Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4) (14 page)

He opened the door and ushered Trina inside. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Right."

"So cynical."
But he knew she had reasons for her cynicism even when they'd been in school. He felt like offering some platitude about Slick Micky, but she'd only turn it around on him after he confessed.

She boldly assessed the space, probably coming to more dire conclusions about the man she thought she knew. "What's he like?"

"Fishing for details?"

"Yes. No. I have a picture in my head is
all. It'd be nice to have a little warning if I'm way off."

"So share and I'll let you know if you're on target." He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"Forget it." She started to fidget, sending the bracelet spinning around her wrist. "Just go get him."

"You'll stay right here?"

"Yes."

"No matter what?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." She added the movement to the childish phrase.

God he hoped it didn't come to that for either of them. However she reacted to the news, he knew he'd be safe in the warehouse. He could only hope after she learned the truth that she wouldn't expose him to all of
Chicagoland.

Chapter Fourteen

Trina wanted to believe the meeting was going to happen. Joel seemed sincere, but she wasn't sure he'd really deliver Slick
Micky into her hands.

She did her best to look benign while she waited. If Joel had any idea what she had planned for his boss, he'd never make the introduction. It still didn't make sense for her old friend to be
here
. Why would he team up with Slick Micky? The bastard had tried to blow him up just for horning in on the sugar business at the high school.

The cuff weighed heavy on her wrist as she looked around the office for clues to the murdering scum's thought process. He was simple and efficient if the uncluttered desk, sparkling monitors and pristine keyboard were any indication.
Most likely forced the mules to keep house for him.

The king of Chicago smuggling had the world on a string, especially here in this labyrinth of the decaying industrial district.

"But no personality I bet," she muttered, again picturing a squatty bald man with beady eyes. He had survival skills to stay at the top of a very cut throat game, but she could take him – physically if necessary. If Joel let her.

Joel's potential reaction to the assassination of Slick
Micky bothered her more than the likely scenario that she'd probably die right after she completed her assignment. She studied the hairline seam in the cuff, wondering whose finger was on the trigger. Joel's? Probably. Which meant no time for basking in her success. He'd been a nice kid with an enterprising mind. Other than confused, she wasn't sure what kind of man he was now.

He'd always been a black and white sort of thinker when it came to people. She shivered, knowing which side of the line he'd put her on the minute he found out what she'd been doing with herself all these years.

Mortified at her emotional excess, she swiped away a tear and told herself what Joel thought didn't matter. She'd done what she had to do to survive. It wasn't like she'd had enough control to live with normal people doing normal things. And though she'd practiced, she'd never been good enough with mass illusions to go into show business.

Not that she ever really dreamed of her name lighting up a huge marquis board in Vegas. The ridiculous, unbidden image brought a smile to her lips just as the door opened. She turned, prepared herself, and gaped at the man who'd been her recent hostage. "Ben?"

"I usually go by Slick Micky."

Her stomach lurched. She'd had the bastard in her hands? How had she so thoroughly misjudged this guy? Why hadn't she seen through this set up?

"You really are beautiful," he said in a sort of awed way. With a weak cough, he rounded the desk. "Have a seat."

She complied, just to buy a little time. So many factors and none of them added up. The man who'd brought all this together couldn't be so young or look so innocent. The Slick
Micky in her mind wouldn't lower himself to pull a guard's shift. The driver, Darlene, hadn't treated him with enough respect. No one had that kind of acting ability under duress.

"Well," he cleared his throat again. "You wanted a meeting." He leaned back and
steepled his fingers under his chin. "What can I do for you?"

She flashed the cuff. "Take this off?"

"I can. But not just yet."

"Understood."
She studied his youthful face. "You're younger than I expected." Her mind clicked through the possibilities, the known and unknown and kept returning to the same conclusion: Ben could not be Slick Micky.

"Everyone has an expectation." He gave her a shy smile. "It helps the street rep."

Sure it did. But a smuggler with a killer street rep probably wouldn't be sweating over a meeting with her. Ben's upper lip was shining already. "You were playing it pretty loose over on the strip the other night." Good grief, the man was blushing. She used the memory she'd invoked to delve a bit into his head.

Within seconds she had him back at The Levee bar, asking her out. She let it play out the way he'd hoped this time, murmuring the answers he'd wanted to hear.

No, this was
not
Slick Micky. Taking him out would just tip her hand to the real smuggler who was probably watching via camera or two-way mirror.

She knew she'd guessed right when the door burst open again. "Stop it! Right now, Trina!"

"Stop what?" Trina blinked up at Joel. "I'm not hurting him. Look for yourself. He's actually enjoying it."

Joel glared at her and signaled a couple of guys clad in black to help Ben out of the office.

She counted it a victory that no one had zapped her through the cuff. Huh. Maybe it was only a tracking device after all. As soon as she was certain one way or the other, the smuggler would pay for using Joel against her.

"What do you want with Slick
Micky?"

"I keep telling you,
that's between me and him."

"And whoever hired you." On an exasperated sigh, Joel planted himself in the boss's chair. "Then talk, Trina.
Because you're looking at him."

She stared at the man across the desk and willed his words away. Joel couldn't be her target. Fate wasn't that cruel. The murderous smuggler she'd come to kill was an old, squatty, bald guy with beady eyes.

Joel laughed aloud, startling her. "That's quite an image."

She was so off balance, she didn't know if she'd used her mind or her voice to share the picture she'd developed. "This is impossible," she whispered.

"As impossible as me being dead?"

Anger was her rallying call. "Don't make fun of me! I–I lo- lost you! I saw that explosion swallow you whole."

"It wasn't pretty."

Trina ignored the tears racing down her cheeks. This inexplicable cruelty was as devastating as the attempt on his life had been when she was a teenager. She clutched her midsection, searching for a tangible anchor in a world lurching under her feet.

"I'm sorry you're shocked."

She wanted him to be sorry for letting her suffer, for letting her believe the worst, for leaving her alone when they both knew how much she'd needed him. Looking up at him, through the wash of tears, she saw the hard truth in his cool green eyes, in the stern set of his jaw.

"All these years..." she began, but her emotions choked her. All these years, she'd sainted him in her mind. Joel had been the young gallant whose life had been snuffed too early by the obsessive greed of a crime boss. All these years, she'd used her sweet memories of him as a balm against the ragged truth of her life and livelihood.

To be merely shocked by the truth was the least of her problems.
And his.

She had a contract, guaranteed by deposit, to eliminate Slick
Micky. Montalbano would not rest until the notorious smuggler was dead. He'd offered her an obscene sum, which she'd happily agreed to, for the primary purpose of exacting vengeance for one deceased Joel Mickleson.

Well.
Two birds, one stone, as they said.

Her eyes were clear as her thoughts slowed and her emotions settled. Nothing had changed. Not really. She'd arrived in Chicago alone and friendless, intending to leave the same way. No, nothing had changed because the man sitting across from her would soon be as dead as she'd believed him to be for all these years.

Had it been only minutes ago that she worried over surviving the assassination? Now, she didn't care as long as he went down. Permanently.

"Trina?"

"Yes?" She used her sleeve to blot her eyes and face.

"Why did you kidnap my team?"

Why did you abandon me?
She smothered the child inside who wanted answers. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she'd cared. "To get close to Slick Micky. To get his attention. Make that
your
attention. You've managed to surround yourself with very devoted people."

"Thank you."

As if she'd been trying to compliment him.

"I had help. We had a business plan and we were careful about it."

"Oh?"

"You remember Sis?"

She steeled herself against the vulnerability he was showing, looking instead for a way into his mind. "Should I?"

"She helped me distribute product back in the day."

"Oh. That's right." Trina had a vague picture now, but it was more from the image in his mind than hers. "How is she?"

"Dead."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

The chill
Micky felt went bone deep and he thought he might never get warm again. This Trina was nothing like his old friend. This Trina not only knew about Sis, she was capable of pushing her out a window. Or convincing her to jump. He fought off a wave of nausea, wondering if she'd induced it.

Her lovely blue eyes had changed. Not just cold, they were flat now, yet charged with a current he couldn't describe. It didn't make sense.

After the scene at the storage center, he knew she could manipulate his perceptions and make him see things. He wondered if this was an illusion designed to unnerve him. Grappling to maintain control, he was grateful for the team standing by if she did try something.

"She was pushed out a window several days ago." That news elicited a flutter of lashes, as if she were coming out of a trance.

"That was Sis? Man, I
knew
I was on the right track."

"What?"
Micky struggled against the urge to pull out the tequila. But if Trina had killed Sis, no amount of alcohol would dull the pain. "Explain yourself," he roared.

Startled, she jumped in her seat and, for a moment, she looked like herself again. "I was hired to umm, find Slick
Micky. According to the information provided, I thought I was on the right track when a body went splat and wrecked my surveillance."

"Oh my God."

"Relax. I didn't kill her, but I know who did."

He snatched up the phone and was waiting for Jim to pick up when Trina sneered. "Isn't this interesting?"

"I'm not playing games, Trina."

"Oh, I beg to differ. Let me see if I can put it together." She tapped her lips and he hung up the phone. "Your right-hand girl was helped out the window, the cops have no real leads, and you want revenge."

"Close enough."

"Guess you owe me one."

"How so?"

"The guy who killed Sis is already dead."

"How do you know?" He didn't like showing this ice-clad bitch any weakness, but he couldn't hide the pain.

"Because I killed him."

"Why?"

Her face twisted into an awful grimace. "It's what I do."

She was messing with him. Oh, he had no doubt she knew something about it, but Trina couldn't kill anyone. Not really.

A voice in his head mocked his willful denial. But he just couldn't accept such cold brutality, not even from this new, dangerous version of Trina. She was mad, furious, and just trying to get even for all the hurt he caused her.

"Thanks for nothing." He picked up the phone again, punched in the code. "I'll have someone show you out."

"Out where?"

"Out of here. Go tell whoever you're working for Slick Micky's not rolling over so easy."

"You don't believe me."

"I believe you're pissed off and trying to hurt me, sure enough."

She lurched to her feet. "His name was Atlas."

Micky rolled his eyes, though it took all his willpower not to ask the questions racing around his mind. Who hired a guy named Atlas? How had he learned about Sis? What was the next move?

Trina trembled with fury. "He was hired on behalf of Dakota who likes to toy with his enemies."

Anyone with a basic working knowledge of Chicago crime could know that. "Whatever. You've had your fun, now get the hell out."

"Oh, I haven't begun to have fun with you yet."

"Something to look forward to." But he recognized that feverish light in her eyes. She was about to attack. He pressed the remote in his pocket and enjoyed the view as the shock raced across her amazing face as the cuff put her down.

The cuff was programmed to send an alert to security when activated and the team burst into his office, Jim leading the charge. "You okay, boss?"

"Yeah. Take her back to isolation. No restraints. Just lock it down and keep the monitors on."

They probably shouldn't be sedating her this much.

"You got it."

"Put April on the detail as her only contact. And no one goes in or out of that room."

Jim nodded and followed his team as they dragged Trina's limp form away.

In the horrible silence that followed,
Micky poured a shot of tequila and tossed it back. He just couldn't make it add up. Sure she'd been tough as nails physically and mentally with the whole kidnapping thing, but killing a guy named Atlas?

He didn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it, even after watching her eyes change and shed
her  humanity, turning into empty, distant windows. Trina hadn't had the best home life, he knew that, but growing up rough didn't make a person a killer.