Shadows to Light (Shadows of Justice 5)

by Black, Regan

  * * *

  Jameson watched the woman disappear into the building. "I've got a possible situation," he whispered.

  "Explain," came the reply from HQ.

  "Female nosing around. Appears to be alone." A status he knew would only raise more questions.

  "Verify and report."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do not engage," Callahan added.

  But Jameson was already too close to the potential threat to risk a verbal acknowledgment. He clicked his mic in the affirmative. A stealth suit was one hell of an advantage in the daylight the way it refracted light and sheltered the wearer. At night, in a deserted area, he might as well be truly invisible.

  It was a heady freedom as he reached the door where Mira – the woman – had entered the building.

  He knew what Callahan must be thinking. Anyone in this deserted area of campus had to be connected to the situation they were monitoring. As long as he didn't find Mira inside that building he'd agree. Telling himself it couldn't be her, that his mind was playing tricks on him, he turned the knob.

  It couldn't be so easy. This kind of easy made him wary. He took his time, listening for signs of the woman, adjusting his night vision until the room glowed an eerie green. Nothing. Not a whisper, not a shout, not a single movement.

  He edged toward a counter, certain she was hiding behind it. Unless she'd seen him coming – highly unlikely – there hadn't been enough time for her to do anything else. The soft whoosh of movement wasn't enough warning and though he turned, tried to deflect, the impact of a body running for the door took them both straight to the floor.

  Even bathed in the eerie green light and with absolute panic etched on her face, he recognized Mira. Disappointment and answers had to wait until he had her contained and calm. In her rush to get off him and escape, she was damned close to trampling on some sensitive places.

  "Stop." He flipped them over, blanketing her with the weight of his body.

  She squeaked. Not a scream, a squeak, followed by squirming that only compounded his natural reaction to having her soft body under his. "Mira, stop. I won't hurt you."

  "What? How? What the hell is going on?"

  He understood her desperation and confusion, was feeling more than a bit of the same himself. "Hold still?"

  "Jameson?"

  He froze. He hadn't removed the stealth disc. Did she have some sort of detection or sensor he didn't know about? Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers were skimming over the stealth suit. "Stop," he hissed. He wanted to kiss her, to forget where they were and why, and just sink into the miracle of holding her again.

  Remembering the other biofeedback technologies attached to him, he eased off her, just enough to see if she'd try to run. She stayed put, well everything but her hands did. He figured all these little fires where she touched him was like being in the center of a sparkler. The comm tech was probably having a field day with his vital sign readings.

  He caught her hands and trapped them at her midriff. "Do. Not. Move."

  The order was as much for him as her. If either of them shifted the slightest inch, his body would reject all his training in favor of the promises her body was making.

  With one hand he popped the stealth disc out of his mouth and into the pocket of his shirt. Did his best to ignore it when his hand brushed the sweet curve of her breast. The whole thing would've been easier without the soft gasp she made. From the contact, or his appearing out of thin air?

  "Report."

  He clicked the mic so they knew he was in control and turned off his night vision. The last thing he needed was back up to find him like this. They might know his nervous system was jacked up, but they didn't have to know why.

  He stared down at her face blurred by the shadows and stroked his thumb over her pale cheek.

  "Don't."

  "Please." He needed to kiss her more than he needed answers. More than he needed to breathe. Slowly, giving her time to stop him, he lowered his mouth to meet hers. It felt as if time itself stopped for their untimely reunion. He felt the tremor, then the sigh as she gave in. Her lips were warm and mobile, her tongue a velvet stroke of heat against his own.

  He felt her sink into every part of him, understood he could never have too much of her. Wondered how he'd managed even a day without her. Sliding his hand into her hair, he shifted, changed the angle and took the kiss deeper still.

  So warm, so intent on her he didn't notice the blast of cold air.

  "Christ almighty, Jameson."

  His CO's voice had him leaping off her like a teenager caught pawing daddy's little girl on the porch. Squinting, he put himself in front of Mira and held up a hand to deflect the wicked beam of Callahan's flash light.

  "What the hell kind of interrogation is that?"

  Was Callahan laughing? "Uh, no interrogation sir. That is, I know this woman."

  "Yeah. It looks that way. Both of you on your feet so we can sort this out."

  Jameson rolled to his feet and reached for Mira, but she dodged him.

  Frustrated, he turned back only to see Callahan secure the door and place a stealth device on the glass rather than lead them out immediately. "Sir?"

  "Oh, you'd rather discuss this at HQ?"

  "No, sir."

  "This way." Striding to an interior exam room, the CO closed the door and hit the lights. The old fluorescent tubes hummed and flickered in protest, but managed to function eventually.

  Inside, Jameson turned at Mira's small sound of shock. "What is it?" But her eyes were narrowed on Callahan. "You know him?"

  "We've met a time or two," Callahan answered. "However, I did not realize the two of you were acquainted."

  Jameson gritted his teeth against the urge to provide an immediate explanation. "You can kick me off the mission, sir, but I'd appreciate it if you let her go on about her business."

  "Absolutely not."

  "She's got nothing to do with this."

  "Really. Why don't you ask her?"

  Jameson watched her, watched clouds of uncertainty and irritation roll across her quiet features.

  Callahan addressed Mira next. "Took you long enough to get here."

  "You broke me out of the inquiry?"

  "It seems I contributed," the CO said with a smirk.

  What the hell were they talking about?

  "Well, what do you want?" She crossed her arms and looked for all the world like she'd rather not be bothered with any of this.

  "Same thing you want, I suspect."

  "Doubtful."

  Jameson stood apart from them, baffled and feeling useless. "How do you know each other?"

  "Various settings and assignments. Though I wouldn't expect the lieutenant to recall."

  "Lieutenant?" Jameson echoed.

  "Not anymore."

  Callahan glared at Mira. "Want to tell me how you're connected to Jameson here?"

  "No."

  "Fine."

  To Jameson's further shock, Callahan let that one go.

  "Do you have the contacts on you or just the key?"

  "I have the contacts. And the cell card."

  "Good. Mira Luther, you're hereby reinstated to the United States Army at your previous rank of first lieutenant."

  "No, thank you."

  "Too bad. Your country needs you." He held up a hand to silence her protest. "More importantly your father needs you."

  Jameson thought she might faint, her face paled so quickly. He reached out when she swayed and she didn't reject his support this time. It only worried him more.

  "Where is he?"

  "About a block over. Someone's reopened a lab and put him to work."

  "Someone other than the government?"

  Hearing the steel creeping back into her voice pleased him, then the words sank in. "Hold on. Dr. Luther is your father?"

  Mira and Callahan nodded in unison.

  He could hardly be irritated that he didn't know. There hadn't been time to converse back in Lea
venworth with all the chaos of that moment. No there'd only been time to fall in love.

  Wait. What bullshit was that? He wasn't in love, he was just infatuated. In lust. With a woman of serious secrets who could kiss him half blind. Under normal circumstances they probably wouldn't even have met. And why did that thought depress him?

  "Jameson!" He jerked to attention. "Sorry to interrupt your daydream," the CO gave him a glacier cold look, "but we need you to pitch in here."

  "Yes, sir."

  Callahan swore. "For the mere joy of repeating myself, Mira believes there might be something here in the office that will help Dr. Luther. Gather up anything of interest and let's get the hell out of here before we're discovered."

  Jameson tried – and failed – to act like he knew what the hell that meant.

  "You're with me," Callahan growled. "Don't make me beat that moony look off your face," he said as he led Jameson into another room and hit another wall panel to bring the lights up. "Jackpot," he muttered.

  If the jackpot was outdated medical equipment, Jameson thought. It looked more like a medical ghost town. The dusty, vacated diagnostic stations seemed to be waiting patiently for the return of technicians long gone.

  "You want the equipment?"

  Callahan shot him a look. "No. I want data, files, anything that will tell me why Luther's cooperating with Montalbano."

  Jameson dug into the storage cabinet under a bank of microscopes. "You think it goes back this far?"

  "There's a reason Luther wanted his daughter to have the key to this place."

  Both men knew how to toss a room and how to make it look like nothing was disturbed. They both knew where people liked to stash secrets. Working systematically, they searched for hidden locations based on what they knew of Dr. Luther. If nothing turned up, the next phase would go faster as they looked in more obvious and common hiding places.

  Within minutes, Jameson had a feel for what did and didn't belong in any given part of the room. Every cabinet he opened, every drawer he ran his fingers over, under and behind, only reinforced his opinion that what they were looking for wasn't here.

  "Want a candy cane? There's a whole box down here," Jameson said. "Why didn't anyone take all this stuff? There are enough gloves here to keep a field surgeon happy."

  "Department of Defense isn't so keen on second hand supplies," Callahan replied.

  Jameson snorted. "Since when?" At least that earned a staccato burst of laughter from his CO. He took another risk. "When do you think she'll find whatever it is you're letting her find?"

  Callahan grunted. "Look at you with your brain back online. Shouldn't be too much longer."

  "You plan to confiscate it?"

  "You plan to stop me if I say yes?"

  "Not if you let her go on her way."

  "Don't know if that's an option." Callahan examined a microscope, reached into his pocket, and put a tracking tag on it. "We need her."

  Jameson got the feeling there was more to the 'we' than the current mission, or even her father. He'd never balked at orders or put a mission in jeopardy before Mira, but it looked like he was about to go two for two.

  Some gut instinct inside him refused to let her get caught in harm's way.

  Chapter 4

  Mira wasn't sure where or how Callahan was connected to this, but having him close didn't make her feel any better about the situation.

  She didn't like the way he phrased things. Her dad wanted her to have this key. Fine. But that left out the crucial detail about who'd arranged for her to receive it. Easier to believe her mom had a motive to pass it on, but based on the current situation, she wouldn't put any antics past Callahan.

  She remembered his hard, battle weary expression from the field hospital in Africa, then more recently right here in Chicago. And they'd both done a good job ignoring their history when he'd pulled some serious strings to get her assigned to the case when he'd brought a woman in his protective custody to Mercy.

  So he'd known where to go, how to find her. More than a little scary since she didn't know if he got his intel from some Army database or the elders of her order.

  She went absolutely still, stopped dead in the process of exploring the desk as she considered it could all be an elaborate set up. Did the Five want her to find whatever her father may have hidden here? Were enforcers even now hovering outside, waiting for her to emerge?

  "God! Could you be any more paranoid?" Talking to herself wasn't the best sign, but it helped her shake free of that sucking downward spiral.

  She wasn't good at this. Give her a broken leg, internal bleeding, or both, and she could reach out and make it better. She didn't know how to play this covert ops pseudo-spy game.

  Callahan was lying, possibly only by omission, but she didn't believe she could be of help to her country or her father. Unless either or both were broken or bleeding. The resulting image of Uncle Sam with a broken leg and a bloody forehead, created a ripple of laughter that shot around the empty room in a rather eerie, hysterical way.

  She waved off the curious gazes of Callahan and Jameson, when they checked on her, but she couldn't grab enough air to explain. And when she imagined their expressions if she did explain, knowing they wouldn't understand, she laughed harder still.

  "Stress," Callahan said to Jameson.

  She couldn't argue, even if she'd been able to speak.

  "Are you done?"

  Mira shook her head.

  "Can you finish?"

  She nodded.

  Callahan rolled his eyes. "Hurry. We've got to move." Turning on his heel, he forced Jameson to leave as well. They were surely convinced she wasn't up to the task. They'd be right.

  Tears of stress or laughter blurred her vision and she dabbed them away with her sleeve. This was serious stuff she'd been dragged into. She had to get a grip.

  Holding her breath, she envisioned calm ocean waves lapping at the edges of a white sand beach. She sputtered, forced herself to breathe evenly. Timed the inhale and exhale to that ocean tide in her mind. Relieved when it worked, she wondered if hysteria could be remedied like hiccups or hyperventilating.

  The mental distraction, looking at the physical manifestation of her stress as if she were studying a patient, restored her sense of self and purpose. Now preventing another overload was the key to finishing the search quickly. With renewed determination, she looked around the office her father had shared with senior staff a couple decades ago.

  One problem at a time...

  Aside from the obvious simplicity of the key and lock instead of a card or biometric security, why did she need to be here? And why now?

  She wished she'd paid more attention when there was gossip or news about her dad, but no, she'd tuned it out like the hurt and lonely little girl she'd been.

  According to Callahan her father was only a block away. Caught up in something, definitely, but he was in the immediate area.

  Getting nowhere with her standard exploration of the abandoned office, she decided to see if the contacts helped at all.

  It took longer for her eyes to adjust to the lenses this time and just when she thought it was useless, the tiny display flickered to life. However they worked, whoever programmed them, it seemed the lenses became an interface between the wearer and the environment.

  She turned a slow circle, testing the display. Two yellow dots blinked into view where she expected Jameson and Callahan to be. How did the contact lenses know they were 'good guys'? Not the point. She didn't see any red dots closing in on her position, but parts of the room lit up, reminiscent of the way her talents illuminated a fever spike and break in a patient. Suddenly, she knew her father had made these lenses, wondered why she hadn't considered it before. He was likely the only researcher in the world who could so seamlessly marry technology with the human body.

  "All right, Dad. What am I after here?" Focusing on the 'hot spots', she pushed the rest of her questions out of her mind and searched again.

 
The edge of the desk was bright and she ran her fingers lightly over the surface, smiling when the display reacted.

  "Having fun?"

  "It's like tossing a pebble into a pond," she answered Callahan.

  "You're using the contacts."

  "Yes. You're not showing up as hostile."

  "Surprised?"

  "A little," she admitted, moving on to the next hot spot. "There might be a setting for moody. Or irritating."

  "You'll have to let me know." Her display showed Jameson hovering behind Callahan. "If you don't have anything, we need to blow this pop stand."

  "One more minute." There was something at the wall too. Bigger, but with the same sort of sheen as the hot spot on the desk. "Oh."

  "What?" Both men inched into the room.

  Mira crossed back to the desk and fiddled with the bright spot again. Her display registered the click at the same time as her fingers and brain. "Wow. That's slick." She urged the hidden panel open and stared down at a key ring. Her dad's old key ring. Lifting it out, intending to take it to her mom as a memory, she heard another click across the room.

  The temperature in the office dropped as the larger hot spot on the wall retracted.

  "Holy shit."

  Callahan and Jameson were already at the doorway. "A pressure lock with a wireless sensor?"

  "And still operational."

  "Must have been the first of its kind," Callahan mused. He leaned into the secret passageway. "This must be why we never see them coming or going. Why didn't our intel find this?"

  "And what building are they using instead?"

  "One way to find out." Callahan started through the opening.

  "No!" Mira yanked Callahan back and eased the door closed. "Shh. Red dots."

  "Huh?"

  She pointed to her eye. "Display. Enemy."

  He nodded, giving Jameson a signal that sent him back out to watch the entrance they'd used. "Stay with me," he hissed at Mira.

  She nodded.

  "Are they in the tunnels?"

  She nodded again. It was no good telling herself to breathe. There was a certain detached calm necessary for this type of work and she simply did not have it. She'd rather pit her skills against a malignant tumor than deal with this.