by Black, Regan
"Oh." Ben's eyes went wide. "You think they skimmed the material from a different delivery."
"It's only smart to look at every angle. I'm hoping by working backward we can figure out how the packing material got contaminated with this new drug.
"Jim I want your team to break down the company ownership and dig deep enough to find out who has what kind of access to the packing material plant up in Gary."
"Fair enough, boss."
Sending Ben on his way, he asked Jim to stay. "What's the update on that video virus thing?"
"Not much new. Kyle got the system scrubbed and did something that will alert us if another attempt is made. The corrupted data hasn't managed to magically fix itself."
Micky had already written off those hours. "No surprise. But we're back online over the whole place?"
Jim nodded.
"Great." It made a difference in how and where he'd be using the stealth suit. "Thanks."
"Boss?"
Micky braced for the worst. Jim's expression was grim. "Can I turn on the feed in the guest room?"
"Absolutely not." Micky shook his head. Trina should have that much privacy.
"She's not like the others and you know it," Jim protested. "I'll ghost her computer then."
"No. She gets the same courtesy we've shown other guests here."
Jim's shoulders rolled back and his jaw set. Despite his obvious disagreement they both knew he'd follow orders. "What if she tries to make a break for it?"
"Tail her. I'm not as blind to her as you think." He waved off Jim's protests. "I'm not offended by your concern, either."
"You're entitled to your privacy, boss, but I'd appreciate it if there's something I should know. For the good of everyone," he clarified.
Micky knew he had to give Jim something. The man knew him too well and he truly cared about everyone in their makeshift family. One more example he wished Trina could see, so she'd understand he wasn't the most wanted smuggler in Chicago for the wrong reasons.
"Trina Durham is – was – an old friend. We go back to before I became Slick Micky." He sighed. "What she is now, well, I'm not sure yet. But relax. I won't let her be my downfall."
Jim nodded and left the office, but Micky knew those sketchy details weren't nearly enough for his head of security to ease up. And that was fine. Micky hadn't climbed to the top or stayed on top by working alone.
He returned to his desk and his planning, trying not to entertain any ideas of what Trina was up to in the guest suite. Or who might have hired her to cause him trouble.
* * *
The next morning, the girls rejoiced with an exuberant cheer when Micky announced they could start back on their normal routes. With a meaningful eye for April, he extended the moratorium on new recruits and new customers, but no one offered more than the obligatory grumbling.
"Will Jaden be giving more classes soon?"
Micky hardly recognized Chloe's voice without the caustic edge. He paused, thinking about it. Jaden was a good influence around here. Smart, savvy, and determined to empower as many women as possible. He'd convinced her he wasn't a monster. Maybe she could help him convince Trina. "I'll see what I can do. Anyone who wants to help me barter, let me know." With that, he was ready to wrap up the briefing, when Marion slowly raised her hand.
"Yes?"
"We, ah." She swallowed and smiled. "We have planned a memorial for Sis."
So they'd done it without him. He wasn't sorry they'd taken the initiative, only slightly ashamed he'd never mustered the courage. "When and where?"
"The gym. Eight o'clock tonight. With your permission."
Micky nodded, choking on the lump in his throat. After repeating the announcement for the room, he dismissed them.
He barely resisted the urge to run. Or scream. It was simple common sense to let them say goodbye to a woman who'd helped so many of them improve themselves and their prospects.
"Marion?" She turned, her cheeks going pink. "You've made fine plans I'm sure. Did you invite anyone outside of our warehouse?"
"No, sir. Not with the lock down."
"That's good. Thank you."
"Would you say a few words? Please?"
Oh, Jesus. The one question he'd hoped to avoid. He started to shake his head, but her steady gaze, complete with a hefty dose of pity glimmering in her eyes had him nodding affirmatively, if slowly.
She patted his arm. "You'll feel better and so will the rest of us once we've said a formal good bye."
"Closure?"
Marion nodded.
"Right." He cleared his throat and stepped away from the kindness of her touch. "Guess I'll go think up something appropriate."
Her smile held too much sympathy to give him the comfort she surely intended. "Be careful out there today." Never mind that Marion didn't venture 'out there'. Frustrated and confused by the sudden memories of Sis, he retreated to his office to regain his composure.
He turned the corner and watched his day go from bad to worse. Trina paced the width of the hallway, clearly agitated about something.
Damn. He'd had a plan that started with the morning meeting, included several hours out on the streets in the stealth suit, and ended with a private dinner with Trina. Of course that last bit was simply a pipe dream, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take advantage if opportunity presented itself. Maybe something with crystal and candles...or maybe a beer at the party someone was probably planning for after the memorial. He put a damper on his personal issues and strolled forward into the unknown.
"Oh." She stopped short and wouldn't quite meet his eyes. "Hi, Jo– I mean Micky. Good morning."
"Is it?" He shook his head when her expression hardened. "Forget that. I don't mean to argue, I just got some weird news. Is your room okay?"
"Yeah. It's fine. Do you have a minute?"
"For what?"
"To talk."
He was afraid to hope she might want to talk about her real business in Chicago. "I've got a few minutes." Micky applied his thumb to the pad above the door lock and stepped back to let her enter first.
"Why aren't all your doors controlled by biometrics?"
He cocked an eyebrow and refused to answer. Did she think he'd lost IQ points plus half his face in the explosion? More likely she believed the rumors that he indulged in the hard drugs he pushed since she didn't seem inclined to believe he wouldn't even push the hard stuff.
"You look agitated," he said because it was true. "Are my security measures that upsetting?"
"No. Of course not."
"Have you had breakfast?"
She nodded. "You probably know April brought it to me."
Actually, he didn't, but he was sure Jim or someone else did. "Would you like coffee?" It was his stock in trade after all.
"No, thanks. I prefer tea."
He grabbed his chest and acted out a minor death scene, grinning as he straightened up. "Don't let the girls know, they'll set out to convert you."
Her eyes were wide, and the freckles dusting her nose stood out against her suddenly pale face. He was either a bad actor or something else was eating her up. "Trina?"
She cleared her throat in that nervous little habit he remembered. "You brought my things here."
He nodded, waiting.
"How did you find out where I was staying?"
"You gave the information to Mary."
"No. I didn't. I gave her an address for billing."
"True," he admitted. "But you know there aren't that many motels up around the strip. Mary had
your alias and we just used it to track you down."
Her defeated sigh didn't make a lot of sense. She was smart, smart enough to kidnap his people and rig the terms of the exchange to her favor. He hoped he was prepared for whatever scam she intended to attempt today.
"You go to extensive lengths to protect your little commune here." He bristled at the jibe, but she continued. "I'm thinking you didn't bother with the equivalent consideration for
my safety."
"You're here. It doesn't get any safer in Chicago."
"But I can't stay here and you've compromised me out there."
"What the hell is this really about?" He had things to do. If she wouldn't help, she needed to leave.
"Have you seen the news today?"
He brought the monitors to life. "I keep it scanning all day." He even showed her the monitor that rotated through the various security views of the warehouse.
She bit her lip. "Exactly how much privacy do I have here?"
Ah, so that was the problem. "Look, no one went through your stuff. If it was unpacked, that was a courtesy. No one was assigned to gather information, plant bugs, or anything else.
"Yes, I could have ordered any and all of that," he confessed. "But I didn't. I'm giving you the same courtesy I've extended to everyone who considered working with us." He was pleased to see that shut her up. "Now, if you're not going to talk about what I most need to know, please be on your way. I've got a full day planned." He turned away from her.
"Joel."
He gritted his teeth against the urge to answer, but she had to learn he was a different person now. Behind him he heard the chair squeak as she got to her feet.
"Micky."
"Yes?" He faced her.
"God. I'll never get used to that."
"Hey, at least I'm not making you say 'Mr. Slick Micky'."
"You wouldn't dare."
He did the eyebrow thing again, happy to see the perturbed glint in her amazing blue eyes, knowing she was feeling more confident.
"I can't stay here," she repeated.
"That's good because I don't allow anyone to stay here when I'm out," he replied, being deliberately obtuse.
She actually growled when he applied his most innocent expression. "What I mean is you can't keep me locked up with your family or whatever you call this weird cult community."
"Cult? Huh. Never thought of it like that." He returned to his chair and gestured for her to do the same. If they kept standing he'd likely try and kiss her again. With the desk between them, he had a better shot at controlling himself. "My team is just that, a team. When people are invited to join us, they usually stay, but anyone can leave at anytime."
She glared at him. "You just announced the end of a lock down!"
"Yes. End, as in over. Which means anyone can come and go again. Tell me, Trina, where do you want to go so damned badly?"
"Why did you order it? Originally?"
Because of Sis, obviously. The assassination annoyance from Ben was hardly worth considering. "Huh-uh. No way I'm telling you more about my business than you already know."
"Fair trade applies to information too?"
"Especially to information."
"Fine." She leaned back and crossed her arms, plumping her generous bustline and making him forget his train of thought. "It's your turn to talk because I already gave you information about Sis's killer."
"You gave me nothing but crap." As much as he enjoyed the various entertaining scenarios dancing through his head from friendship to business to something more physical with Trina, he had things to do. Responsibilities.
"So says the man with a sterling reputation for determining value." She growled again when he refused to take that bait. "Fine, you stubborn jackass. Check the news, verify the facts, and by all means cooperate with the police. But don't say I didn't warn you."
She stormed out in a whirl of red hair and matching temper.
He sighed. She was absolutely amazing.
Chapter Eighteen
He was absolutely asinine!
In the privacy of her guest quarters, Trina shouted that opinion and more, hoping he'd activated the bugs after all.
She could tell he was up to something and she hated him for not letting her in on it. Though she couldn't really blame him for being cautious – she had kidnapped his people – that whole scene in the atrium proved he had feelings for her. Probably just feelings in his pants, but still.
It was a relief to confirm that no one had taken a crack at her computer or discovered the hidden pockets in her luggage. The relief was almost enough to inspire some affection for him.
Until the memory of his arrogant raised eyebrow flashed into her mind and she was grumbling all over again. Why exactly did she trust him? Why was she so ready to take him at his word about respecting her privacy?
He'd looked so handsome striding down the hall, his perfected features brimming with confidence. It made her wonder if anyone here knew about the scar on his face, or how he got it. Why would he trust her enough to share?
To see the real him, he'd said.
Oh! This was not helpful.
Joel, in her mind she used his former name out of spite, was far too arrogant on all counts. He might 'skim' the headlines but he wasn't understanding the far-reaching implications.
How could he without the information and perspective from her? a little voice nagged. And just where would she be when he finally believed she was an assassin? she shot back.
Honestly, she had no proof that anything she 'knew' would help him, she only knew she was afraid of what looked like a conspicuously random string of incident reports on the street.
Thinking of Sis, she lit up her computer and started sorting through the headlines, searching out a way to show him the risks without exposing herself to his hatred and disgust. And disapproval.
Whatever had happened between them in the atrium, however impossible their future, she didn't want to be a blight in his memory. When she'd gone to the office this morning, she'd intended to ask him about that kiss. Correction: series of kisses. But it all went up in the flames of her insecurity. She'd been honest about one thing anyway, she couldn't stay here like a lovesick devotee. Nor could she be a party to his dangerous business.
Leaning back, she spoke to the ceiling. "Yes. It does sound just as judgmental and hypocritical in my head." While April had been a fount of information in the last twenty-four hours, Trina couldn't seem to shed the years of dread and hate for the dark, criminal reputation of Slick Micky.
"Put it aside," she coached herself. She'd made a habit of not thinking about the things she couldn't change or would never understand. Unfortunate that Joel-Micky fell into that category at the moment, but true nonetheless.
Turning her focus to what she could do, she cut and pasted headlines into an email. Maybe if she gave him the breadcrumbs he could follow the trail. It wasn't like she had any definite answers anyway. Just a bit of insider knowledge and a screaming instinct that something big and bad loomed on Micky's horizon.
Trina's clients always assumed assassins were in it strictly for the payday. She supposed that mentality was common among her particular clientele. After all, it took a certain combination of ruthlessness and wealth to hire an opponent into the grave.
She could hardly fault them for thinking that way. Between movies, books, and the attitude of many of her past and present peers, it was a logical conclusion. For the entirety of her career, she'd believed she was different and she'd held herself to a higher standard, refusing to blindly follow the paycheck, until Slick Micky's head rolled onto the chopping block. Even though she hadn't bothered much with the target, he was hardly more than a ghost on the street, she'd researched her employer. Another habit that had saved her life more than once.
It would be hard to explain to anyone unfamiliar with the secrecy and solitude of an assassin's world how she knew so much about Montalbano and his key enforcers. Harder still to explain why she was making such broad assumptions about what he was up to.
Joel had never been a fool and it appeared his role as Slick Micky had only honed his ability to assess, decide, and act. Still, she kept adding to and tweaking the email, hoping maybe sentiment would blind him to her part in the whole dysfunctional plot against him.
She'd already considered and tossed aside the idea of seduction. After the atrium, she had no doubt she could pull it off, with or without the
help of illusion, but springing such a trap would undoubtedly hurt her as much as him. Better to keep herself limited to business, hers and his, so they might both survive Montalbano's latest stunt.
If Slick Micky had been under pressure before, it was about to get a lot worse, and probably a lot uglier before things settled down. Right here, under the guise of Micky's guest, she could only try to prevent collateral damage and personal heartache.
She finished the email, hit send and tried not to throw up. Then she dressed for a little reconnaissance on the street. Montalbano might be gunning for her, Trina Durham, assassin of the highest order, but he wouldn't be looking for a washed up artist jonesing for some fuel for the muse.
* * *
Micky swore as he highlighted and erased another paragraph of sappy nonsense. The day's plan was slipping out of his grasp. He needed to be on the street, feeling his way toward the bastard gunning for him, not stuck inside writing a few sentimental words about Sis he knew he'd choke on. Now the buzzing announcement of an instant message wasn't helping.
He swiped the track pad, bringing the monitor to life. The grumbling ceased and his dark mood improved when he saw the IM from the former police chief trying to get his attention. He keyed in a greeting and waited.
"Killer found."
"Arraignment?" he replied, wanting to be there.
"Not necessary. Killer found dead."
"Where?"
"Meet me at the Pier in an hour."
Micky sent the agreement immediately. He wasn't happy giving the impression that he'd take orders from Brian, but he looked forward to getting out of the warehouse. An alert to security told them he was leaving, but he exited through his private route. With everyone coming and going today after being cooped up and edgy, questions were inevitable and he wasn't in a mood to offer answers.
Remembering that stupid photo Brian had provided to the department, Micky removed the mask that covered his scar and pulled his Cubs hat down low. Hunching into his beat up bomber jacket as he made his way across town to the Navy Pier, he was as nondescript as any other weary man on this cold fall day.
