by Black, Regan
"I lost myself in the research and let his warped influence run unchecked. The Five were victims of his clever manipulation. That's on me. But you can fix all of it Mira. You, as a radiant healer can show the order how to move forward from here. Remind us of what we are designed and destined to achieve. Together we can get our healers back on the right track."
"I don't know." She shook her head. "Things are so different now. What about the Five? They'll be furious with me about this morning."
Lydia beamed. "I'm sure your work was superb. Combined with successfully taking down a madman bent on twisting our gifts for his personal vengeance, I'm sure they won't bring any further charges against you." She eyed each of the enforcers in turn, waited for their silent affirmations. "You have reliable witnesses to back up the formal report I will file."
"You'll file the report?" Luther stared down at his wife.
"I had to do something to stay busy while you were out innovating for everyone else." She winked at him. "Nice job on these contacts. Besides, infiltrating the Five helped me keep Mira out of trouble more often than not."
"You serve on the Five?"
"I've tried to be the voice of reason." Lydia brushed a tear from her daughter's cheek. "It can be a little lonely with those musty old grumps. Maybe you can both help me convince them of the best way forward from here."
Jameson squeezed Mira's hand, waited until she met his gaze. "What do you want, Mira?"
She sighed. "Things do need to change. Ability needs to be nurtured, not squandered or smothered. There has to be a path forward that is good for healers and the world at large." She looked at him intently, his love for her reflected in her shining eyes.
"I want to stop hiding, Jameson. I want my future, my way." She gripped his shoulders firmly. He smiled in perfect understanding. "No matter what happens with the order, I want a real future with you. I'm not letting go."
"We're in it together then."
"Yes." She kissed him. "You ready?"
"Always." He spun her around in a happy circle, gave her a loud kiss. "For anything."
The End
Leanore Makes a Deal
Chicago 2095
Slick Micky was just another suit in Chicago's Financial district this afternoon. Men and women intent on managing for clients large and small barely noticed anything about their surroundings. Like them, he kept his eyes on his hand held and his shoulders hunched as if braced for the next sudden downturn in the market.
Unlike them, his mobile device was only pulling in data that mattered to him: coffee prices, sugar shipments and the latest rumors on new restrictions being considered on Capitol Hill.
It was a brisk spring day in the city. The wind was living up to the reputation, whipping around the high rises, snatching at open coats and loose ties. It was beautiful to be out of the office and enjoy the day without any risk of being recognized by customers or competitors alike.
He'd guarded his identity for more than half his life and he never appreciated that effort more than in moments like this one.
He found an empty table outside of a tidy little restaurant he hoped to one day to add to his exclusive client list. He'd been stopping by at least once a week, sometimes for a meal, usually just for a coffee. It wasn't easy to stay in character as he sipped the flat, half-caff brew the owner served in compliance with federal regulations.
He knew from his years serving the caffeine addicted masses that this little bistro could profit greatly if they started serving smuggled coffee - provided by his team, of course.
The smile he felt on the inside came to life as his favorite waitress, Leanore, approached his table.
She went through their standard exchange, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it. She had sunglasses on, which wasn't so unusual, but her platinum blonde hair was styled forward rather than into the normal ponytail.
She rattled off the specials when asked, then nodded when he ordered coffee and a slice of the apple pie. May as well go for both the coffee and pure sugar. The place would triple business within a week.
Leanore reached for the menu, but he didn't let go. "You feeling okay?"
"I'm fine, Mr. Joseph." She slid a look toward the building and gave the menu a subtle tug. "I'll be back in a minute with your pie."
He let her go, content to watch. For now. But he sent a text to his security team, asking for a recon set up. It needed to be done before he approached the owner because Slick Micky didn't do business until he was certain of all the facts.
* * *
Leanore hurried back into the kitchen, her tender eye throbbing from the bright spring sunshine. She knew Davis, head chef and acting manager, had put her outside because he wanted to add insult to injury and heap on the humiliating point she wasn't really the one in charge right now.
He told her she worked the sidewalk because she had the best legs and therefore drew in more of the distracted businessmen, but they both knew that was bullshit.
She worked outside because she could manage the chaos without losing money on those distracted businessmen who weren't above walking on a check if they had the chance. Today was a bonus - for Davis - that the job she took pride in caused her more pain beyond the usual headache and tired feet.
She dropped the menu on the stack by the bar and rolled her shoulders back as she entered the kitchen. Too late, she'd learned the only thing a person could count on in Davis' domain was volatility, usually with a side of violent language.
Up until last night, she'd believed his violence didn't go further than language and the well placed meat cleaver.
Funny how a misplaced word could reveal the true inner terror of a person, she mused as she warmed the pie and added a scoop of sugar-free, non-dairy ice cream.
He hollered at her for selling dessert when she should be selling meals and she smiled gently when the bartender found a reason to come in and distract him.
It seemed her tinted glasses, makeup, and styling her hair around her face weren't fooling anyone. They might think being beaten up was something she intended to tolerate. They'd be wrong. She just needed Davis to believe it for long enough to plan her way out from under his fist.
She delivered the pie and coffee to Mr. Joseph, forcing her bruised cheek into her customary smile despite the achy stiffness.
"Smells delicious," he said.
"Made it myself," she confessed on a whisper. "If you need anything else, I'll be around."
He gave her a long look that made her feel like he'd peeled back her bravado and clearly saw her budding plans. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but she didn't feel threatened or small, reactions Davis had been creating at will lately.
Later, Mr. Joseph swiped a card to cover the bill, but he tucked a bit of cash in her palm for the tip. The out of character move surprised her, as did his lengthy study of her. "Who made that pie?"
Leanore couldn't help it, she glanced around for any sign of Davis before she answered. "I did."
"It was delicious." Nodding, Mr. Joseph added, "If you need anything else, Leanore, I'll be around."
The words sent a chill down her spine. She'd always considered him a bit more attentive than his counterparts, but the way he said that made her wonder about her assumptions. What exactly was he offering and why did she feel she should jump on whatever assistance he wanted to provide?
She watched him go, watched him blend into the crowded street, his dark suit one of many rushing from one place to the next. Next time he came in she promised herself she'd ask more direct questions.
* * *
"You don't have to be here, boss."
Micky ignored the less than subtle hint. It was at least the third time Jim, his head of security, had tried to send him away. Any other man might be annoyed, but Micky knew Jim was looking at the big picture. If Micky was spotted it could mean the end of their entire operation, not just this potential rescue of Leanore. "No one will see me."
"Uh-huh."
"Just keep an eye o
n the restaurant." Micky went back to listening to the conversation going on inside. When he'd sent the recon request, Jim's team had leaped to action, stopping by as customers and getting a couple bugs planted in the process.
No matter how he'd tried to forget it, the image of Leanore's swollen eye had haunted him all day. Combined with her skittish behavior, so out of character for a woman who always oozed confidence, his gut told him something was wrong.
"The pie is her recipe," he muttered to himself.
"Must be some pie," Jim grumbled.
"It'll be better with real sugar and something other that the half-caff they serve now."
"Never pegged you for a restauranteur, boss."
Micky chuckled. "Diversification is key. Although in this case using good coffee and real sugar to make a better experience or product for the customer is not as diverse as smuggler and restaurateur sounds.
If the pie was hers, Micky was betting most of the other recipes originated with her as well. He wanted to know why she let Davis take the credit.
From their listening post in the neighboring building Micky heard a crash, deafening silence, followed by the roar of shouting voices. Beside him, Jim tensed. Micky heard Davis yelling vile insults, but they could hardly go in on that.
Leanore's voice steamrolled over Davis. She wasn't backing down and Micky smiled, imagining the sneer as she tossed back some creative vocabulary.
The sudden clang made both men cringe. Even while Micky tried to figure out just what the sound could be, he gave Jim the nod to send in the team.
The sounds of fighting didn't stop immediately, even after Micky's security entered the fray. Finally they heard the all clear and Jim escorted him to the bistro.
Leanore's tear-stained face registered shock at the site of him. "Mr. Joseph?"
"Are you okay?"
"Sure." She pushed loose hair behind her ear and her eyes darted wildly as if she didn't know who to focus on. "We're closed."
"I know." He smiled at her and leaned against a steel prep counter, doing his best easygoing friend routine. "You have a problem?"
"Yes. No. Not anymore." Her eyes rested on the big man on the floor.
Davis was apparently unconscious, slumped beneath the wall ovens. Micky glanced to his team. "Is he dead?"
"No sir."
Leanore sagged with relief. "Are you a cop?"
Micky chuckled along with the rest of his men. "No, but I can help you all the same."
"What's the catch?"
He liked this clever, feisty woman. "We'll get to that. What do you need here, Leanore?"
"I want him out of here. He fooled me once, but no one lays a hand on me and keeps it."
Micky took a closer look at Davis. His face was purple where he imagined she'd brained him with the cast iron skillet she still held, but the man's hand might never be the same. It looked like she'd managed to break all his fingers.
"He came at me with a knife this time after I- I suggested he let me make the ravioli tonight. The pasta was tough yesterday."
"The lobster ravioli?" Micky knew it well.
She nodded. "It's my grandma's recipe. He can't leave well enough alone and half the time, his inventiveness ruins the dish."
Again, Micky wondered why she let the man in the kitchen at all, but that wasn't the point now. "Does he have any legal claim to this place? To you?"
"No." Her expression changed, the determination wobbling. "I hired him as manager, to give myself a bit of breathing room. But he was lousy. I tried to fire him and got smacked around." She pointed to the eye. "Fool thought I'd just curl up and let him ruin the place."
Micky nodded to Jim who had his team in action within seconds. "We'll get him out of here," Micky said as they hauled Davis' big body out of the kitchen.
"Can you run this place by yourself?"
"Yeah. The rest of the staff is solid. Davis was just - just a poor judgment call."
"Happens to all of us."
"I wanted to expand the hours and menu before we were ready."
"Well he won't be a problem anymore."
"Where will you take him?"
"We should focus on the conditions of keeping him gone."
Leanore bristled and flexed her fingers on the skillet handle.
"That won't be necessary." He took a step closer. "Everything has a price, Leanore. Let me outline mine."
He explained his intent to improve her business with a steady supply of real, fully caffeinated coffee and pure sugar for her baking. Her eyes sparkled with eagerness - most bakers did. Still she didn't agree right away, only relaxing when he told her the risk of a raid would be mitigated by his influence.
"You're Slick Micky," she said.
He nodded. "And you're one of very few people who know my face."
Her eyes went wide, taking in the implications of that.
"Do you have a nicotine license?" He felt it best to conclude business quickly. No matter what he told Jim, he really didn't like to be out in the city without some sort of disguise.
"No. Can't stand cigars or cigarettes."
"Then coffee and sugar is it."
"That's all? I just do my thing and serve your stuff."
"You'll pay a fraction above wholesale once this place is turning a better profit."
"What kind of fraction?"
Micky laughed. "I like you, Leanore. It's why I helped you get rid of that dead weight. We'll start with a standing order of lobster ravioli, then you'll share the recipe with me. After say six months or so, I'll start collecting five percent."
"What?"
"You'd rather pay ten?"
"No- that seems so low. I mean more than fair."
Micky counted himself fortunate that he'd been able to deal with a flustered Leanore. Without the leverage of Davis, the woman might have negotiated him into paying her for his top of the line coffee and sugar.
"Five percent and -" he held up a hand to stop her interruption -"the occasional favor. Your location might come in handy once in awhile. Your job would just be to make whomever arrives with my blessing feel welcome."
"I can do that."
"It won't be often, I assure you. And it won't ever be Davis," he finished, anticipating her next stipulation.
"Then we have a deal."
He extended his hand, managing not to laugh when she had to set aside the skillet to shake on it. "If I could make one more suggestion?"
She eyed him warily.
"Name this place after yourself."
Her smile was slow, but it lit up her face and chased away the tension. "I can do that."
"I know a guy who does signs -"
"No thanks," she said on a half-laugh. "I'll manage to find someone on my own."
As Micky left the restaurant and faded into the shadows of the Chicago night, he decided Leanore understood him better than most of the people he dealt with. She was a woman who understood there was a give and take to life and a savvy businessman - businessperson- knew how to walk that sharp edge with perfect balance.
About the Author
Regan Black is dedicated to providing action-packed stories with a paranormal twist so readers of all ages can savor a fantastic escape from the daily routine. Raised in the Midwest and California, she currently lives in South Carolina and balances the bliss of writing life with a household of engineers of all ages and an impressive domestic zoo starring three retired greyhounds, two cats, and four quirky finches.
You can visit her anytime at www.reganblack.com
Discover more adventures by Regan Black:
The Shadows of Justice Series:
Justice Incarnate, Book 1
Invasion of Justice, Book 2
Veil of Justice, Book 3
From the Ashes novella
Dream Works novella
Tracking Shadows, Book 4
Shadows to Light, Book 5
In the Interest of Security, novella
The Hobbitville Saga (of short stories):
The Pixie Chicks
Hot Spots
Breaking New Ground
The Shadow Stone
Snow Covered Resolutions
The Matchmaker Series (the lighter side of Regan Black):
The Matchmaker's Mark
The Matchmaker's Curse
The Bodyguard's Vow
Non-fiction:
Adopt A Greyhound Guide
Goal Setting For Writers: Making Revisions Work in Life and Art
Connect with me online:
Visit ReganBlack.com for excerpts, news, giveaways and more!
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ReganBlack.fans
Twitter: http://twitter.com/reganblack
Enjoy this excerpt from Justice Incarnate (book one in the Shadows of Justice series)
Chapter One
"There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root."
–Henry David Thoreau
Chicago: 2096
Jaden Michaels splashed the last of her best Merlot into the only clean glass in the kitchen. Presentation didn't matter when a woman only needed to rinse the taste of a poor lover from her lips.
And poor he'd been. She'd almost been able to catch up on her sleep as he bounced rhythmically. But the indulgence would've cost her a source of invaluable information.
Bouncy-boy reported to another in the criminal food chain, this one with enough clout to bring her closer to her target.
She swirled the wine in the glass and her mind flashed with timeless, bloody memories. She tossed it back and imagined the day when she could rest. She prayed this life would break the cycle.
The wine at last relieved her of the stale taste of her informant. He needed advice in the sex department, but Jaden wouldn't waste her time. She'd probably serve him better by teaching him to defend himself against the wrath of dissatisfied women. On the off chance one of them would care.
