Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4) (16 page)

He waited for her arrival, amazed by how quietly she moved across the gravel and crap up here. Could she really be a killer? He pushed the unwanted thought away, keeping one eye on his monitor and one on the hologram she was about to slip through.

He could hear her soft breathing on the other side of what had previously been and now appeared to be a wall of glass. A few more inches and he'd have her.

On a little gasp of shock, she dropped through, landing with a thud near his feet. He tapped the control panel to slide the atrium closed and sent the signal to notify Jim that he had her.

"Who's there?" She scooted across the floor, putting her back to a wall, brandishing some bit of trash in front of her with one hand while verifying the wall at her back was real.

Taking a position behind a stand of dwarf citrus trees he considered how to get the information he needed out of her. "You're safe," he said, using the remote to light the area directly above her.

She glared up at the ceiling, then aimed that nasty look into the darkness surrounding her. "You're not."

"Whatever gets you through the
night." He cleared his throat. "How long do you think it will take April to recover?"

"Recover?"

The worry in her voice gave him hope. He needed hope. "She seems lost in her own little world. What did you do?"

"Nothing."
He heard the panic. "She should be fine. I- I can't –"

"Help her?"

"No. Yes. Well, I don't know. I didn't
do
anything."

"This is me, Trina."

"As if that makes anything clear," she muttered. "April will be fine," she called out.

"Never thought you'd turn out so callous."

"Never thought you'd be a sell out."

He sighed. They were getting nowhere and his instincts clamored that he was running out of time. "Assume I let you go. What will you do?"

Trina opened her mouth, hesitated, and snapped it shut. Conversing with a shadow was bad enough, but she didn't have an answer to that question. Going to Montalbano was no option. Even if she repaid the deposit, he'd probably already hired someone new to take her out, someone other than her currently offline alter ego.

"I'd leave." It galled her, but running was her best option.

A movement drew her attention. Joel-Micky-whoever stared at her, only half in shadow now. "You'd just ditch the sabotage and leave me and mine alone?"

"Why does that shock you?" She bristled at the things that didn't change. He'd always looked at her like a bumbling nuisance. Maybe it was best to stick the sheet metal in his neck and throw
herself to the next rooftop.

"Trina." She didn't like the tender exasperation in his voice. It made her feel things.
Impossible things. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to keep you sedated to protect my team. Just tell me who put you up to this and you're free to go."

"Right."

"You have my word."

"Would that be the word of the dead guy or the criminal mastermind?" The aggravating man didn't even flinch. "You don't even know
, you're so lost to this delusion of power." Irritated, wanting to irritate him too, she used her skill, projecting a disconcerting image of a burning car into the atrium.

"That's it!"

The voice roared at her ear as the light went out and she struggled to make sense of a rash of sensations. It was impossible to feel the heat of his body when her eyes confirmed he was standing several paces away. But his breath was a warm caress at her ear, his arms banded around her, drawing her close to his solid body. Her makeshift weapon clattered near her feet and he kicked it away.

She was surrounded by him. He filled her senses, overwhelmed her with fiery touches until she knew she'd lost the battle with her horrible curse. She
twisted, trying to free herself from the illusion even as she prayed it would put an end to her misery.

"Stop fighting me."

Trina went still, tuning out the physical input to mentally question her recent choices. She'd returned to Chicago a messy mix of sentiment and revenge and the strain had obviously caused a terrible rift in her mind.

Oh, her body wanted to sink into the hot comfort of Joel.
His warm scent, his strong touch. Except he couldn't actually be touching her when he was standing there watching her meltdown.

Which meant it must be someone else surrounding her or some tech trick. She squirmed, attempting to twist out of whatever invisible thing held her, or held her mind. The invisible restraints felt too much like a warm embrace and she moaned, desperate for something she couldn't pin down.
Capture or freedom? She felt a feathery touch on her lips and turned her head toward the source, keeping her eyes closed tight so her vision would stop fighting her other senses. If this was a psychotic break, it was one helluva way to go.

Her other senses were flying on a fantasy so
rich, she could almost believe she was kissing Joel. She lifted her hands to where his shoulders would be. In her mind he was solid and real and warm under her palms. She gripped, fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer until her breasts were pressed hard against his wide, hot,
imaginary
chest.

She heard him speak her name, a soft rush of breathy emotion against her jaw, then lower across her throat and back up to her tease her ear. Her fantasy was so rich, so detailed that her fingers ruffled his thick hair and traced his
stubbled jaw. She sighed as his hand smoothed across her hip, heating her skin as he traced her curves.

Even knowing it was insane, she gave herself up to the sheer joy of the amazing illusion. It was her last chance. If Slick
Micky let her go, Montalbano would make her dead before she left town. If the smuggler kept her, she'd likely be dead from the aneurism that was the most likely cause of this…this incredible, indefinable moment.

Her head fell back and she hoped this didn't end too soon. His hands were everywhere and she was molding her body to his, soft curves to hard planes, cataloging the sensations in her mind to keep with her for as many days as she might have left. Tumbling through the storm of dusty wishes from her past and the prickling impossibility of her present, she reached up to cradle his face, to bring his lips to hers.

Her sensitized fingertips landed on skin that felt wrong, was shaped unlike any memory she had of Joel's perfect face.

Her imaginary lover jerked away from the contact on a rough gasp.

"Who? What are you?" She pressed herself into the corner, ready to fight if necessary. Never mind that she didn't know how to win a battle that probably raged only in her traitorous brain.

"Trina."
Joel's voice. "It's me."

She turned to where he'd been standing, though the voice came from right beside her. Gripping her head, hoping something would make sense
soon, she slid to the floor and begged for relief.

"
Shh."

She flinched at the feel of a hand in her hair, hating herself for her uncertainty. She should fight, but she just couldn't summon the strength or strategy to tackle an imaginary opponent. This must be how her victims felt. She groaned. Hell, a moment ago, she'd been making out with an imaginary lover. As wired as this fortress was, someone was surely having a great laugh at her expense.

The thought was as bracing as a cold shower. She knocked the hand away, noting it felt solid enough, and sat up. "What the hell is going on? I refuse to continue amusing the masses." She muttered a string of insults, only because the sound of her angry voice steadied her, gave her a point of reference amid the shuffling going on just beyond her field of vision.

"How about a little light!"
She called out. "Only cowards need the dark."

The lights came up a fraction. "Gee, so accommodating." The bravado barely covered the embarrassment, but it beat back the tears clogging her throat. It seemed she was alone now. No Slick
Micky hovering at the edge of the shadows, no imaginary hunk of Joel warming her inside and out.

Just as she decided it was safe to move, to find a way out of her nightmare, two booted feet stopped in front of her. Her gaze drifted upward, over long legs, lean hips,
an achingly familiar torso, to what couldn't possibly be Joel's face.

Chapter Sixteen

She clapped a hand to her mouth, but it was too late. He winced at her horrified dismay, causing the terrible scar on his cheek to contort his expression even more.

How could life maim such a beautiful young man? "The explosion," she finally muttered into the awful silence. "But in the woods –"

"I usually wear a mask. I figured you won't trust me unless you really see me."

Oh, she was so ashamed. She didn't want to see him. Not like this. She shook her head, wishing life had a rewind button. Trust him? Well that was out of the question. Trust was a mutual thing. Even if she found a way to trust him, once he knew
her
he'd never reciprocate.

He settled next to her, giving her the good side of his face. Taking her hand, he gave her the words she suddenly didn't want. "I'm sorry, Trina."

"No." She refused to look at him. Not because of the scar, but because of the pain. Once locked deep inside, fed with her hate and grief, it had become a source of righteous vengeance. Good or bad, it had been steady fuel for the person she'd become, the perfect reasoning for the things she'd done.

"Don't do this," she begged. "I don't need to know." Now who was the coward?

"This is a dangerous business," he began. "It was risky when I dealt sugar to our friends in school and it's only grown worse through the years."

"You don't have to tell me this."
Please don't tell me this!
"You did what you had to do. So did I."

He shook his head and she felt his sadness as her own. "I'll let you go, but I can't stand the thought of you out there working against me.
Hating me."

She seized the excuse like a lifeline. "No problem. I'll leave you alone. I was planning to leave as soon as I got out of here. You can just go on about your business."

"Business will be a lot easier if I know who my enemies are." He gave her hand a squeeze. "Much easier if I know you aren't among my enemies."

Trina extricated her hand, her affection chilled by her stupidity. Why? Why did she keep falling for his tricks? "Which is the mask?"

"What?"

"The scar or the perfect face?
Which is the mask?"

"No one knows Slick
Micky is gruesome if that's what you mean." He cleared his throat. "Anonymity is part of the reason I've lasted this long.

"Trina, the day of the attack, I was burned and the injuries nearly killed me. This thing on my face is part laceration and part assassination."

"What?"

"I was cut by flying glass and swamped by the ball of fire. The spray-on skin worked on the rest of me." He paused and she wondered what secrets he left unsaid. "When my face was ready for the treatment, someone had tainted the mix
– "

"In the hospital?"

He nodded, reached for her hand, but changed his mind, drumming his fingers on his knees instead. "Yes. It was painful and ugly. It stayed that way for a time."

She put up a blank wall in her mind.
Just a lovely, black span blocking that god-awful day from her and him. This would be her new, last memory of Joel. No matter his ideas of mutual trust, she couldn't stay here. Not after the things she'd done, the things she had left to do.

"By the time I was back on my feet, you were long gone. I even asked Sis to help me find out what happened to you."

She recognized the invitation to share and fought the impulse. "You really think kissing me senseless and getting chatty will make me give up my employer?"

The resulting chill from him was palpable. "I'd hoped." He sighed into the gloom. "The thing is you really don't know what you're up against, what war you've stepped into."

She searched for the words to disagree without giving herself away. "You were so kind to me. You weren't the criminal sort."

"I dealt contraband in the lunchroom, Trina."

"Like sugar's really gonna kill anyone. You know what I mean." She shifted, an idea forming. "Leave it behind. Come with me and let someone else take the heat. Chicago's not the only place to have a life."

"It's not that easy."

"It should be." Her temper was creeping up again. "You just like it here. You're high on the power and the title and whatever you've got running here."

"It's more than a title. It's a calling." He held up a hand when she tried to interrupt. "You don't understand and I don't blame you. But I was headed for this very place even back then. The attempts on my life only sped up the process."

"What?"

He scrubbed at his face, shifted to face her. "I know you thought I was the spoiled rich kid with a rebel yell, but it was an act. There's more to it that I won't get into, but my family money came from some less than stellar sources."

"No one cares how you come by money as long as you have money." She'd learned that lesson well in the years since they'd parted.

"The point is I am Slick
Micky now and I'm not ready to give it up."

She wanted to believe it was greed, pure and simple. Just hit the rewind button and go back to when Slick
Micky was an anonymous bastard she could take out with impunity.

Except she recognized her dear friend in the depths of that green gaze, obviously holding out hope that she'd understand.

"I need information if I'm going to survive this latest attempt to put me out of business. Information I believe you have."

She sighed. They were back to the impasse and what a fool she'd been.

He pushed to his feet and stalked away from her. "When I got out of the hospital there was a void on the street. The guy who tried to kill me ended up killing himself. I took over –"

"And took advantage of everyone.
The Slick Micky reputation is epic."

"For a reason."
He returned to her, bracing his hands on his knees to look her in the eye. She held her ground, but it was no easy task. "Who's gonna mess with the man that can get you whatever you want at any price? Who's brave enough to try and break down his network? Rumors work to my advantage." His eyes traveled down her body, leaving ripples of heat behind. "Most of the time."

She slid away and stood up, wanting to regain some sort of equal footing. "What do you want from me?"

"Trust!" He pointed to his scar. "I've laid it out for you, you've got to believe I'm not really a monster."

"So you can eliminate your enemies?"

"So I can protect the people who depend on me."

"Joel."

He shook his head. "It's Micky now."

"Let me go do what I have to do." She wasn't sure exactly what that meant anymore, but she couldn't stay here, close to him. Proximity would only fuel her old fantasies. And his dedication to his team would forever trump and crush those fantasies.

"Why don't you stay and do what you have to do from the safety I can provide?"

She
sputtered, a bitter blend of laughter and disbelief. "No. Not after –"

His hands landed on her shoulders. "I didn't kiss you for information." His lips laid a delightfully brutal claim to hers. The contact ended just as suddenly, leaving her reeling.

"Look at me," he demanded as she gasped for air.

It was impossible to disobey.

"
That
has nothing to do with your secrets." She looked down as he pressed a key card into her hand. "Neither does the offer. The room's one floor down. Stay as long as you want. Just don't attack my team. We're a family. One that is willing to include you."

Duly noted, she thought as he walked away. He thought he knew which buttons to push and it galled her that he wasn't too far from the mark. Sure they'd be willing to include her, right up to the moment they discovered she'd been sent to kill the boss. The loyalty around here was more hindrance than inspiration and she knew it was a concept the man who had been Joel couldn't comprehend.

She wandered to the atrium door, half expecting it to be locked. But it opened on silent hinges and the hallway stretched out before her, conspicuously empty.

* * *

Micky couldn't believe what he'd done. He felt raw and scattered, like a sculpture that had been knocked off a pedestal to crash into so many pieces they'd never all be found. The scar on his face burned like it was fresh, while other parts of him, the parts ruled by hormones, burned for what he'd left unfinished.

He berated himself all the way down the private stairwell to his office. Was kissing her the big mistake, or inviting her to stay? How long would it take for her to make up her mind to stay or leave? What did she want with Slick
Micky?

He couldn't begin to figure out who she was or what she was after.

What did he want her to be? More to the point, what did he want with her? It was more than the old friend, missed opportunities angle, but this wasn't the time to put personal desires ahead of the business.

He wanted to believe the best in her, wanted to reclaim some piece of the past he'd valued. Was she a corporate spy or the cold killer she tried to project? Had he just condemned the business he and Sis had poured so much blood, sweat and tears into? Tossing the remote for the hologram aside, he flopped into his chair and propped his feet on the desk.

He could seduce the truth out of her, but he didn't want that on his conscience. To be honest, he didn't trust her to pull some illusion and turn that sort of stunt against him. With the failure of normal interrogation, and having just botched what he'd intended as a friendly conversation, he'd reverted to the only other thing he knew: taking a risk.

It was a risk to give her a guest suite and a key, but he'd done it plenty of times before. Nearly every mule living in the warehouse had been a risk to the secrecy and security before they'd committed to staying here.

He pointedly ignored the voice in his head reminding him he'd always paired new mules with experienced staff. Or rather, Sis had.

"Doesn't matter."
Maybe saying it aloud would make it more true.

Determined to take his mind off the sweet taste of Trina still lingering on his lips, he lit up his monitors and started searching the news feeds once more.

* * *

Trina looked at her key again. One floor down he'd said. Wherever she went in this revamped warehouse, her moves would be observed. Even so, it was going to take some serious
self discipline to not simply bolt for the nearest exit.

The place was too quiet, too empty considering the people she knew had to be living somewhere nearby. Telling herself the solitude didn't bother her, she made her way to the door number that matched her card. She paused. If the situation was reversed, she'd probably booby trap the door, if only to keep her opponent on edge.

Except her well-kissed lips didn't feel like Micky's opposition so much as his partner in a crime of desire. Lord. Was that really her brain turning such ridiculous phrases? "You're a pathetic, horny mess, Durham." And on that glaring personal assessment, she swiped the key through the door lock.

For a moment, she could only stare. Part of her had believed he was simply sending her to another sterile white cell, but this room felt more inviting than any hotel she'd seen. She walked inside to explore the space. A couch and matching chair were done in distressed black leather and graced with coordinating quilts and toss pillows in bright colors.

Quilts! It boggled the mind. No one had time for the arts these days, yet here they were. How the hell had he found them?

Other features were more like the high end hotels she enjoyed, with the wall-mounted monitor and its streamlined remote on a gleaming low table. As stark and sterile as the holding cell had been, this apartment was furnished with every sort of tactile delight. It was almost too much.

She tried to deny her budding excitement at the prospect of claiming this haven as her own for even a few hours. Calling on her natural skepticism to gain a little emotional distance, she told herself the over-the-top hospitality was an effort to distract her. He couldn't provide this sort of set up for everyone. Must be the bribe suite, she thought with a chuckle.

"Does laughter mean you'll stay?"

Trina turned to find April bouncing impatiently in the doorway. She waved her friend inside, but the girl hesitated. She swallowed her pride. "I'm really sorry about earlier. I just, well, I had to get out of that room."

"It's okay. About the weirdest thing I've ever felt, but I'm all right."

Relief washed over her and on its heels, irritation at Joel –
Micky
– for making her worry. She'd deal with him later, one way or another.

"I'm not supposed to be up here, but I wanted to see you. Say hi and all that."

Logically, Trina understood he'd cleared the halls to protect his 'family' and she didn't dare examine why the fact hurt her feelings.

"I heard you got trapped up on the roof."