Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4)

by Black, Regan

  Tears came next as her most secret fantasy crashed and burned. Joel had not lived after all. He'd changed into a terrible person who brainwashed and exploited women to help him distribute deadly substances to those too weak to resist the lure.

  Montalbano was no saint, but he sure as hell hadn't betrayed her like that slippery mole of a man too frightened to face her now.

  "Show yourself you freaky bastard!" The resounding silence didn't surprise her.

  She measured the small space by counting the steps from wall to wall, while she plotted her next move. There had to be a way to get out of this damned fortress.

  She wondered what time it was. The sterile environment offered no clues. Knowing it was meant to aggravate the person confined made it worse because it worked so well.

  At the soft knock she braced for whatever he intended to throw at her next. The small panel near the floor slid away, but instead of a box or food tray, April's face smiled at her.

  "You're awake."

  Trina glared.

  "And you're pissed off. Don't blame you," April said as if they were chatting over morning coffee.

  "What time is it?"

  "Does it matter?"

  Trina glowered at the poor girl.

  "It's really early."

  Trina wasn't fooled. "Early for what?"

  April sighed. "Fine. It's early for breakfast," she whispered.

  Ah. Pre-dawn. The best time to launch an escape, but she still had the stupid cuff on her wrist. So far she hadn't found a way to hack it or remove it. With nothing to lose, she asked April how to get it off. "It's giving me a rash," she lied.

  April's head disappeared for a moment, presumably to check the hallway. When she reappeared, she motioned Trina closer.

  Feeling foolish, and more than a little guilty for the deception, Trina joined April on the floor and stretched her arm forward.

  "Wow. That's a new one."

  "So this tacky jewelry thing is what you didn't want to tell me? He puts these on all the new recruits, right?"

  "Of course not. We just have all kinds of cool stuff around here." April's brow furrowed. "This one is new to me."

  "Can you just get it off, please?" Though it was a stretch, she managed to morph her face into a more innocent expression. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

  "Don't tell me anything," April said. "It's not good to know too much about Micky's business, but I really hope you'll stay. It's a great place to be."

  "Uh-huh."

  April was doing something to the cuff that involved a key card. Giving up on that, she pulled out a cell card and fiddled some more. "Yes!" she cried when it popped open.

  "Thanks." Trina was sincerely grateful. "And my apologies," she mumbled, gripping April's hand and staring into her eyes. The girl flinched and Trina felt a stab of guilt for causing her pain, but she had to get out of this room. Then she could decide if she was making her kill here, in Micky's place, or out on the street.

  April moved in accordance with the illusion Trina planted about helping a friend locked out of her apartment. When the door opened, she did a little victory dance for show. She wanted Joel-Micky-Jerk to think she was too stupid to believe her every move was being recorded by his state of the art surveillance system.

  The hall was absolutely deserted, aside from April now sound asleep in the corner. It was just more proof he relied on tech and used people. Fine. Let him watch, let him track, let him be afraid for once. Because she was coming after him.

  Somewhere between her holding cell and the second flight of stairs, she realized the real conflict, the root of her problem, was all in her heart. But she could recover, even from a shattered fantasy, and she'd rely on logic and a cool head to get the job done.

  It was a challenge, reconciling the kid she'd crushed on with the disappointing man he'd become, but she was pretty sure his core thought process was the same. His values were another story, but as an assassin she couldn't throw stones even if she wanted to justify her choices against his.

  Studies consistently showed a fearful person ran up to get away, no matter how that illogical choice limited their options. So she raced up another two flights of stairs, not even pausing for a peek as to what each floor might hold. She didn't expect to meet a guard until she reached the roof, and possibly not even there, the way he relied on technology.

  When her assumption proved correct, she barely kept herself from smiling for his blasted cameras.

  She glanced at the security panel beside the door and gave April kudos for her acting. It was indeed early for breakfast if the time display of 20:47 was correct. Had she been out a few hours or much longer? It didn't matter, couldn't matter.

  She pushed open the roof access door and winced at the blast of cold air. Her own clothes would be nice, but what she wouldn't give for her personal tool kit.

  Continuing to play the part of frightened escapee, she bit her lip and moved onto the roof, letting the door close behind her. She moved cautiously around the top of the building, gritting her teeth so they wouldn't chatter while she identified camera placements and coverage.

  It was a standard roof in a standard state of urban decay from what she could tell, but she'd thought similar things about that damned truck. She carefully explored the seams of a modest glass atrium, but couldn't see anything through the grimy panes. She crept closer, looking for an access door, but came up empty. The only sign of anything other than years of neglect was the pristine camera sitting proudly at the apex of the structure.

  Whoever had rigged security on the roof didn't care about camouflage, making her task easy. More than a few of the cameras were probably dummies and she'd happily work with it.

  Keeping low, in case he sent a sniper up to a neighboring roof, she scuttled around in the dark, looking for scraps of debris she could use as weapons or tools. Finding a rather sharp and manageable bit of sheet metal, she sliced through one camera feed and set to work behind another. Her desperation became less of an act for any remaining surveillance as she struggled to unscrew a ventilation cover with her makeshift tool.

  Hearing the scrape of debris by the stairwell door, she froze, listening for how many guards had been sent up to capture her.

  * * *

  Micky watched the scene in infrared from the camera on top of the atrium, curious about Trina's next move. The infrared wasn't ideal, but it was the only part of the security feed Kyle could give him that wasn't corrupted. In the back of his mind, he made a note to give the kid a raise, his internal security would be dead in the water without him.

  Trina wasn't an idiot, and he counted himself lucky when she didn't find the retraction seams in the atrium. He wasn't buying this business about the ventilation shaft either. She had something else in mind. This was getting interesting. He'd been torn about how to reel Trina back in, knowing she wouldn't really try to get away until her job was done.

  Micky didn't care much what her job was, he just wanted to know who'd hired her to do it. According to the smudges of light, his team had her flanked; her only option was to move back toward the atrium.

  He waited for her arrival, amazed by how quietly she moved across the gravel and crap up here. Could she really be a killer? He pushed the unwanted thought away, keeping one eye on his monitor and one on the hologram she was about to slip through.

  He could hear her soft breathing on the other side of what had previously been and now appeared to be a wall of glass. A few more inches and he'd have her.

  On a little gasp of shock, she dropped through, landing with a thud near his feet. He tapped the control panel to slide the atrium closed and sent the signal to notify Jim that he had her.

  "Who's there?" She scooted across the floor, putting her back to a wall, brandishing some bit of trash in front of her with one hand while verifying the wall at her back was real.

  Taking a position behind a stand of dwarf citrus trees he considered how to get the information he needed out of her. "You're safe," he s
aid, using the remote to light the area directly above her.

  She glared up at the ceiling, then aimed that nasty look into the darkness surrounding her. "You're not."

  "Whatever gets you through the night." He cleared his throat. "How long do you think it will take April to recover?"

  "Recover?"

  The worry in her voice gave him hope. He needed hope. "She seems lost in her own little world. What did you do?"

  "Nothing." He heard the panic. "She should be fine. I- I can't –"

  "Help her?"

  "No. Yes. Well, I don't know. I didn't do anything."

  "This is me, Trina."

  "As if that makes anything clear," she muttered. "April will be fine," she called out.

  "Never thought you'd turn out so callous."

  "Never thought you'd be a sell out."

  He sighed. They were getting nowhere and his instincts clamored that he was running out of time. "Assume I let you go. What will you do?"

  Trina opened her mouth, hesitated, and snapped it shut. Conversing with a shadow was bad enough, but she didn't have an answer to that question. Going to Montalbano was no option. Even if she repaid the deposit, he'd probably already hired someone new to take her out, someone other than her currently offline alter ego.

  "I'd leave." It galled her, but running was her best option.

  A movement drew her attention. Joel-Micky-whoever stared at her, only half in shadow now. "You'd just ditch the sabotage and leave me and mine alone?"

  "Why does that shock you?" She bristled at the things that didn't change. He'd always looked at her like a bumbling nuisance. Maybe it was best to stick the sheet metal in his neck and throw herself to the next rooftop.

  "Trina." She didn't like the tender exasperation in his voice. It made her feel things. Impossible things. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to keep you sedated to protect my team. Just tell me who put you up to this and you're free to go."

  "Right."

  "You have my word."

  "Would that be the word of the dead guy or the criminal mastermind?" The aggravating man didn't even flinch. "You don't even know, you're so lost to this delusion of power." Irritated, wanting to irritate him too, she used her skill, projecting a disconcerting image of a burning car into the atrium.

  "That's it!"

  The voice roared at her ear as the light went out and she struggled to make sense of a rash of sensations. It was impossible to feel the heat of his body when her eyes confirmed he was standing several paces away. But his breath was a warm caress at her ear, his arms banded around her, drawing her close to his solid body. Her makeshift weapon clattered near her feet and he kicked it away.

  She was surrounded by him. He filled her senses, overwhelmed her with fiery touches until she knew she'd lost the battle with her horrible curse. She twisted, trying to free herself from the illusion even as she prayed it would put an end to her misery.

  "Stop fighting me."

  Trina went still, tuning out the physical input to mentally question her recent choices. She'd returned to Chicago a messy mix of sentiment and revenge and the strain had obviously caused a terrible rift in her mind.

  Oh, her body wanted to sink into the hot comfort of Joel. His warm scent, his strong touch. Except he couldn't actually be touching her when he was standing there watching her meltdown.

  Which meant it must be someone else surrounding her or some tech trick. She squirmed, attempting to twist out of whatever invisible thing held her, or held her mind. The invisible restraints felt too much like a warm embrace and she moaned, desperate for something she couldn't pin down. Capture or freedom? She felt a feathery touch on her lips and turned her head toward the source, keeping her eyes closed tight so her vision would stop fighting her other senses. If this was a psychotic break, it was one helluva way to go.

  Her other senses were flying on a fantasy so rich, she could almost believe she was kissing Joel. She lifted her hands to where his shoulders would be. In her mind he was solid and real and warm under her palms. She gripped, fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer until her breasts were pressed hard against his wide, hot, imaginary chest.

  She heard him speak her name, a soft rush of breathy emotion against her jaw, then lower across her throat and back up to her tease her ear. Her fantasy was so rich, so detailed that her fingers ruffled his thick hair and traced his stubbled jaw. She sighed as his hand smoothed across her hip, heating her skin as he traced her curves.

  Even knowing it was insane, she gave herself up to the sheer joy of the amazing illusion. It was her last chance. If Slick Micky let her go, Montalbano would make her dead before she left town. If the smuggler kept her, she'd likely be dead from the aneurism that was the most likely cause of this…this incredible, indefinable moment.

  Her head fell back and she hoped this didn't end too soon. His hands were everywhere and she was molding her body to his, soft curves to hard planes, cataloging the sensations in her mind to keep with her for as many days as she might have left. Tumbling through the storm of dusty wishes from her past and the prickling impossibility of her present, she reached up to cradle his face, to bring his lips to hers.

  Her sensitized fingertips landed on skin that felt wrong, was shaped unlike any memory she had of Joel's perfect face.

  Her imaginary lover jerked away from the contact on a rough gasp.

  "Who? What are you?" She pressed herself into the corner, ready to fight if necessary. Never mind that she didn't know how to win a battle that probably raged only in her traitorous brain.

  "Trina." Joel's voice. "It's me."

  She turned to where he'd been standing, though the voice came from right beside her. Gripping her head, hoping something would make sense soon, she slid to the floor and begged for relief.

  "Shh."

  She flinched at the feel of a hand in her hair, hating herself for her uncertainty. She should fight, but she just couldn't summon the strength or strategy to tackle an imaginary opponent. This must be how her victims felt. She groaned. Hell, a moment ago, she'd been making out with an imaginary lover. As wired as this fortress was, someone was surely having a great laugh at her expense.

  The thought was as bracing as a cold shower. She knocked the hand away, noting it felt solid enough, and sat up. "What the hell is going on? I refuse to continue amusing the masses." She muttered a string of insults, only because the sound of her angry voice steadied her, gave her a point of reference amid the shuffling going on just beyond her field of vision.

  "How about a little light!" She called out. "Only cowards need the dark."

  The lights came up a fraction. "Gee, so accommodating." The bravado barely covered the embarrassment, but it beat back the tears clogging her throat. It seemed she was alone now. No Slick Micky hovering at the edge of the shadows, no imaginary hunk of Joel warming her inside and out.

  Just as she decided it was safe to move, to find a way out of her nightmare, two booted feet stopped in front of her. Her gaze drifted upward, over long legs, lean hips, an achingly familiar torso, to what couldn't possibly be Joel's face.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She clapped a hand to her mouth, but it was too late. He winced at her horrified dismay, causing the terrible scar on his cheek to contort his expression even more.

  How could life maim such a beautiful young man? "The explosion," she finally muttered into the awful silence. "But in the woods –"

  "I usually wear a mask. I figured you won't trust me unless you really see me."

  Oh, she was so ashamed. She didn't want to see him. Not like this. She shook her head, wishing life had a rewind button. Trust him? Well that was out of the question. Trust was a mutual thing. Even if she found a way to trust him, once he knew her he'd never reciprocate.

  He settled next to her, giving her the good side of his face. Taking her hand, he gave her the words she suddenly didn't want. "I'm sorry, Trina."

  "No." She refused to look at him. Not because of the sc
ar, but because of the pain. Once locked deep inside, fed with her hate and grief, it had become a source of righteous vengeance. Good or bad, it had been steady fuel for the person she'd become, the perfect reasoning for the things she'd done.

  "Don't do this," she begged. "I don't need to know." Now who was the coward?

  "This is a dangerous business," he began. "It was risky when I dealt sugar to our friends in school and it's only grown worse through the years."

  "You don't have to tell me this." Please don't tell me this! "You did what you had to do. So did I."

  He shook his head and she felt his sadness as her own. "I'll let you go, but I can't stand the thought of you out there working against me. Hating me."

  She seized the excuse like a lifeline. "No problem. I'll leave you alone. I was planning to leave as soon as I got out of here. You can just go on about your business."

  "Business will be a lot easier if I know who my enemies are." He gave her hand a squeeze. "Much easier if I know you aren't among my enemies."

  Trina extricated her hand, her affection chilled by her stupidity. Why? Why did she keep falling for his tricks? "Which is the mask?"

  "What?"

  "The scar or the perfect face? Which is the mask?"

  "No one knows Slick Micky is gruesome if that's what you mean." He cleared his throat. "Anonymity is part of the reason I've lasted this long.

  "Trina, the day of the attack, I was burned and the injuries nearly killed me. This thing on my face is part laceration and part assassination."

  "What?"

  "I was cut by flying glass and swamped by the ball of fire. The spray-on skin worked on the rest of me." He paused and she wondered what secrets he left unsaid. "When my face was ready for the treatment, someone had tainted the mix – "

  "In the hospital?"

  He nodded, reached for her hand, but changed his mind, drumming his fingers on his knees instead. "Yes. It was painful and ugly. It stayed that way for a time."