Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4) (23 page)

The pressure on her wrist increased. "Don't I get a thank you?"

"For what?" She wrenched her wrist out of his grip. "I had everything under control."

She pushed forward, but he stopped her again. "Wait." He silenced her protest, covering her mouth with his hand. "Listen," he whispered at her ear.

Someone was in the alley. Probably Walker eager to clean up and get the easiest part of his income flowing once more. She jerked away. "Let me handle it," she muttered.

"No. Let me." Her next objection died fast and hard as he twisted her into some weird hold and covered her mouth again. His breath was warm on her skin.

Her pulse slowed and her blood ran thick in response to him. So easy to mold her willing body to his, invisible or not and enjoy what they'd been to each other last night.

"Trust me. Please?"

She did trust him, but this was her mess. She told herself she would have fought him if he'd made demands rather than a request and she almost believed it. She nodded under the pressure of his virtually invisible hand.

He nudged her closer to the fire exit and stopped short. "Crap," he hissed. "You'll have to hide."

For security, the doors were smooth, designed without handles or visible locks on the outside. Fire crews carried the devices that broke the strong magnets locking the doors.

Without time to acquire the tool, Trina had taken other measures. While
Micky worried over the threat in the alley, she grabbed the release chain she'd placed earlier as an insurance policy in case her illusion with Crayland had failed. A strong, quick tug on the chain and the latch on the inside gave way.

"Come on." She reached for him and missed. Had he left? A shout from the rooftop was followed by the sound of booted feet. She'd been spotted and her emergency egress was compromised. Damn his interference. She threw herself into the dark hallway and reached for the door, smacking
Micky in the back.

He grunted, but the only other sound was the soft clinking of metal as he gathered up her chain. "Take this."

Her eyes adjusted slowly to the faint glow from the emergency exit sign. It was so weird to see the chain hovering in the air like some magic trick. She snatched it up and tucked it into her bag.

"What now?" His voice whispered through the dark.

What now?
Her anger pulsed, alive again now that she was momentarily safe. "I've got things to do today. Don't know about you."

"You're pissed."

She didn't dignify the obvious, just kept moving along the path she'd planned on the fly yesterday. If life were normal she'd have more than the one option she had now, but one option was better than none.

"Where are we going?"

She ignored that too, even though she knew she couldn't possibly lose Mr. Invisible. At the stairwell that led either down to the utility corridor or up to the offices above them, she stopped.

"Have a nice day," she said.

"Trina, wait. We need to talk."

"No." She couldn't believe the hurt churning inside. He didn't trust her to handle her own business. He'd followed her, spied on her, and interrupted her plans. Plans designed to help him.

"You were going to kill those two. I couldn't let you do that."

She shook her head. He didn't get it. "I can't do
this
right now."

"No." He looked back over his shoulder.
"You don't understand, there's more trouble. They won't be far behind us."

She wanted to know who the hell he was talking about, but she wanted to see him when he gave those answers. "I'm too busy to chat with a shadow. Let's talk tonight at the warehouse."

"No. No good." The sound of activity at the fire door had him swearing again. "Go on. Keep moving. Hide. Whatever. But don't go back to the warehouse." His hands landed on her shoulders, pulling her close for a hard kiss. Pushing her away, he said, "Get out of here."

She heard his footsteps retreat while her battered emotions swirled.
Irritation, loneliness, rejection and something else. Something that would have to wait for analysis until she was safe.

She bolted down the stairs.

Chapter Twenty-three

Micky averted his face when the fire doors swung open again, shielding his eyes to preserve his vision. Two men geared up for tactical ops jogged by him, slicing the darkness ahead with bright beams of flashlights.

Stupid, or ordered to do it that way?
Maybe Gideon's laughable attempt at giving fair warning.

Micky
peeked through the open door, relieved when he spotted Gideon. He'd ditched the rumpled tux for black cargo pants and a long sleeved black shirt that was probably armored. Two more of his team collected bits of trash and debris, probably hoping to find some solid evidence.

Wouldn't happen.

A glance upward confirmed Gideon still had spotters on the roof. Confident they'd overlook any disturbance he made from this distance, he crept back into the alcove when Gideon's back was turned. It was tempting to simply walk away. He could appeal to Brian later, send Gideon on a false trail. But it was more important to do what he could to protect Trina's head start.

He checked the alley, relieved to find it guarded by only one man stationed near the street. From his place where the alcove met the alley,
Micky kicked a rock toward Gideon's feet.

Micky
followed the man's expected reaction as he looked around and up, but the spotter signaled no change. Gideon stepped closer to Micky's position, looked right at him, and walked on by.

He used his radio, asking the soldier near the street to get him a coffee.
Micky choked on a laugh.

"Thought that'd get you," Gideon murmured, concealing the conversation with the radio. "Walk with me and tell me why I shouldn't haul your ass in for obstruction."

"Do you have Montalbano's goons in custody?"

Gideon's brows shot up.
"Actually, yes."

"That's something. You can thank the woman you're looking for."

"Be happy to. In person."

"Not happening."

"She's wanted for murder," Gideon said through gritted teeth. "Petra pegged her. She killed a soldier. I had to report it."

"Guess we all have a job to do."

"You know where she is."

"No. I don't."

"Too bad. If I find her at your place –"

Micky
tripped him, sent him sprawling onto the rough pavement. Dirty and underhanded, but necessary. "You'll regret using my hospitality against me and mine."

"Threats now?"

"A vow."

"Look, man. Give her up. It may not go like you think."

"Right." He'd wrecked her day, her life, too much already. "Atlas was a blood-sucking grinder who went off your reservation and killed my best friend. I won't hand over the person who avenged her. You should put cuffs on Montalbano for hiring the damned hit."

"I do have one thing to tie Atlas to
Montalbano."

"
Crayland."

"No.
The woman who killed Atlas and Dakota."

Micky
was glad the stealth suit hid his shock and dismay. What the hell? He knew Montalbano was off the deep end greedy, but ordering a series of deaths went against everything sane. There had to be a way to put an end to all of this.

"You've
gotta look at Montalbano," Micky insisted, appalled by his shaky voice.

"I look at the evidence. She did them both and I
will
find her." Gideon sprang back to his feet. "Watch your back, Micky."

Micky
bolted from the alley and across the street. He was going to be sick. He kept running, turning and doubling back on instinct. It hadn't been a boast, he knew every inch of the financial district as well as he knew the warren of decay concealing his own warehouse. He'd grown up on the stories of these streets, of the legends of once-savvy crime bosses who lost everything through foolish and selfish mistakes. Even now he knew where to find anything a person could want from drugs to a few thousand in counterfeit cash cards. What he needed was an angle. A way to get Trina out of this tangled mess.

He hadn't been lying to Gideon, he didn't know where Trina was, but based on where he'd found her and what she'd been doing, he had a pretty good guess. He resisted the urge to turn back, to sneak up to Dakota's penthouse just to assure himself she'd made it safely.

Why kill Dakota unless Montalbano ordered it? What was his game and why had she played along?

Micky
tried to think like an assassin, but failed. He just wasn't that cold. And neither was Trina.

He walked on, turning the pieces around, banging them together. Trina hired by
Montalbano to take out Slick Micky. According to Trina, Atlas was hired by Dakota to take out Sis. Ben was tossed into the street by the Reverend, ordered to put a hit on some guy with only a vague description. Lucky the kid hadn't killed an innocent bystander.

Three of his fellow crime bosses had sent out hitters. The Reverend probably didn't care or more likely he refused to waste the money on a plan he didn't believe in.
Micky set that piece aside.

He wound his way through the city, dodging people and wondering just how long he had before Gideon raided the warehouse. Maybe
Montalbano already had.

Wouldn't that be funny?
A regular fucking riot. Montalbano and Gideon battering against the stronghold together. He needed to warn Jim, but he couldn't risk using his cell card. It wasn't like they hadn't planned for any sort of emergency. He had to trust Jim and the team would come through.

When
Micky's feet stopped, he found himself rooted to the spot where Sis had landed. This was the piece that didn't fit.

Leaning back against a wall, much as he had the day she died, he studied that window, thought about the short list he'd handed to Brian.

The Reverend's hitter was a token effort.

Dakota's hitter was a grinder. A grinder aimed at Sis, his right hand girl.

Montalbano's hitter had the best reputation. Typical of the bastard's habit of surrounding himself with only the best of everything.

Micky
looked to the window. Why Sis? Why here? Why now?

It tumbled into place like a key in a lock. She'd been the face of their operation for so long, while any man could have played his part on electronic or holographic conferences.

Especially if an enemy believed he was finally dead.

He'd heard the recent rumors that Sis was the new Slick
Micky and they'd decided to use them like they'd used all the other rumors. She'd died because of it.

Sis had been killed over
Montalbano's bruised pride. The same bruised pride that bombed the car where the Slick Micky and Joel had been negotiating terms and territory when Montalbano made an independent play for the title.

Aw, hell. The bastard was still blaming
Micky for what he saw as a public humiliation. To have the title just gravitate to Sis. That obviously pushed him over the edge. The tainted cigarette shipment might have been dumb luck, but the rest of it, all the way to Chloe and the invasive video bug was simply unfinished business.

By God, two could dance that tango.

He looked up, stunned by his own stupidity. The one thing no one knew, the one thing they never compromised was the warehouse. So Montalbano had sent a grinder to extract that information during Micky's annual walk to honor his past and refresh his outlook on the future.

Montalbano
wanted to level the field, to find the warehouse, and take over.

He heard Trina's voice in his head
"I knew I was on the right track"
Aside from Sis, only Montalbano knew enough about him to give her that information. Only Montalbano knew Trina's past well enough to use her hate for Slick Micky to take out all of his competition.

Only
Montalbano had been so prideful and brash he'd been punished by his family when he'd hoped to be rewarded for taking the initiative fifteen years ago.

Micky
embraced the flare of indignation and fury over Montalbano's gross sense of entitlement. By now the cocky idiot would know his men were in custody. It wasn't much of a leap to assume Trina was involved.

Turning back toward Dakota's building,
Micky raced to help her.

* * *

Trina sat behind Dakota's desk and stared out the window, seeing nothing of the cityscape. Crayland's men were off the street. As soon as the bogus transactions she'd programmed went through, Montalbano would be dealing with inmates rather than socialites.

Still, she had to get
Montalbano out of the way if Micky and his team were to have any peace. The man was too determined, too well connected, to leave anything to chance.

She felt her breath shudder in and out, tried to settle her racing thoughts, but it was impossible. She hadn't let herself be used like this in a long time.

Fifteen years, actually.

Amazing how the truth hurt, how it could change everything.
Everything except the past. Everything about the past. Giving Micky some peace was her only possible redemption.

She rubbed a hand over her heart, where the hurt was building to intolerable levels. He'd banned her from the warehouse. Whatever happened here, she could not go back.
Would not see him again.

She forced her attention back to Dakota's computer and put the finishing touches on her escape plan.
Time for a career change. Her assassination days were over. She'd banked enough money and identities for a fresh start, but already the days stretched out endlessly empty. There had to be a place for her somewhere. She told herself she'd know it when she saw it. Recent events had taught her that clear vision, specifically the right perspective, was imperative.

Fifteen years ago, she hadn't had the right perspective, had been on the wrong side of that explosion when she'd told a man with dark good looks where to find some pure sugar.
Micky had suffered physically for her error, but kept his honor.

She couldn't say the same. In the aftermath of the explosion, raw from grief, she'd simply given up and given in, letting circumstances morph her ethics. A runaway under constant threat on the street, she'd thought of her skills as self-defense. But looking back at how easily she'd turned her talent into death for pay, she wondered if she'd ever had any honor to start with.

Having cracked Dakota's code, guilt over killing him pressed in on her. She'd spiked him out of temper, not for any rational or noble reasoning. Of course, he never would have willingly shared his copious notes on the history between Montalbano and the Slick Micky, but his clients wouldn't be facing a greater risk now either.

"Done is done," she whispered to the quiet office. She could only do whatever possible to make a stable future for those she cared about.
Those Micky cared about.

Dakota's gift for extortion and manipulation worked in her favor now as she read and unraveled the secrets and bad blood the
Montalbano clan had sent flowing into the Chicago streets over the years. To pull this off, to put an end to him, she needed to know how he thought, what he longed for. This illusion would be the pinnacle of justice – even if it killed her.

Here was her chance to make a few things right and go on with her life. She considered staying here in this office, filling Dakota's shoes just to be closer to
Micky. His last words to her echoed in her head, lingering like a curse.
"Get out of here."

He knew the truth of her, had seen her in action and rejected her.
Naturally. They'd had great sexual chemistry, but anything more was asking too much. They were too different.

But she could do this last thing. Taking
Montalbano down would fix a great deal. Might even bring the scales close to a balance on the business side of Micky's life and the personal side of hers. It wasn't fair to either of them to settle for an illusion of security when she could ensure real safety.

She compiled the last of the hard evidence, connecting
Montalbano by memo and money to Atlas, Dakota...and her.

Her stomach clenched. Gritting her teeth, she pressed 'send' and put every incriminating piece of information out over the secure channels.

Montalbano would not escape.

Walker,
once properly informed and given a little time, would fill Dakota's shoes without turning into any threat to Micky.

She knew her heart now, recognized her deepest desire was to be part of something bigger. Like the family
Micky had cultivated. Just as she knew her life's choices put that out of her reach.

The glass clock on Dakota's desk showed less than an hour to her ultimate freedom – one way or another. She summoned Walker. They ran through the plan once more and then she went to change.

* * *