Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4) (15 page)

What if the rough home life and the psychic skills had caused her to snap?

He poured another shot. He could 'what if' this situation until he was as dead as she seemed to want him.

"Is it helping?"

He looked up, ready to snarl at whoever dared to intrude, then recognized Jaden Michaels peeking through the door. He waved her in. "Not really. You want any?"

"Nah.
Put it away. Unless you'll cut me a break on the bill if you're drunk."

"Not a chance."

When she grinned like that he understood why Brian would do anything for her. Jesus, that was dangerous ground. He'd had too much emotion and tequila.

"You're in a bad way. Want me to come back later?"

"I'll only charge you late fees."

"Naturally," she said, rolling her eyes. "Here's the receipt for the transfer. Did I forget anything?"

Micky gave it a cursory glance. "Looks good."

"Thanks for giving us a pass on the extra meals."

"What the hell?" He lifted the receipt, hoping the numbers would stop dancing.

"I knew you didn't look at it! What's wrong,
Micky?"

"Bad blast from the past, nothing to worry about."

"Mmm-hmm."

"It's been eventful since you left, can we leave it at that?"

"Do you need my help?"

Did he?
Micky stared as she lounged back in the chair. "It's not business." Though the root of the trouble was business, he was more upset about the invisible injuries between him and Trina. His lies, her illusions. He rubbed his cheek. When he thought of the secrets that protected his team, he realized they were two sides of the same coin. What a kick in the ass. He put the tequila away to avoid anymore unwelcome introspection.

"You need to make this your last trip until you hear from me," he said. "Things are hairy around here just now."

"Is it about the woman who was killed? I only met Sis a couple times –"

He waved his hands to cut her off. "It's nothing you can do anything about."

Jaden leaned forward, her voice full of compassion. "I'm sorry, Micky. If there's anything Brian or I can do, name it."

"Thanks, but I dug this hole myself. I'll climb out of it on my own too."
Hopefully. He changed the subject. "Hey, did you hear about some crazy battle royale out West?"

She got to her feet and shot him a dazzling smile. "Yeah, I heard some stories.
Seems settled now, though."

He'd bet his entire stash of coffee she'd been in on the settling. "Be careful," he said as she reached for the door.

"I'll be just as careful as you."

God help her. Just as weary, but more at ease thanks to the tequila and conversation,
Micky tried to reason out the next step.

Trina was safe and his team was safe from her. Based on her behavior with Darlene and Ben, he figured she wouldn't try to hurt April. Killer or not, an idea he still wasn't sold on, she exhibited a code of honor about innocents.

Turning to his monitor, he pulled up the records out at the storage center. His fingers fumbled, a casualty of the liquor, but he soon had what he was looking for. Trina had rented a unit under a false name. In a matter of minutes, he'd learned what cut rate motel room she'd rented and had a team in mind to gather her personal things. He sent the request over the internal email, inviting anyone monitoring the signal to intercept it. Anything to bring his enemies to light.

He tried to weigh the tasks ahead of him, and knowing who hired her was certainly a priority, though it wasn't something he'd figure out half drunk and exhausted.

Leaving his office through the secret door, he savored the cool solitude of the private routes he'd built into his fortress. At his apartment, he noted the blinking alerts on his monitors, but he ignored them in favor of a quick ion shower and his bed.

Chapter Fifteen

The dreams turned into nightmares as bad as they'd been immediately after the accident. His skin blistered and raw, the slightest move had him crying out in pain. He fought his way to the surface, and rolled out of bed, sweating and angry that Trina had dredged all this up.

She'd seemed morally offended that he hadn't sent her a post card or email telling her he'd lived.

As if that had been possible.
He'd been fighting for his life. The spray-on skin had erased most of his burns and the remaining scars were always concealed so no one could point to a single distinction that might identify him as the Slick Micky. The unexpected infection in his seared lungs had kept him hospitalized. The doctors had all but given up, unable to identify the cause and cure the infection. He hadn't thought about this in years. Didn't want to think about it now. He scrubbed at the rough, puckered scar tissue on his chest. With the startling force of a flash-bang grenade, remembered details of his past clicked into context with the present.

He yanked on jeans and grabbed a shirt, pulling it over his head as he ran, barefoot, up to the infirmary.

The tile was cool under his feet as he barreled into the empty nurse's office. Hands on the keyboard, he was trying to break her password while his foot worked to drag her chair into place.

Having succeeded with the chair, but failing with the password, he called down to security. "Unlock the nurse's computer."

"Oh, no," she said from behind him. "You will not breach patient privacy. Sir," she added with plenty of disrespect.

He dropped the phone to plead his case. "I only want
my
file!" He jumped out of the chair and rolled it closer to her. "And the report about whatever substance I inhaled."

She glared at him.

"Please." He gently nudged her into the chair and rolled her back to the desk.

"Doc told you to look at the analysis and report."

"I did look."

He let her rail at him, only half listening while she called up the information he needed. It was the first real lead he'd had on defining who was sabotaging his operation. He wasn't about to slink out just because she was angry.

"Can we switch?" He was trying to read as she clicked quickly from screen to screen.

"No. I'm printing it out for you.
Patient Privacy." Micky mimicked the words as she said them, bouncing impatiently as her printer spit out one slow page at a time. He made a mental note to get her an upgrade.

"Thank you!" He smacked a kiss to the top of her head. Finally he had every page of the report on the new drug, his own health history, and the chemical breakdown of the substance in the packing material.

He found the nearest bed and used it as a table, hoping the facts lined up with his theory.

"I'm going back to bed," the nurse announced.

"Sweet dreams," he called after her. "Wait!" He braved her darkest glare. "Is Chloe still struggling?"

"She's been fine. Back to her routine by now, I'm sure."

"Good." Micky turned back to his analysis. Comparing his health history to the chemical breakdown of the tainted packing material he found what he was looking for. The same substance that had seared his lungs in the explosion, was also in the packing material.

If he was right, someone who knew he'd be sensitive to the chemical was behind the tainted shipment. Sure, members of his team would've been affected like Chloe, but when he'd looked into any problem, he'd be debilitated. And he had been.

He thought of where Sis had been when she'd been pushed out of the window. Knowing there were no coincidences from that point forward, he worried over how they'd found her and if they'd tortured her to get a bead on him.

It was a frightening revelation to know an enemy from his past was still so determined to take him out and take over his operation. The list he'd given Brian was two names too long.

The Reverend had only known him as Slick Micky. Unless he'd paid someone or hacked into the medical records, he wouldn't know of this specific weakness. The Reverend was too cheap, too shortsighted to bother. Still, Micky couldn't be unhappy about sending the cops to give the jerk some grief. Competition was one thing, but the Reverend was running a sick game over there on the other side of town.

Paring down the list gave him real hope that he'd survive this with his team intact. But it left a bitter taste in his mouth to know Trina was in the middle of it. No, she couldn't know his medical history, but someone was obviously using her to bring him down. It made his head hurt and put an ache in his chest.

The adrenalin of discovery was giving way to the post rush exhaustion. He'd get nowhere trying to interrogate Trina at this hour. Gathering the papers into a sloppy stack, he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes knowing the nurse wouldn't let him sleep too late.

* * *

Trina woke on a rush of fury, ready to give Joel –Slick Micky– whoever a nightmare he'd never come out of. She'd hammer him with something similar to the nightmare she'd been living for too long now. Images packed with unrelenting loneliness that would smother him with fear and desolation.

Not that she felt so bleak on a typical day, but her life was a collection of shallow encounters designed to protect her professional identity. It didn't lend itself to pleasant, suburban, happily ever
afters.

She loosed her bottled up rage in a violent shriek capable of shattering nearby windows. The target had been right in front of her and she'd missed. It was degrading to know the lying, thieving bastard had sedated her again.

Refusing to give him any credit for sparing her life, she shouted threats and nasty promises. Her skin was too tight and the soft cotton clothing he'd provided chafed like sandpaper. After effects of the damned sedatives. Or more likely, after effects of being penned up too long.

Tears came next as her most secret fantasy crashed and burned. Joel had not lived after all. He'd changed into a terrible person who brainwashed and exploited women to help him distribute deadly substances to those too weak to resist the lure.

Montalbano was no saint, but he sure as hell hadn't betrayed her like that slippery mole of a man too frightened to face her now.

"Show yourself you freaky bastard!" The resounding silence didn't surprise her.

She measured the small space by counting the steps from wall to wall, while she plotted her next move. There had to be a way to get out of this damned fortress.

She wondered what time it was. The sterile environment offered no clues. Knowing it was meant to aggravate the person confined made it worse because it worked so well.

At the soft knock she braced for whatever he intended to throw at her next. The small panel near the floor slid away, but instead of a box or food tray, April's face smiled at her.

"You're awake."

Trina glared.

"And you're pissed off. Don't blame you," April said as if they were chatting over morning coffee.

"What time is it?"

"Does it matter?"

Trina glowered at the poor girl.

"It's really early."

Trina wasn't fooled. "Early for what?"

April sighed.
"Fine. It's early for breakfast," she whispered.

Ah. Pre-dawn. The best time to launch an escape, but she still had the stupid cuff on her wrist. So far she hadn't found a way to hack it or remove it. With nothing to lose, she asked April how to get it off. "It's giving me a rash," she lied.

April's head disappeared for a moment, presumably to check the hallway. When she reappeared, she motioned Trina closer.

Feeling foolish, and more than a little guilty for the deception, Trina joined April on the floor and stretched her arm forward.

"Wow. That's a new one."

"So this tacky jewelry thing is what you didn't want to tell me? He puts these on all the new recruits, right?"

"Of course not. We just have all kinds of cool stuff around here." April's brow furrowed. "This one is new to me."

"Can you just get it off, please?" Though it was a stretch, she managed to morph her face into a more innocent expression. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"Don't tell me anything," April said. "It's not good to know too much about Micky's business, but I really hope you'll stay. It's a great place to be."

"Uh-huh."

April was doing something to the cuff that involved a key card. Giving up on that, she pulled out a cell card and fiddled some more. "Yes!" she cried when it popped open.

"Thanks." Trina was sincerely grateful. "And my apologies," she mumbled, gripping April's hand and staring into her eyes. The girl flinched and Trina felt a stab of guilt for causing her pain, but she had to get out of this room. Then she could decide if she was making her kill here, in
Micky's place, or out on the street.

April moved in accordance with the illusion Trina planted about helping a friend locked out of her apartment. When the door opened, she did a little victory dance for show. She wanted Joel-
Micky-Jerk to think she was too stupid to believe her every move was being recorded by his state of the art surveillance system.

The hall was absolutely deserted, aside from April now sound asleep in the corner. It was just more proof he relied on tech and used people.
Fine. Let him watch, let him track, let him be afraid for once. Because she was coming after him.

Somewhere between her holding cell and the second flight of stairs, she realized the real conflict, the root of her problem, was all in her heart. But she could recover, even from a shattered fantasy, and she'd rely on logic and a cool head to get the job done.

It was a challenge, reconciling the kid she'd crushed on with the disappointing man he'd become, but she was pretty sure his core thought process was the same. His values were another story, but as an assassin she couldn't throw stones even if she wanted to justify her choices against his.

Studies consistently showed a fearful person ran up to get away, no matter how that illogical choice limited their options. So she raced up another two flights of stairs, not even pausing for a peek as to what each floor might hold. She didn't expect to meet a guard until she reached the roof, and possibly not even there, the way he relied on technology.

When her assumption proved correct, she barely kept herself from smiling for his blasted cameras.

She glanced at the security panel beside the door and gave April kudos for her acting. It was indeed early for breakfast if the time display of 20:47 was correct. Had she been out a few hours or much longer? It didn't matter, couldn't matter.

She pushed open the roof access door and winced at the blast of cold air. Her own clothes would be nice, but what she wouldn't give for her personal tool kit.

Continuing to play the part of frightened escapee, she bit her lip and moved onto the roof, letting the door close behind her. She moved cautiously around the top of the building, gritting her teeth so they wouldn't chatter while she identified camera placements and coverage.

It was a standard roof in a standard state of urban decay from what she could tell, but she'd thought similar things about that damned truck. She carefully explored the seams of a modest glass atrium, but couldn't see anything through the grimy panes. She crept closer, looking for an access door, but came up empty. The only sign of anything other than years of neglect was the pristine camera sitting proudly at the apex of the structure.

Whoever had rigged security on the roof didn't care about camouflage, making her task easy. More than a few of the cameras were probably dummies and she'd happily work with it.

Keeping low, in case he sent a sniper up to a neighboring roof, she scuttled around in the dark, looking for scraps of debris she could use as weapons or tools. Finding a rather sharp and manageable bit of sheet metal, she sliced through one camera feed and set to work behind another. Her desperation became less of an act for any remaining surveillance as she struggled to unscrew a ventilation cover with her makeshift tool.

Hearing the scrape of debris by the stairwell door, she froze, listening for how many guards had been sent up to capture her.

* * *

Micky
watched the scene in infrared from the camera on top of the atrium, curious about Trina's next move. The infrared wasn't ideal, but it was the only part of the security feed Kyle could give him that wasn't corrupted. In the back of his mind, he made a note to give the kid a raise, his internal security would be dead in the water without him.

Trina wasn't an idiot, and he counted himself lucky when she didn't find the retraction seams in the atrium. He wasn't buying this business about the ventilation shaft either. She had something else in mind. This was getting interesting. He'd been torn about how to reel Trina back in, knowing she wouldn't really try to get away until her job was done.

Micky didn't care much what her job was, he just wanted to know who'd hired her to do it. According to the smudges of light, his team had her flanked; her only option was to move back toward the atrium.