by Black, Regan
She put up a blank wall in her mind. Just a lovely, black span blocking that god-awful day from her and him. This would be her new, last memory of Joel. No matter his ideas of mutual trust, she couldn't stay here. Not after the things she'd done, the things she had left to do.
"By the time I was back on my feet, you were long gone. I even asked Sis to help me find out what happened to you."
She recognized the invitation to share and fought the impulse. "You really think kissing me senseless and getting chatty will make me give up my employer?"
The resulting chill from him was palpable. "I'd hoped." He sighed into the gloom. "The thing is you really don't know what you're up against, what war you've stepped into."
She searched for the words to disagree without giving herself away. "You were so kind to me. You weren't the criminal sort."
"I dealt contraband in the lunchroom, Trina."
"Like sugar's really gonna kill anyone. You know what I mean." She shifted, an idea forming. "Leave it behind. Come with me and let someone else take the heat. Chicago's not the only place to have a life."
"It's not that easy."
"It should be." Her temper was creeping up again. "You just like it here. You're high on the power and the title and whatever you've got running here."
"It's more than a title. It's a calling." He held up a hand when she tried to interrupt. "You don't understand and I don't blame you. But I was headed for this very place even back then. The attempts on my life only sped up the process."
"What?"
He scrubbed at his face, shifted to face her. "I know you thought I was the spoiled rich kid with a rebel yell, but it was an act. There's more to it that I won't get into, but my family money came from some less than stellar sources."
"No one cares how you come by money as long as you have money." She'd learned that lesson well in the years since they'd parted.
"The point is I am Slick Micky now and I'm not ready to give it up."
She wanted to believe it was greed, pure and simple. Just hit the rewind button and go back to when Slick Micky was an anonymous bastard she could take out with impunity.
Except she recognized her dear friend in the depths of that green gaze, obviously holding out hope that she'd understand.
"I need information if I'm going to survive this latest attempt to put me out of business. Information I believe you have."
She sighed. They were back to the impasse and what a fool she'd been.
He pushed to his feet and stalked away from her. "When I got out of the hospital there was a void on the street. The guy who tried to kill me ended up killing himself. I took over –"
"And took advantage of everyone. The Slick Micky reputation is epic."
"For a reason." He returned to her, bracing his hands on his knees to look her in the eye. She held her ground, but it was no easy task. "Who's gonna mess with the man that can get you whatever you want at any price? Who's brave enough to try and break down his network? Rumors work to my advantage." His eyes traveled down her body, leaving ripples of heat behind. "Most of the time."
She slid away and stood up, wanting to regain some sort of equal footing. "What do you want from me?"
"Trust!" He pointed to his scar. "I've laid it out for you, you've got to believe I'm not really a monster."
"So you can eliminate your enemies?"
"So I can protect the people who depend on me."
"Joel."
He shook his head. "It's Micky now."
"Let me go do what I have to do." She wasn't sure exactly what that meant anymore, but she couldn't stay here, close to him. Proximity would only fuel her old fantasies. And his dedication to his team would forever trump and crush those fantasies.
"Why don't you stay and do what you have to do from the safety I can provide?"
She sputtered, a bitter blend of laughter and disbelief. "No. Not after –"
His hands landed on her shoulders. "I didn't kiss you for information." His lips laid a delightfully brutal claim to hers. The contact ended just as suddenly, leaving her reeling.
"Look at me," he demanded as she gasped for air.
It was impossible to disobey.
"That has nothing to do with your secrets." She looked down as he pressed a key card into her hand. "Neither does the offer. The room's one floor down. Stay as long as you want. Just don't attack my team. We're a family. One that is willing to include you."
Duly noted, she thought as he walked away. He thought he knew which buttons to push and it galled her that he wasn't too far from the mark. Sure they'd be willing to include her, right up to the moment they discovered she'd been sent to kill the boss. The loyalty around here was more hindrance than inspiration and she knew it was a concept the man who had been Joel couldn't comprehend.
She wandered to the atrium door, half expecting it to be locked. But it opened on silent hinges and the hallway stretched out before her, conspicuously empty.
* * *
Micky couldn't believe what he'd done. He felt raw and scattered, like a sculpture that had been knocked off a pedestal to crash into so many pieces they'd never all be found. The scar on his face burned like it was fresh, while other parts of him, the parts ruled by hormones, burned for what he'd left unfinished.
He berated himself all the way down the private stairwell to his office. Was kissing her the big mistake, or inviting her to stay? How long would it take for her to make up her mind to stay or leave? What did she want with Slick Micky?
He couldn't begin to figure out who she was or what she was after.
What did he want her to be? More to the point, what did he want with her? It was more than the old friend, missed opportunities angle, but this wasn't the time to put personal desires ahead of the business.
He wanted to believe the best in her, wanted to reclaim some piece of the past he'd valued. Was she a corporate spy or the cold killer she tried to project? Had he just condemned the business he and Sis had poured so much blood, sweat and tears into? Tossing the remote for the hologram aside, he flopped into his chair and propped his feet on the desk.
He could seduce the truth out of her, but he didn't want that on his conscience. To be honest, he didn't trust her to pull some illusion and turn that sort of stunt against him. With the failure of normal interrogation, and having just botched what he'd intended as a friendly conversation, he'd reverted to the only other thing he knew: taking a risk.
It was a risk to give her a guest suite and a key, but he'd done it plenty of times before. Nearly every mule living in the warehouse had been a risk to the secrecy and security before they'd committed to staying here.
He pointedly ignored the voice in his head reminding him he'd always paired new mules with experienced staff. Or rather, Sis had.
"Doesn't matter." Maybe saying it aloud would make it more true.
Determined to take his mind off the sweet taste of Trina still lingering on his lips, he lit up his monitors and started searching the news feeds once more.
* * *
Trina looked at her key again. One floor down he'd said. Wherever she went in this revamped warehouse, her moves would be observed. Even so, it was going to take some serious self discipline to not simply bolt for the nearest exit.
The place was too quiet, too empty considering the people she knew had to be living somewhere nearby. Telling herself the solitude didn't bother her, she made her way to the door number that matched her card. She paused. If the situation was reversed, she'd probably booby trap the door, if only to keep her opponent on edge.
Except her well-kissed lips didn't feel like Micky's opposition so much as his partner in a crime of desire. Lord. Was that really her brain turning such ridiculous phrases? "You're a pathetic, horny mess, Durham." And on that glaring personal assessment, she swiped the key through the door lock.
For a moment, she could only stare. Part of her had believed he was simply sending her to another sterile white cell, but this room felt more invit
ing than any hotel she'd seen. She walked inside to explore the space. A couch and matching chair were done in distressed black leather and graced with coordinating quilts and toss pillows in bright colors.
Quilts! It boggled the mind. No one had time for the arts these days, yet here they were. How the hell had he found them?
Other features were more like the high end hotels she enjoyed, with the wall-mounted monitor and its streamlined remote on a gleaming low table. As stark and sterile as the holding cell had been, this apartment was furnished with every sort of tactile delight. It was almost too much.
She tried to deny her budding excitement at the prospect of claiming this haven as her own for even a few hours. Calling on her natural skepticism to gain a little emotional distance, she told herself the over-the-top hospitality was an effort to distract her. He couldn't provide this sort of set up for everyone. Must be the bribe suite, she thought with a chuckle.
"Does laughter mean you'll stay?"
Trina turned to find April bouncing impatiently in the doorway. She waved her friend inside, but the girl hesitated. She swallowed her pride. "I'm really sorry about earlier. I just, well, I had to get out of that room."
"It's okay. About the weirdest thing I've ever felt, but I'm all right."
Relief washed over her and on its heels, irritation at Joel – Micky – for making her worry. She'd deal with him later, one way or another.
"I'm not supposed to be up here, but I wanted to see you. Say hi and all that."
Logically, Trina understood he'd cleared the halls to protect his 'family' and she didn't dare examine why the fact hurt her feelings.
"I heard you got trapped up on the roof."
"Mmm." As if she'd dignify that rumor with any sort of contradiction.
"Do you need a tour?"
She wanted one, but was afraid to push his patience too far.
"Of the apartment, I mean."
"Oh. Sure."
April babbled on about guest suites and facilities as she opened storage cabinets and explained the entertainment system. Trina just listened. "Bedroom's through there," April finished, pointing down a short hallway. "And I'll, um, just get going."
"Okay." Trina wondered how April could bubble over in one minute and be absolutely still, like now, in the next. "Thanks."
The girl rushed to the door, then hesitated and turned back. "This is really a great place to be. Like having a family."
The party line, Trina thought, but she smiled. "Thanks for the tour."
"Ah." April stood a little straighter. "What exactly did you do to me?"
"Oh." Crap. Trina pushed her hair behind her ear and tried to think of how to explain it. "Well, I, umm."
"It hurt at first."
And Trina didn't have any good explanation for that. "Sorry." But suddenly, 'sorry' wasn't enough. She heard the brutal honesty spill out of her mouth. "Look, I used you. Made you see what you needed to see to open the door for me. It's hard to explain. Being so abrupt with you is why it hurt. Sorry," she finished lamely.
"You have some history or business or whatever with Micky."
Trina only shrugged.
"It's obvious. And you can take care of yourself. Why'd you let me believe otherwise on the el that night?"
Trina didn't do the friend thing like this. Friendships meant sharing. While April was nice enough, there was no way Trina could stay around and risk decent people finding out about her killer career.
"You don't have to say it. I figured out you were using me to get in here."
Was the girl tearing up?
"It's okay. I'm the last of Sis' hires and everyone says I'm too naïve to be here anyway." She blinked in a flurry. Even as tears spiked her lashes, her chin tilted, a sure sign of determination. "They're wrong. Sis said I have good intuition. Whatever you're up to, I don't think you mean to hurt Micky or us. He's decent no matter what anyone says and running this place and business his way is a whole lot better than a lot of us deserve."
Trina just stared, speechless.
April turned and walked out, pulling the door shut behind her.
Trina slowly counted to ten. Carefully, she tested the door, amazed she wasn't locked in. The guilt of who she was and what she'd done to April bubbled up, pushing for an outlet. One weak seam and her emotions would explode. First a deep breath, then another, and one more until she felt the foreign sensation subside. If only she had the psychic ability to locate people, she could find Micky, take action, and leave.
Except she was no longer so certain what kind of action she would take if given the chance.
Leaving the debate for later, she went into the galley kitchen and helped herself to a bottle of water from the fridge. Wishing for something much stronger, she drained half of it as she mentally sorted the pros and cons of her situation. Too weary to tally the final score she headed for the bedroom.
"Oh, Lord." The furnishings were as plush here as out front, but it was the sight of her empty luggage that caused the cold knot of panic in her gut.
Her clothes were hanging in the closet and tucked into drawers. Her computer sat on a table near a reading chair waiting to be put to use.
Anything, anytime, anywhere, echoed in her mind.
He'd called it rumor. Said he used the rumors. Looking at the complete inventory of her life on the road, she wasn't buying that line anymore. This was more than rumor. She rubbed her arms against the chill of exposure. He'd found and collected her things with the efficiency of a man who knew everything about her. A man with a very long reach.
Too unsettled to take an inventory, Trina turned her back on the bedroom in favor of the couch and oblivion of television.
Chapter Seventeen
"Nothing out of the ordinary, sir." Keegan reported via holo-conference from the storage center office.
Micky heard the rasp of Mary's nail file in the background. The only computer with the required equipment was there at the front counter, but it didn't matter. The kid didn't need to hide anything but his smuggler's identity from Mary.
The kid looked steady enough, which wasn't a big surprise considering Jim was a fine recruiter and trained his personnel to exacting standards. "All right. Don't let Mary give you a hard time."
"Heard that," Mary drawled from somewhere outside the camera's range, but Keegan only rolled his eyes.
"Ben will be out tomorrow. Check in at the scheduled times."
Keegan acknowledged the reminder with a nod before the picture dissolved.
Micky turned to Ben and Jim. Sitting across his desk, they wore matching unhappy expressions. He raised a hand just as Jim opened his mouth. He had a plan and wanted to paint the picture before Jim ran off at the mouth about Trina and risks and inevitable consequences.
"You can handle the repairs up there right, Ben?" Ben nodded. "Good. We can't leave the place jerry-rigged forever."
Jim opened his mouth, but Micky cut him off. "It's time to get on top of this issue, Jim. We can't keep the girls cooped up and I refuse to become a recluse. If Ben's at the storage unit handling repairs, he can socialize and help Darlene with the recon. Yes," he plowed on over Jim's automatic protest. "Darlene and her cat are going back home too. They just got caught in the crossfire."
"Meaning?"
Micky studied Ben, the kid's trusting nature was giving way to a smarter, more useful world wisdom. "I've been studying the report and this whole thing from a new angle. At first I was sure the tainted packing material was sabotage, now I'm not so convinced that shipment was intended for me. But it's only a matter of time before it will be."
Jim leaned back in the chair. "You think there's a traitor in the warehouse."
"At least using someone in the warehouse." Micky nodded, catching Ben's panicked look. "I know it's not you. Whoever is behind this knew me way back, but that's beside the point. Let me walk you through my theory."
He cued up the news report about a labor dispute in Canada scheduled to resolve much sooner than origin
ally anticipated.
"So?"
Micky smiled at Jim's expected reaction. "They import shipping material from this side of the border. A company up around Gary, actually. Again, that's not the real point. Chloe is the real point. Notice anything different about her lately?"
Ben and Jim frowned at each other. "She's been mellow since that whole thing in the cigarette room."
"Exactly. Mellow and agreeable." The guys nodded and Micky continued. "The workers who went on strike got agreeable too."
"You think whatever this new drug is got used to subdue a labor dispute." Jim shook his head. "You gotta be way off. Connecting dots that aren't even there."
"Nah. I'm right." He pointed to the report on his monitor. "Look, some of the workers – only those with previous lung troubles – got really sick recently. Others just got agreeable.
"Now, Chloe." He switched to the warehouse sign-in log. "She's got a pot habit, we all know it," he added for Ben's benefit. "But her trips in and out have doubled, even though we're not distributing at the moment."
Jim sat forward. "Want me to tail her?"
"Not just yet. I like this mellow version of the girl." Micky turned off the monitors. "Whatever it's called on the street, it improves the high and increases the dependency.
"Her blood work showed she only took enough of a hit off the cigarette packing material to get happy, while I got nailed because my lungs couldn't handle the chemical boost someone's been putting in her pot."
"You think she's the Trojan horse."
"It's possible. Chloe makes no secret of working for the best smuggler in Chicago, but the timing doesn't line up completely."
"But how did the packing material get used for your cigarette shipment?"
Micky turned to Ben. "That brings me to part two of your assignment up by the docks. When you're not repairing or socializing on the strip, I want you to get in with the ferrymen who delivered to us. I'm ordering another shipment and I'll let you know when it's due."
"We won't need cigarettes for months."
Micky acknowledged Jim's grumbling with a shrug. "Consider it an investment. I always stock up when the price is down. It's not like the market's going anywhere. What I'm looking for Ben," he turned to the younger man again, "is confirmation this packing material thing was an accident."
