack, he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes knowing the nurse wouldn't let him sleep too late.

  * * *

  Trina woke on a rush of fury, ready to give Joel –Slick Micky– whoever a nightmare he'd never come out of. She'd hammer him with something similar to the nightmare she'd been living for too long now. Images packed with unrelenting loneliness that would smother him with fear and desolation.

  Not that she felt so bleak on a typical day, but her life was a collection of shallow encounters designed to protect her professional identity. It didn't lend itself to pleasant, suburban, happily ever afters.

  She loosed her bottled up rage in a violent shriek capable of shattering nearby windows. The target had been right in front of her and she'd missed. It was degrading to know the lying, thieving bastard had sedated her again.

  Refusing to give him any credit for sparing her life, she shouted threats and nasty promises. Her skin was too tight and the soft cotton clothing he'd provided chafed like sandpaper. After effects of the damned sedatives. Or more likely, after effects of being penned up too long.