by L. T. Ryan
And just like that, Zbirak would slip back into the shadows like he had for the past twenty-five years. His spirits were high as he merged onto the highway half an hour later, certain no one had followed him. His only regret was that he’d let Pisano ruin his dinner.
No matter. Once Mrs. Sherman was out of the picture, he’d sit down for another steak dinner. And this time, he wouldn’t make the mistake of inviting anyone else to the table.
Concealed in Shadow: Chapter 2
The Chicago Historical Society was founded in 1856 to study and interpret the city’s storied past. After pieces of their collection succumbed to fire on two separate occasions, the CHS moved their museum and library to Lincoln Park, where it still stands to this day, boasting over twenty-two million items exploring the city’s influence on American history and vice versa. With the city providing a backdrop to the West and Lake Michigan to the East, the Chicago History Museum collects snapshots of time and preserves them for all to witness.
One of the great ironies of her life was that Cassie Quinn loved museums. The smell, the atmosphere, the people, the history, the influence—all of it. You could walk into a museum and transport yourself to Ancient Egypt, where a toilet was merely a hole in a stool, and then fast forward to a time in which a man named Marcel Duchamp could place a urinal upside down in a gallery and call it a fountain. Nowhere else in the world can you find such a strange amalgamation of historically and intellectually significant objects. The breadth of human achievement placed under the same roof was astronomical.
But Cassie could not celebrate museums without also acknowledging the elephant in the room. Lord Elgin famously stole pieces of the Parthenon and transported them to Britain, where they continue to reside in the British Museum. Vandalism and theft were not solitary events, and many European museums have refused to return the legacies of other countries to their rightful places. If Greece cannot retrieve their beloved history, imagine the likelihood that an African nation could convince England to give up their cultural property, nearly all of which dwells outside of the continent.
Even the Chicago History Museum has an uncomfortable past to atone for. Lincoln Park was once a municipal burial ground for over thirty-five thousand people, many of which had died of cholera. But the earth at the edge of the lake was loose and sandy, and they had buried the bodies below the water table, which meant they were at risk for contaminating the city’s water supply.
In the mid- to late-1800s, the bodies were transferred from the park to rural cemeteries outside the city limits. But with so many people buried there, it was impossible to locate and move them all. The Great Chicago Fire of 1871 destroyed many of the markers, further complicating the situation. Estimates indicate ten thousand bodies could still be buried beneath the soil of the park, and every time someone brings in a backhoe—like during each of the Chicago History Museum’s several expansions—more bones surface.
And there was the irony—Cassie loved museums with every fiber of her being, but they tested her mental fortitude like no other place on the planet could. When she crossed the threshold into a cemetery, she knew what she was getting into. There was bound to be a ghost who approached her, begging for help. But in a museum, there were no rules. Ghosts and visions assaulted her senses. Millions of objects harbored information from the past, waiting for the right person to walk by. Pair that with tens of thousands of spirits who had passed through the grounds, and it was hard to say whether Cassie could truly have a good time within the confines of such a place.
But something had shifted in New Orleans. Sabine Delacroix had turned a key and unlocked Cassie’s powers. Her abilities were nowhere near stable or perfect, but for the first time in her life, she was confident. She had patience. She trusted the answers would come in due time. That trip to New Orleans had opened her eyes to an infinite number of possibilities. She didn’t want to run and hide anymore; she wanted to help those forgotten by the annals of time. With a newfound purpose in hand, Cassie walked a little taller.
Nevertheless, exploring the Chicago History Museum was no easy feat. She could feel the artifacts tugging on her consciousness, begging to be heard. Spirits drifted by, untethered and yet imprisoned within a world where they had been relegated to myth and legend. The older the ghost, the further gone. But the younger ones were still hungry for answers, and they often went to great lengths to seek her out.
Unfortunately, Cassie already had a mission, and the museum was merely a pit stop along the way. She wandered aimlessly, allowing the current of the universe to determine her destination, until she stopped in front of one of the most prominent oil-on-canvas paintings in the building. Memories of the Chicago Fire in 1871, painted from memory forty-one years later by Julia Lemos, who had witnessed the historical event firsthand.
Billowing clouds of smoke stretched across the sky as tendrils of flame consumed buildings from the inside out, like a parasite, with no concern for the longevity of its host. Its fuel was too willing to accept its embrace, and so the fire feasted like a king.
Dozens of people fled the scene, their dark clothes in contrast to the pollution overhead. Cassie could hear the calamitous event like she had a crackling speaker up to her ear. People shouting, horses neighing, and wood crackling as the blaze consumed the city without pause or prejudice.
Cassie had been to Chicago once in her youth and vowed never to return. As a teenager, she had buried her abilities so deeply within herself that they were nearly non-existent. Nearly. The city had always given her a headache and caused her stomach to twist in response to an unseen force. While the migraines were a distant memory, the knot in her abdomen curled in on itself until Cassie winced. She consciously had to loosen the muscles and tell her body to relax. But it was difficult to convince herself she wasn’t in any immediate danger when she could feel the inferno’s heat caressing the back of her neck.
A vibration in her pocket broke Cassie from her daze, and when she saw Jason’s name light up her phone, a smile broke across her face. Her skin cooled, the knot loosened, and the sound of screaming men, women, and children faded away to a dull roar that she tucked into the deepest recesses of her mind.
“Hey.” Cassie’s voice was breathless with surprise, and she winced. Even from a thousand miles away, he had that effect on her. “Miss me already?”
“Can you blame me?” There was a chuckle in Jason’s voice that made her heart skip a beat. Even if he was playing into her joke, it was nice to hear. “How was your flight? Did you make some more friends?”
Cassie’s laugh echoed around the hall. A few heads turned, and she winced in response. Stepping back from the painting, she nestled into a corner where she wouldn’t disturb anyone else. “Yeah, I met a wizard who could travel through time. Nice guy. Poor fashion sense.”
Jason laughed, but the humor didn’t linger.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Jane Livingston asked Magdalena if you’re still interested in your job.”
Cassie froze. “What? Why?”
“You’ve been missing a lot of work.”
“They’ve approved all my time off.”
“I know.” Jason sighed, and the air from his mouth made the phone crackle in her ear. “That’s probably why Jane hasn’t said anything to you. But if she’s asking Mags whether you’re still interested, then they’re probably wondering if all this time off is becoming a pattern.” There was a deadening silence on the phone before Jason blew out another breath of air. “I’m sorry, I feel like I’m being the bad guy here.”
“You’re not. I know you’re not.” She tapped her foot on the ground until someone looked at her pointedly and she stopped. Putting her back to them, she lowered her voice. “Has Jane said anything to you yet?”
“No, but I’m not sure if she’s aware of our… relationship.”
Cassie’s heart fluttered at the word. The last time she’d seen Jason, they’d shared a kiss outside her hotel room. They hadn’t talked about
labels or exclusivity, and Cassie was afraid if she broached the topic, she’d jinx the whole thing. “I’m choosing not to worry about it for now,” she declared. “They approved my time off, so there’s nothing they can say about it. When I get home, I’ll work overtime to make sure I wrap up all my projects. And then some.”
“Do you know when you’re coming back yet?”
“No idea. I’m supposed to meet Adelaide in a few minutes. Once I talk with her, I’ll have a better idea of what’s going on.” She wasn’t used to sharing her fears with people, so she had to force out the next words. “I’m worried about her.”
“How come?”
“She’s not acting like herself.” Cassie sagged into the wall. All she wanted to do was crawl back into bed. “She won’t leave Chicago without answers.”
“I know she’s important to you,” Jason started, “and not just because she was also important to David.” He hesitated, like he was measuring each word to make sure it held exactly the right weight. “But don’t let her drag you into something you’re not ready for, okay? It’s hard enough losing someone, but it’s a whole different ballgame when you have to investigate their death, too. Trust me, I know.”
Jason hadn’t shared his story with Cassie yet, but this wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned he knew how she was feeling. Even without all the details, the idea comforted her—momentarily, at least. Then she’d remember how David had written her a letter specifically telling her not to look into his murder, and she’d feel guilt swell up inside her again. “Thank you.” A comforting silence filled the phone. It was nice just to exist together. “You probably have to go soon.”
“Keep me updated, okay?” There was a strain to his voice. “And be careful.”
“I will,” she said, though it wasn’t really a promise she could make. “I’ll text you once we know anything new.”
After Cassie hung up, she took a moment to breathe. Somewhere over the course of the conversation, her anxiety had ratcheted up, threatening to constrict her throat and lungs against her will. The heat of the museum didn’t help matters, so with great abandon, she wound her way back toward the entrance and into Chicago’s winter air, relishing in how it pierced her skin and shocked her body into forgetting about the burden she carried.
Turning left, Cassie strolled down the street toward a tiered fountain at the end of the road. Hooking left again, she meandered along a path lined with bare trees. The city had seen its first snow a month ago, and the frozen ground made sure it couldn’t melt away. The end of December was approaching, and unlike Savannah, Chicago rarely went without a white Christmas.
As Cassie neared a crossroads, a figure rounded the corner and stopped in the middle of the path. Even from a distance, Cassie recognized Harris’ telltale silhouette, complete with a slicked-back ponytail and a pair of aviators. A long wool coat covered most of her outfit, but Cassie could tell Harris had given up her pantsuit for a pair of jeans. The Timberlands on her feet were in stark contrast to the glossy sheen of the pavement.
Cassie looked past Harris and out across the expanse of Lincoln Park. She felt the spirits more than she saw them, and she wondered how she could navigate a city so full of tragedy without being pulled under the waves. At one time, she would’ve been happy to lean on Harris for support, but these days, Cassie couldn’t trust that the detective wouldn’t risk her drowning just to get a few answers.
But it was too late to turn back now, and when Harris raised her hand in greeting, Cassie returned the gesture, plastering a smile on her face and praying to God that the Windy City wouldn’t blow them off course.
Concealed in Shadow: Chapter 3
Cassie waited until she was within earshot of Harris. “Hey, how are you doing?”
Harris pursed her mouth. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re worried about me.”
“What’s wrong with being worried about you?”
“How would you feel if I asked you that?” Harris placed a hand on Cassie’s shoulder and stared directly into her eyes. “How are you doing?”
“I would be grateful.”
“You’d be offended.”
“Fine.” Cassie rolled her eyes. “I’ll pretend like I don’t care.”
“You’re not supposed to worry about me,” Harris amended. “I’m supposed to worry about you.”
“Okay, now I am offended.”
A smile broke across her face. “Good.”
“Seriously, though.” Cassie didn’t want to press the subject, but they couldn’t avoid it forever. “You dragged me to Chicago on a whim. I’m allowed to check in.”
“It wasn’t a whim, and I didn’t drag you here. From what I remember, there was little to no hesitation before you agreed to meet me,” Harris said. “And yes, I’m fine. All things considered.”
All things considered. Cassie let the phrase roll around in her mouth. It tasted bitter. The thing they were considering was David’s death. She supposed she was also fine if she didn’t incorporate her feelings about her best friend’s murder into the equation. But how could she not? It took up every inch of her brain space. She couldn’t get away from it if she tried. And she’d definitely tried.
“Whim or no whim,” Cassie said, “I can’t stay here long. People are already asking questions at work. I can’t miss too many more days.”
Harris’ playful air vanished. “We’re talking about figuring out what happened to David. David,” she said, like Cassie had forgotten who this was all about. “Let them ask questions.”
“I can’t lose my job, Adelaide.”
Harris took a big breath and held it for a few seconds before exhaling through her mouth. “I know. I’m sorry.” She looked like she meant it, but frustration still coated her words. “And I appreciate you coming out here with me. The dead of winter isn’t exactly the best time to be in Chicago.”
As if on cue, an icy breeze tore through the park. Cassie pulled her jacket up around her neck. “I miss Savannah.”
Harris spread her arms wide. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Chicago. It reminds me of Montana.” She cut a glance sideways. “But I can’t deny that you’re less likely to lose a couple appendages to frostbite in Georgia.”
“Let’s walk.” Cassie gestured to the path ahead. “I can already feel the hypothermia setting in.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Harris replied, but she cut to the left and led Cassie down another path.
Cassie pushed her hands deep into her pockets. “Tell me more about this flash drive.”
“I haven’t looked through the whole thing yet—”
Cassie stopped dead in her tracks. “So, you see one piece of information that points to Chicago, and you decide to hop on a plane? You haven’t even gone through the entire drive yet?”
Harris rolled her eyes and grabbed the crook of Cassie’s elbow, dragging her forward. “Relax. There are a lot of files on the thing, and they’re not all labeled. I’ve gone through a good portion of it, but there’s still a lot to figure out. Some of it’s coded. Some of it’s a bunch of numbers without context. It’s going to take time.”
The chill in the air made Cassie snippy. “And remind me again why we’re here?”
With all the patience of a parent explaining to her child why the sky is blue, Harris said, “Randall Sherman was an accountant. He came forward a few weeks ago wanting to turn on Aguilar. We figured he was running Aguilar’s books.” She patted the pocket of her wool coat. “And considering what’s on here, it looks like we were right.”
“What made him want to turn?”
“His wife is pregnant. He thought he was in too deep, and he got cold feet.”
Cassie felt like a broken record. “And Chicago?”
“There’s a folder full of bank transactions. They went back a couple of years. There were only about four or five variations in the numbers.” Harris paused to see if Cassie followed her train of thought, but wh
en only silence met her, she continued. “It reads like services rendered. A flat fee for a project completed. The night of David’s murder is on that list.”
“Services rendered?” Cassie didn’t like the way her mind was putting two and two together. “You’re talking about an assassin.”
Harris shrugged. She looked far too casual for the topic at hand. “Someone murdered David with a police-issue sniper rifle. It was a professional job. It makes sense.”
“Let me get this straight.” Cassie’s teeth rattled, and she wasn’t sure it was just from the cold. “We’re in Chicago, following a lead on the assassin that killed David?” No matter how many times she said assassin, it didn’t make the word any easier to swallow. “Does that not sound insane to you?”
“We’re following the money trail. If this person is doing jobs for Aguilar, they could be anywhere—Savannah, Chicago, Tallahassee, Rome.”
“You think Aguilar needs to take care of business in Rome?”
“Probably not, but the point still stands. I doubt we’re going to run into David’s killer unless we sound the alarms, and we’re going to do everything we can to avoid that.” Frustration flashed across Harris’ face. “We have a bunch of numbers in a bunch of files, but nothing tied to physical evidence. That’s why we’re here. We need to figure out where that money went and prove it was a payoff for David’s murder.”
“You mentioned an address?”
Harris bobbed her head. They were approaching the end of the path, and yet another fountain rose in the distance. “I imagine Sherman put together the information on the flash drive quickly, hoping to offload it to David and get out of Dodge as soon as he could. Some folders make more sense than others. This one didn’t have much context, but he had included an address. So, that’s where we start.”
