Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4) (10 page)

He endured another concerned study, but finally Jim left.

Micky popped the safe in his bedroom and withdrew the stealth suit. He dressed quickly and jogged down to the garage.

Out of breath, and pissed about it, he paused a minute before going in. Jim and the team shouldn't see him compromised. When he felt steadier, he reached for the door, only to start coughing.

"Boss?"

Micky
waved him off. "Fine," he sputtered.

"You should stay here. The nurse is trying to track you down, anyway. Let the hologram do the work."

The hologram wouldn't be able to recognize someone from his past – which was the only explanation for this ridiculous sabotage. "Did the nurse offer any advice to control this?"

"Skip the coffee."

Micky scowled at him.

"Stimulants only aggravate the recovery."

"Great." He coughed again, his chest aching with the struggle to breathe. "Antidote?"

"Rest."

Like hell. But he said, "I'll rest when Ben and Darlene are safe. The doc said something about a breathing treatment?"

"Yeah."
Jim sighed and checked his watch. "The nurse should be here … right about now."

As if they'd rehearsed it, she bustled into the garage. She sniffed at the offensive odors of engine grease and fuel and then frowned at
Micky.

"This is hardly an ideal setting."

"I'll be out of here just as soon as you're done with whatever you have to do."

To her credit, she merely pointed to a chair. "Hold this," she ordered, handing him a plastic mask designed to fit over his nose and mouth.

He held it while she shook a vial of something, watching, intrigued, as she pumped the meds into the mask, inflating a space beneath the lining that would rest against his face. She handed it over, but he hesitated. "Do I have to strap it to your face too?"

Jim intervened. "Not necessary. I'll make sure he keeps it on.
How long?"

"Until it's completely deflated.
Usually about ten minutes."

"Side effects?"
Micky smothered a cough as he turned the thing in his hand, reluctant to put it to his face before he understood the pros and cons.

"Only if you disobey the doctor's order."
She raised the mask to Micky's nose. "Breathe."

He nodded, watching Jim and the nurse in case it was a sedative to keep him off the mission. But he only felt relief as the pressure in his chest lifted.

"Let's load up."

Jim's team obeyed and
Micky followed, taking the seat next to the young man who would help him secure the storage center's office.

He ignored the sideways looks, concentrating on his breathing. Hopefully the meds would carry him through the rescue and he wouldn't blow any element of surprise with a coughing fit.

His mind wandered on the drive out. The murder of Sis and the sabotaged delivery, pointed to an inside job. The only newbie was Ben, and while it was highly unlikely he'd managed to taint the cigarette crates, he couldn't have known about Sis.

Unless the Reverend had told him about Sis and given him whatever drug it was to douse the packing material in those crates.

Micky frowned at the mask. This crap was making him loopy.

Ben was no saboteur. The kid was too sincere, too earnest.
Micky had been around long enough to tell the difference. Lost in his thoughts, he let the mask fall from his face and nearly jumped out of his seat when the guy next to him nudged it back in place. "What?"

"Sorry, sir.
Orders." He tilted his head toward the front, where Jim sat glaring back at him.

Micky
flipped off his security leader.

He tried to think rationally but recent events were quickly pushing him past caution to outright paranoia. In a flurry of crazy,
Micky's mind offered up a plot that the nurse had changed up the meds to create delusions, thereby allowing Jim to use this op to dispose of his body and take over as Slick Micky. Feeling frantic, he watched Jim's back, thought about all they'd been through. The nurse might be ornery, but she'd always been reliable.

Good God!
The voice of reason shouted from the back of his mind.
The nurse and Jim are not plotting against you.

Desperate,
Micky elbowed the guy next to him and dropped the mask for another second. "What's your name?"

"Keegan."

"Tell me about yourself."

"Sir?"

"Just talk, dammit."

The guy chattered like he had a gun to his head.
Micky didn't care about the words, he focused on the sound of the voice. A slight rural drawl lingered in a few key phrases and he let it soothe him.

Paranoia wouldn't help him sort this out. It would only turn everyone into an enemy. For years he'd stayed under the radar, giving other crime bosses plenty of rope to hang themselves.
Which they did on a fairly frequent basis. He chuckled. Even if they got their mitts on his tidy little empire, they'd run it into the ground. Provided they didn't die of shock first when they realized how close to legit he operated.

Finally, the liner was deflated and the treatment was done. He tossed the mask at Jim's back and turned to the guy next to him. "Well, Keegan, I appreciate your help."

"Feeling better, sir?"

Micky
nodded. Breathing was vastly underrated. "I do believe I'll manage not to blow our op."

"That'd be nice, sir."

The status lights on the ceiling flashed red, signaling silence as the team prepared to drop Micky and Keegan at the front of the storage center.

The vehicle rolled to a smooth stop and the rear doors opened. The pair jumped to the ground, bypassed the gate, and headed for the office.

When they got there, Micky saw Mary behind the counter, filing her nails, just like every other time he stopped in.

"I don't keep any cash here." She leveled the file at them like a gun. "I've got my hand on the alarm button. So just get out of here, right now."

"It's me, Mary." Micky lifted the visor on the tac helmet so she could see his eyes. "We have a situation out back. We're here to keep you safe." He gave her his most charming, confident smile.

She eyed his partner, as if trying to see through the kid's tactical gear. Slowly the file came to rest on the counter.
"If you say so."

"Heard anything strange?"

"No."

"Seen anyone lurking around?"

"Just the normal customers coming and going."

"Good." He turned to his mission partner. "You've got this. I'm going to look around." He jogged off before Keegan had a chance to protest, searching for the first opportunity to activate the stealth suit.

Ditching the layers of tactical gear, he activated the disk, noting the telltale rush of being virtually invisible. Jameson had warned him not to become dependent on stealth, but it was impossible to completely squelch the delight of blotting out the target on his back. If only for a few hours.

Liberated, he slipped out of the main building and circled around closer to the exchange point specified by the kidnappers. The fresh air cleared his head, though he wouldn't mention that to the nurse. Using it to his advantage, he tried to think from his enemy's perspective. There had to be more than one person involved. Darlene was too damned creative to let a lone intruder get the drop on her. Even allowing for Ben's inexperience, no one person could pull this off.

It only made sense that it would be a team, most likely one stationed with the hostages, one or more keeping watch. Without Jim hovering and telling him to rest, Micky decided to see what he could do to level the odds.

Chapter Ten

Trina had kept her distance from Slick
Micky's pick up team if only because she found the driver so annoying. The woman taunted her constantly and it was far too tempting to just fry her brain with a nightmare illusion. Being a tax paying citizen, she didn't really feel like carrying the burden of Darlene as a ward of the state for the rest of her days. As a compromise, Trina used her power to keep the woman in a light doze.

From her hiding place in the trees between the storage unit and her prisoners, Trina observed the arrival of the smuggler's security team. Easy enough to identify the team leader as he sent his men forward in a standard maneuver of tracking and circling the distress beacon.

For a moment, she imagined it was really going to be this easy, but the leader didn't give any sign of deference to anyone. And none of the men lingered behind him. Which meant Slick Micky was still in the vehicle, assuming he'd bothered to come out at all.

She'd considered making the trade near the docks at night, but the wooded lot behind the storage center at dusk gave her more options.

Having issued the ultimatum, she'd set her traps, not bothering with further contact. She didn't want Slick Micky's crew trying to negotiate for the sorry bastard's life.

While she didn't like it, she would follow through on her threat to kill the two currently tied to the trunk of a tree at the crest of the hill. She panned the binoculars, easily picking out the three men trekking over to the hostages. They moved cautiously, even when they spotted the pair, but good training was no match for the element of surprise and cleverly placed explosives.

She flipped the first switch.

The ground erupted in a flurry of dead leaves and mud. Men shouted, radios crackled, but no one could speak as they were all choking on a generous helping of sulfur smoke she'd added on a whim. The unexpected was such a delight.

The rescue team held their positions, waiting for guidance from their leader. She flipped the second switch and listened as her doctored voice demanded Slick Micky in trade for the prisoners.

"No deal," the leader shouted back.

Having anticipated the answer, she let her recorded reply play while she watched the various team members moving into what they thought were flanking positions. This sort of operation wasn't her forte, she preferred the quiet and deliberate pacing of her normal work. If she could just corral them in one primary area she increased her odds of success with a group hallucination. She ignored the niggling voice of her conscience reminding her she'd never been any good at the group thing.

Two men were making another attempt to free the hostages so Trina pushed them back with a flash fire on a nearby tree.

The lingering sulfur, combined with the wood smoke of the charred bark induced more coughing and finally, another man came into view near the vehicle. Slick Micky? Had to be.

At last! Her palms itched to throttle him, to make him suffer as ruthlessly as he'd made her suffer all these years.

He stood like a statue watching the chaos behind oversized dark glasses. He'd pulled a Cubs cap low over his brow and his hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets. As cool and self assured as a murdering crime boss could be, he took two steps closer to the hostages. At her broadcast command, he slowly withdrew his hands from his pockets and spread them wide. No visible weapons.

She tossed out an insult at him but he didn't bother to reply. Could the man be any colder? Hell, he wasn't even coughing.

Trina glanced around, sensing trouble. Everyone was coughing, if not for the scarf around her nose and mouth, she'd be coughing. She was too far away to poke at his mind, but she'd bet anything she'd come up empty.

They'd sent a damned hologram and hoped she was too stupid to notice.

She smothered the absolutely feral growl that clawed at her throat. The king of smuggling might like playing games, but he'd soon comprehend her unyielding determination to win.

While she didn't have anything on her voice recorder to deal with a stunt like this, she knew how to think on her feet. The flames licking at the dead tree cast weird shadows and impaired the rescue team's vision.

Throwing the last switch, and the last of her surprises, she used the cover of flames and shock to abandon her hostages and retreat to Slick Micky's storage unit.

Hopefully the bastard cared more for his product than the people who showed him such blind loyalty.

She was almost at the access she'd cut into the fence when she heard the dry rasping sound. Crouching low, she froze in place and tried to discern if the sound had been a footstep in the dry leaves or a smothered cough. Time was running out. When the flash flames evaporated – any second now – she'd lose the benefit of the distraction. Her eyes told her she was alone, but her senses were screaming danger. She bolted for the fence and her escape route.

The rasping, asthmatic sounds chased her, grating against her nerves. There was no mistaking the respiratory distress this time. Whoever was out here had better cover than she did, but at least she could breathe.

Using that last advantage, she launched herself at the place where she'd sliced through the fence.

* * *

Micky gasped for breath, cursing the cigarette saboteurs as he ran after the kidnapper. He could only pray Jim and the team were okay after the booby traps and flash fires. He hoped they were flash fires anyway so none of the local authorities had to get involved out here. He would've sworn, shouted threats, ordered the idiot to stop if he wasn't busy drowning in the smoky air.

Somehow he'd walked right by the kidnapper's position, and would've kept going if the second flash hadn't startled him. Even then, he'd nearly missed it when the guy dropped out of the tree to make a run for it.

But Micky had two things going for him now: the perfect camouflage and knowing where the kidnapper was headed. Cutting the angle short, he dove on the guy just as he reached the fence.

Landing knocked the last remnants of oxygen right out of his lungs, but he wrapped his arms around the upper thighs trapped under his chest. Hanging on through the inevitable thrashing, he did his best impersonation of a boa constrictor.

It was the shrill, panicked scream that startled him enough to weaken his hold.

The kidnapper was female.

Furious one of his mules would turn against him and help his enemies undermine everything they'd all worked for, he threw all his weight on the smaller frame beneath him. It took a few precious seconds to find the right pressure point Jaden had shown him, but the girl finally went limp.

Thank God. With a little more luck, he might get out of this without having to expose the stealth suit. Pressing her face to the ground with one hand, he plucked the disk out of his mouth with the other and tucked it away.

Now, if anyone caught him out here, they'd think he was just feeling cocky enough to skip the body armor.

Keeping a knee on her back, he was going through her pockets when Jim's voice came through the com link. "You're not in the office."

"Nope." He tried and failed to conceal a cough.

"I've got another treatment mask."

Micky ignored that. "Did you get our people out safe?"

"Yes."

"Pick me up at the fence behind our unit." He smiled when Jim muttered an oath that surely wasn't flattering. "I've got the kidnapper here with me."

"Of course you do.
Any ID?"

For the first time,
Micky considered his prisoner. "Not so far." He reached to push her hair away from her face and choked for an entirely new reason. He recognized that fine-boned cheek, the auburn arch of brow over the closed eye. An eye he knew would be the clearest blue when it opened. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Boss?"

"Hurry," he managed, before his lungs seized once more.

What the hell was Trina Durham doing out here? Why would she be involved and where the hell had she come from? She was supposed to be a simple, perfect memory tucked safely away with the rest of his youth. In one way or another he'd carried her with him through the years.
First as a reminder of his purpose and later as a regret of things left unsaid and undone.

Oh, he'd been in trouble with women before, but if her tendency to lash out first and ask questions later hadn't mellowed....

Well, it sure as hell wouldn't be a gentle or sweet reunion.

He couldn't even think about that. She stirred and he toyed with the stealth disk in his pocket. This wasn't the place for the kind of reaction or confrontation she was likely to express.

So easy, better even, to go invisible and pretend he was still dead to her. Jim could take over with interrogation and he...was a freaking coward.

Determined, he zipped the pocket protecting the stealth disk. Blast from his past or not, she was hip deep in this plot to take him out. He wasn't naïve enough to think she'd just give up the necessary information because they'd been friends once. He had no idea what she'd been through, what she'd been doing since they'd been parted by that explosion. His face would be a shock even if time had mellowed her spitfire personality.

He growled, wishing he could mute the part of him that hoped she was just the same.

The truck rumbled closer and he heard the driver downshift to turn a corner. On impulse, he pressed his lips to her temple. She was so lovely, her fair skin as smooth as warm silk under his lips.

He saw stars when she landed a blow behind his ear, and though he tried, he couldn't catch any of the four feet his blurry vision registered as she darted away, trailing a string of curses.

Pissed off old friend or not, he couldn't let his first solid lead get away. Surely Jim could get something useful out of Darlene and Ben. He'd contact him as soon as he had Trina safely subdued.
With cuffs.

Out of time.
Out of options. Head reeling, he tossed the com link aside and reactivated the stealth suit. Then he stumbled through the fence after Trina.

* * *

Trina thrashed through the woods, desperate first to put some distance between herself and Slick Micky's team. When she was safe, she'd work on distancing herself from her own god-forsaken hallucinations.

She glanced back, saw nothing, but heard the crack of boots snapping twigs and crumbling dry leaves.

Legs churning, arms pumping, she pushed on, afraid of what might happen if she stopped. She dodged branches and hurdled debris, willing the research to kick in. She'd studied the aerial views. If she could just relax, she knew she'd find a way out.

Relax? Could anyone really relax in the middle of a psychotic episode?

It was the only explanation for seeing Joel's face on her captor, never mind being tackled by what had surely been a ghost. Her mind had never betrayed her like this. It was terrifying.

She slid behind a log like it was home plate and forced herself to stop, listen, and think. There was a way out of this. She never got tangled in a situation without multiple exit plans. She was an accomplished professional, not the scared little girl she'd once been.

True, this wasn't her best moment. It might even qualify as a massive failure, but it wasn't her first time at the dance. She could improvise. She would survive.

A moment later she heard her pursuer, recognized his ragged breathing. Did all ghosts sound like that?

She gave herself a mental shake. Not a ghost. It was something – someone – else. Later she'd analyze why she'd put Joel's face on it. For now, she just needed to eliminate the threat.

She pushed up
silently, just enough to put eyes on what chased her. Her vision said the area was clear, but her ears caught that same raspy breathing.

"Trina!"

She dropped back to the ground as her heart leaped into her throat. What the hell was happening to her? No one around here knew her name was Trina. Only Montalbano. Or a ghost. But ghosts were for nightmares and this area was far too rural for an urbanite Montalbano.

She'd never heard of an auditory hallucination, though if she thought about it, she supposed it could be done. But those footfalls, coming straight for her position, were not a figment of her imagination.

"Stop!"

A blessed silence answered her.

"Please don't run." The plea was followed by another fit of coughing.

This invisible guy might not be a ghost, but he sure sounded like he had one foot in the grave.

"W-won't hurt you."

She believed it. More accurately, she believed she could take a guy who couldn't breathe.
If she could just see him.

"Show yourself."

"You first."

A rush of memory swamped her, but she battled back the youthful longing for the friend she'd lost. Joel wasn't waiting on the other side of the log. It was another trick from Slick
Micky or his tac team and there was only one way to finish this.

Steeling herself for the kill, Trina sat upright, eyes scanning the area.