Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4)

by Black, Regan

  She heard his footsteps retreat while her battered emotions swirled. Irritation, loneliness, rejection and something else. Something that would have to wait for analysis until she was safe.

  She bolted down the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Micky averted his face when the fire doors swung open again, shielding his eyes to preserve his vision. Two men geared up for tactical ops jogged by him, slicing the darkness ahead with bright beams of flashlights.

  Stupid, or ordered to do it that way? Maybe Gideon's laughable attempt at giving fair warning.

  Micky peeked through the open door, relieved when he spotted Gideon. He'd ditched the rumpled tux for black cargo pants and a long sleeved black shirt that was probably armored. Two more of his team collected bits of trash and debris, probably hoping to find some solid evidence.

  Wouldn't happen.

  A glance upward confirmed Gideon still had spotters on the roof. Confident they'd overlook any disturbance he made from this distance, he crept back into the alcove when Gideon's back was turned. It was tempting to simply walk away. He could appeal to Brian later, send Gideon on a false trail. But it was more important to do what he could to protect Trina's head start.

  He checked the alley, relieved to find it guarded by only one man stationed near the street. From his place where the alcove met the alley, Micky kicked a rock toward Gideon's feet.

  Micky followed the man's expected reaction as he looked around and up, but the spotter signaled no change. Gideon stepped closer to Micky's position, looked right at him, and walked on by.

  He used his radio, asking the soldier near the street to get him a coffee. Micky choked on a laugh.

  "Thought that'd get you," Gideon murmured, concealing the conversation with the radio. "Walk with me and tell me why I shouldn't haul your ass in for obstruction."

  "Do you have Montalbano's goons in custody?"

  Gideon's brows shot up. "Actually, yes."

  "That's something. You can thank the woman you're looking for."

  "Be happy to. In person."

  "Not happening."

  "She's wanted for murder," Gideon said through gritted teeth. "Petra pegged her. She killed a soldier. I had to report it."

  "Guess we all have a job to do."

  "You know where she is."

  "No. I don't."

  "Too bad. If I find her at your place –"

  Micky tripped him, sent him sprawling onto the rough pavement. Dirty and underhanded, but necessary. "You'll regret using my hospitality against me and mine."

  "Threats now?"

  "A vow."

  "Look, man. Give her up. It may not go like you think."

  "Right." He'd wrecked her day, her life, too much already. "Atlas was a blood-sucking grinder who went off your reservation and killed my best friend. I won't hand over the person who avenged her. You should put cuffs on Montalbano for hiring the damned hit."

  "I do have one thing to tie Atlas to Montalbano."

  "Crayland."

  "No. The woman who killed Atlas and Dakota."

  Micky was glad the stealth suit hid his shock and dismay. What the hell? He knew Montalbano was off the deep end greedy, but ordering a series of deaths went against everything sane. There had to be a way to put an end to all of this.

  "You've gotta look at Montalbano," Micky insisted, appalled by his shaky voice.

  "I look at the evidence. She did them both and I will find her." Gideon sprang back to his feet. "Watch your back, Micky."

  Micky bolted from the alley and across the street. He was going to be sick. He kept running, turning and doubling back on instinct. It hadn't been a boast, he knew every inch of the financial district as well as he knew the warren of decay concealing his own warehouse. He'd grown up on the stories of these streets, of the legends of once-savvy crime bosses who lost everything through foolish and selfish mistakes. Even now he knew where to find anything a person could want from drugs to a few thousand in counterfeit cash cards. What he needed was an angle. A way to get Trina out of this tangled mess.

  He hadn't been lying to Gideon, he didn't know where Trina was, but based on where he'd found her and what she'd been doing, he had a pretty good guess. He resisted the urge to turn back, to sneak up to Dakota's penthouse just to assure himself she'd made it safely.

  Why kill Dakota unless Montalbano ordered it? What was his game and why had she played along?

  Micky tried to think like an assassin, but failed. He just wasn't that cold. And neither was Trina.

  He walked on, turning the pieces around, banging them together. Trina hired by Montalbano to take out Slick Micky. According to Trina, Atlas was hired by Dakota to take out Sis. Ben was tossed into the street by the Reverend, ordered to put a hit on some guy with only a vague description. Lucky the kid hadn't killed an innocent bystander.

  Three of his fellow crime bosses had sent out hitters. The Reverend probably didn't care or more likely he refused to waste the money on a plan he didn't believe in. Micky set that piece aside.

  He wound his way through the city, dodging people and wondering just how long he had before Gideon raided the warehouse. Maybe Montalbano already had.

  Wouldn't that be funny? A regular fucking riot. Montalbano and Gideon battering against the stronghold together. He needed to warn Jim, but he couldn't risk using his cell card. It wasn't like they hadn't planned for any sort of emergency. He had to trust Jim and the team would come through.

  When Micky's feet stopped, he found himself rooted to the spot where Sis had landed. This was the piece that didn't fit.

  Leaning back against a wall, much as he had the day she died, he studied that window, thought about the short list he'd handed to Brian.

  The Reverend's hitter was a token effort.

  Dakota's hitter was a grinder. A grinder aimed at Sis, his right hand girl.

  Montalbano's hitter had the best reputation. Typical of the bastard's habit of surrounding himself with only the best of everything.

  Micky looked to the window. Why Sis? Why here? Why now?

  It tumbled into place like a key in a lock. She'd been the face of their operation for so long, while any man could have played his part on electronic or holographic conferences.

  Especially if an enemy believed he was finally dead.

  He'd heard the recent rumors that Sis was the new Slick Micky and they'd decided to use them like they'd used all the other rumors. She'd died because of it.

  Sis had been killed over Montalbano's bruised pride. The same bruised pride that bombed the car where the Slick Micky and Joel had been negotiating terms and territory when Montalbano made an independent play for the title.

  Aw, hell. The bastard was still blaming Micky for what he saw as a public humiliation. To have the title just gravitate to Sis. That obviously pushed him over the edge. The tainted cigarette shipment might have been dumb luck, but the rest of it, all the way to Chloe and the invasive video bug was simply unfinished business.

  By God, two could dance that tango.

  He looked up, stunned by his own stupidity. The one thing no one knew, the one thing they never compromised was the warehouse. So Montalbano had sent a grinder to extract that information during Micky's annual walk to honor his past and refresh his outlook on the future.

  Montalbano wanted to level the field, to find the warehouse, and take over.

  He heard Trina's voice in his head "I knew I was on the right track" Aside from Sis, only Montalbano knew enough about him to give her that information. Only Montalbano knew Trina's past well enough to use her hate for Slick Micky to take out all of his competition.

  Only Montalbano had been so prideful and brash he'd been punished by his family when he'd hoped to be rewarded for taking the initiative fifteen years ago.

  Micky embraced the flare of indignation and fury over Montalbano's gross sense of entitlement. By now the cocky idiot would know his men were in custody. It wasn't much of a leap to assume Trina was involved
.

  Turning back toward Dakota's building, Micky raced to help her.

  * * *

  Trina sat behind Dakota's desk and stared out the window, seeing nothing of the cityscape. Crayland's men were off the street. As soon as the bogus transactions she'd programmed went through, Montalbano would be dealing with inmates rather than socialites.

  Still, she had to get Montalbano out of the way if Micky and his team were to have any peace. The man was too determined, too well connected, to leave anything to chance.

  She felt her breath shudder in and out, tried to settle her racing thoughts, but it was impossible. She hadn't let herself be used like this in a long time.

  Fifteen years, actually.

  Amazing how the truth hurt, how it could change everything. Everything except the past. Everything about the past. Giving Micky some peace was her only possible redemption.

  She rubbed a hand over her heart, where the hurt was building to intolerable levels. He'd banned her from the warehouse. Whatever happened here, she could not go back. Would not see him again.

  She forced her attention back to Dakota's computer and put the finishing touches on her escape plan. Time for a career change. Her assassination days were over. She'd banked enough money and identities for a fresh start, but already the days stretched out endlessly empty. There had to be a place for her somewhere. She told herself she'd know it when she saw it. Recent events had taught her that clear vision, specifically the right perspective, was imperative.

  Fifteen years ago, she hadn't had the right perspective, had been on the wrong side of that explosion when she'd told a man with dark good looks where to find some pure sugar. Micky had suffered physically for her error, but kept his honor.

  She couldn't say the same. In the aftermath of the explosion, raw from grief, she'd simply given up and given in, letting circumstances morph her ethics. A runaway under constant threat on the street, she'd thought of her skills as self-defense. But looking back at how easily she'd turned her talent into death for pay, she wondered if she'd ever had any honor to start with.

  Having cracked Dakota's code, guilt over killing him pressed in on her. She'd spiked him out of temper, not for any rational or noble reasoning. Of course, he never would have willingly shared his copious notes on the history between Montalbano and the Slick Micky, but his clients wouldn't be facing a greater risk now either.

  "Done is done," she whispered to the quiet office. She could only do whatever possible to make a stable future for those she cared about. Those Micky cared about.

  Dakota's gift for extortion and manipulation worked in her favor now as she read and unraveled the secrets and bad blood the Montalbano clan had sent flowing into the Chicago streets over the years. To pull this off, to put an end to him, she needed to know how he thought, what he longed for. This illusion would be the pinnacle of justice – even if it killed her.

  Here was her chance to make a few things right and go on with her life. She considered staying here in this office, filling Dakota's shoes just to be closer to Micky. His last words to her echoed in her head, lingering like a curse. "Get out of here."

  He knew the truth of her, had seen her in action and rejected her. Naturally. They'd had great sexual chemistry, but anything more was asking too much. They were too different.

  But she could do this last thing. Taking Montalbano down would fix a great deal. Might even bring the scales close to a balance on the business side of Micky's life and the personal side of hers. It wasn't fair to either of them to settle for an illusion of security when she could ensure real safety.

  She compiled the last of the hard evidence, connecting Montalbano by memo and money to Atlas, Dakota...and her.

  Her stomach clenched. Gritting her teeth, she pressed 'send' and put every incriminating piece of information out over the secure channels.

  Montalbano would not escape.

  Walker, once properly informed and given a little time, would fill Dakota's shoes without turning into any threat to Micky.

  She knew her heart now, recognized her deepest desire was to be part of something bigger. Like the family Micky had cultivated. Just as she knew her life's choices put that out of her reach.

  The glass clock on Dakota's desk showed less than an hour to her ultimate freedom – one way or another. She summoned Walker. They ran through the plan once more and then she went to change.

  * * *

  "We're clear, boss. After we rousted one of Montalbano's scouts near the platform, there's been nothing new to report," Jim insisted when Micky finally got through.

  He'd helped himself to clothes at a corporate health club and called in a favor with a bookie that maintained his old Levee roots in a shop two blocks back from Dakota's shiny high rise. "I've put out the alerts, everyone's in place," Jim continued. "And I've doubled the guard. We're ready for anything."

  "It could be a swarm," Micky said, thinking first of Montalbano. "Or a precise strike." If Gideon planned it. "Where's our agreeable friend?"

  "Off campus," Jim replied, chuckling over the Chloe reference.

  Off campus could mean anything from rehab to dumped on Mary at the storage center, but the end result would be a normal, bratty Chloe with a clean slate and a second chance. Micky could live with that, as long as the warehouse wasn't compromised.

  "Everything scrubbed and clean?" Jim would know he meant files and records.

  "Yes."

  The computer and security teams were earning every bit of their pay today. He couldn't risk Gideon getting wind of Trina's visit or Montalbano learning about other guests. "Great. I'll be back as soon as possible." With Trina.

  Micky placed a bet for good luck, thanked his host, and headed out.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Montalbano straightened his tie and checked his perfect hair in the glossy reflection of the elevator door as the car sped up toward Dakota's penthouse office.

  "This merger is the right call, Walker. She's ready to deal, you say?"

  Walker nodded.

  Montalbano smiled. "About time. When I give you the sign, just shoot her. I'm very unhappy about what she did to Crayland."

  Walker nodded again. Connected or not, this guy was one top of the line asswipe.

  "Be alert. She's sneaky." He winked at the shorter man. "It's why I hired her."

  The doors opened and Montalbano glanced around. "Heavy on the glass and marble, but we can redecorate," he commented, taking in the posh surroundings. "With the piles of money Dakota tucked into funds and safes, this place will be looking better in no time. Make a note to get some contractors in here for interviews."

  "Will do." Walker found it a supreme challenge to stick to the plan when the guy was right here begging for a knife between the ribs.

  "Pretty low on personnel. Payroll problem?" Montalbano laughed at his lame joke while Walker forced a smile. Jerk. They'd cleared the floor to prevent collateral damage if things got ugly.

  "This way." Walker opened the door to the conference room, not missing Montalbano's covetous glance toward Dakota's office.

  "Ah, we meet again." He smiled at Trina who waited calmly at the other end of the long conference table. "I must say your recent choices have surprised me."

  "You know us women."

  "Fickle."

  Trina shrugged. "If you say so."

  Walker took up a post halfway between Montalbano and Trina, keeping a keen eye on both parties.

  "The agreement," she said, pointing to the electronic notepad in front of Montalbano.

  He leaned forward, palms braced on the table, reading through it. "Interesting." He met her unwavering gaze. "You know I can't give you any sort of reference."

  She gave a tight smile. "Understood."

  "You did not complete the job you were hired to do."

  She nodded. "Yet you have what you want if you sign." Her fingers tapped together in a move purposely reminiscent of Dakota. Seeing Montalbano swallow, she knew it had the desired effect.<
br />
  "You'll leave town."

  "Immediately."

  "Forever."

  She nodded when she wanted to scream. Would he ever put his signature on the line?

  "If you scroll down, you'll see I've signed my own statement."

  Montalbano read it and laughed. "Oh, look. You returned my deposit. How…thoughtful." He scowled at her. "And given your word not to kill me. I'm so reassured."

  "I included the standard penalty clause."

  "Young lady, I hired you –"

  "And Atlas."

  "And Atlas," he conceded. "For a specific purpose. You are in breach of contract." He jerked his chin at Walker, who slowly raised his gun, pointing it at Trina's head. "I don't approve of you or your tactics and I'll be sure you never work in –"

  The door burst open.

  Too soon, Trina thought, gaping as Micky plowed into Montalbano's back.

  "Micky, wait!" she cried. This would be much more tidy if the mobster would sign the confession first. Then Micky could have at him. She felt a very pleased, undeniably feminine flutter when he planted a fist in the Italian's face and nothing but shock as a bullet tore through her flesh.

  No tranq shot this time.

  Her illusion worked. He'd taken the shot, thinking she was Walker. It would be laughable, possibly even a compliment if it didn't hurt so damned bad. The gun in her hand clattered to the floor and her body, dressed in Walker's suit, followed.

  Only fair.

  She killed with illusion and now she'd die by illusion.

  * * *

  Micky panicked, his eyes locked on Trina's body. He'd shot Walker. Hadn't he? He stared in horror as blood bloomed on the man's shirt, Trina's blood, seeping into the carpet. He let the security team have his gun, but he fought the restraints, clawing his way to her limp form.

  "I've got this one." Gideon's voice. He hollered for a medic while Micky cradled her, rocking her close to his chest.