Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4) (18 page)

"You're here. It doesn't get any safer in Chicago."

"But I can't stay here and you've compromised me out there."

"What the hell is this really about?" He had things to do. If she wouldn't help, she needed to leave.

"Have you seen the news today?"

He brought the monitors to life. "I keep it scanning all day." He even showed her the monitor that rotated through the various security views of the warehouse.

She bit her lip. "Exactly how much privacy do I have here?"

Ah, so that was the problem. "Look, no one went through your stuff. If it was unpacked, that was a courtesy. No one was assigned to gather information, plant bugs, or anything else.

"Yes, I could have ordered any and all of that," he confessed. "But I didn't. I'm giving you the same courtesy I've extended to everyone who considered working with us." He was pleased to see that shut her up. "Now, if you're not going to talk about what I most need to know, please be on your way. I've got a full day planned." He turned away from her.

"Joel."

He gritted his teeth against the urge to answer, but she had to learn he was a different person now. Behind him he heard the chair squeak as she got to her feet.

"
Micky."

"Yes?" He faced her.

"God. I'll never get used to that."

"Hey, at least I'm not making you say 'Mr. Slick
Micky'."

"You wouldn't dare."

He did the eyebrow thing again, happy to see the perturbed glint in her amazing blue eyes, knowing she was feeling more confident.

"I can't stay here," she repeated.

"That's good because I don't allow anyone to stay here when I'm out," he replied, being deliberately obtuse.

She actually growled when he applied his most innocent expression. "What I mean is you can't keep me locked up with your family or whatever you call this weird cult community."

"Cult? Huh. Never thought of it like that." He returned to his chair and gestured for her to do the same. If they kept standing he'd likely try and kiss her again. With the desk between them, he had a better shot at controlling himself. "My team is just that, a team. When people are invited to join us, they usually stay, but anyone can leave at anytime."

She glared at him. "You just announced the end of a lock down!"

"Yes. End, as in over. Which means anyone can come and go again. Tell me, Trina, where do you want to go so damned badly?"

"Why did you order it?
Originally?"

Because of Sis, obviously.
The assassination annoyance from Ben was hardly worth considering. "Huh-uh. No way I'm telling you more about my business than you already know."

"Fair trade applies to information too?"

"Especially to information."

"Fine."
She leaned back and crossed her arms, plumping her generous bustline and making him forget his train of thought. "It's your turn to talk because I already gave you information about Sis's killer."

"You gave me nothing but crap." As much as he enjoyed the various entertaining scenarios dancing through his head from friendship to business to something more physical with Trina, he had things to do.
Responsibilities.

"So says the man with a sterling reputation for determining value." She growled again when he refused to take that bait.
"Fine, you stubborn jackass. Check the news, verify the facts, and by all means cooperate with the police. But don't say I didn't warn you."

She stormed out in a whirl of red hair and matching temper.

He sighed. She was absolutely amazing.

Chapter Eighteen

He was absolutely asinine!

In the privacy of her guest quarters, Trina shouted that opinion and more, hoping he'd activated the bugs after all.

She could tell he was up to something and she hated him for not letting her in on it. Though she couldn't really blame him for being cautious – she had kidnapped his people – that whole scene in the atrium proved he had feelings for her.
Probably just feelings in his pants, but still.

It was a relief to confirm that no one had taken a crack at her computer or discovered the hidden pockets in her luggage. The relief was almost enough to inspire some affection for him.

Until the memory of his arrogant raised eyebrow flashed into her mind and she was grumbling all over again. Why exactly did she trust him? Why was she so ready to take him at his word about respecting her privacy?

He'd looked so handsome striding down the hall, his perfected features brimming with confidence. It made her wonder if anyone here knew about the scar on his face, or how he got it. Why would he trust her enough to share?

To see the real him, he'd said.

Oh! This was
not
helpful.

Joel, in her mind she used his former name out of spite, was far too arrogant on all counts. He might 'skim' the headlines but he
wasn't understanding the far-reaching implications.

How could he without the information and perspective from her?
a little voice nagged.
And just where would she be when he finally believed she was an assassin?
she shot back.

Honestly, she had no proof that anything she 'knew' would help
him, she only knew she was afraid of what looked like a conspicuously random string of incident reports on the street.

Thinking of Sis, she lit up her computer and started sorting through the headlines, searching out a way to show him the risks without exposing herself to his hatred and disgust.
And disapproval.

Whatever had happened between them in the atrium, however impossible their future, she didn't want to be
a blight in his memory. When she'd gone to the office this morning, she'd intended to ask him about that kiss. Correction: series of kisses. But it all went up in the flames of her insecurity. She'd been honest about one thing anyway, she couldn't stay here like a lovesick devotee. Nor could she be a party to his dangerous business.

Leaning back, she spoke to the ceiling. "Yes. It does sound just as judgmental and hypocritical in my head." While April had been a fount of information in the last twenty-four hours, Trina couldn't seem to shed the years of dread and hate for the dark, criminal reputation of Slick
Micky.

"Put it aside," she coached herself. She'd made a habit of not thinking about the things she couldn't change or would never understand.
Unfortunate that Joel-Micky fell into that category at the moment, but true nonetheless.

Turning her focus to what she could do, she cut and pasted headlines into an email. Maybe if she gave him the breadcrumbs he could follow the trail. It wasn't like she had any definite answers anyway. Just a bit of insider knowledge and a screaming instinct that something big and bad loomed on
Micky's horizon.

Trina's clients always assumed assassins were in it strictly for the payday. She supposed that mentality was common among her particular clientele. After all, it took a certain combination of ruthlessness and wealth to hire an opponent into the grave.

She could hardly fault them for thinking that way. Between movies, books, and the attitude of many of her past and present peers, it was a logical conclusion. For the entirety of her career, she'd believed she was different and she'd held herself to a higher standard, refusing to blindly follow the paycheck, until Slick Micky's head rolled onto the chopping block. Even though she hadn't bothered much with the target, he was hardly more than a ghost on the street, she'd researched her employer. Another habit that had saved her life more than once.

It would be hard to explain to anyone unfamiliar with the secrecy and solitude of an assassin's world how she knew so much about
Montalbano and his key enforcers. Harder still to explain why she was making such broad assumptions about what he was up to.

Joel had never been a fool and it appeared his role as Slick
Micky had only honed his ability to assess, decide, and act. Still, she kept adding to and tweaking the email, hoping maybe sentiment would blind him to her part in the whole dysfunctional plot against him.

She'd already considered and tossed aside the idea of seduction. After the atrium, she had no doubt she could pull it off, with or without the help of illusion, but springing such a trap would undoubtedly hurt her as much as him. Better to keep
herself limited to business, hers and his, so they might both survive Montalbano's latest stunt.

If Slick
Micky had been under pressure before, it was about to get a lot worse, and probably a lot uglier before things settled down. Right here, under the guise of Micky's guest, she could only try to prevent collateral damage and personal heartache.

She finished the email, hit send and tried not to throw up. Then she dressed for a little reconnaissance on the street.
Montalbano might be gunning for her, Trina Durham, assassin of the highest order, but he wouldn't be looking for a washed up artist jonesing for some fuel for the muse.

* * *

Micky swore as he highlighted and erased another paragraph of sappy nonsense. The day's plan was slipping out of his grasp. He needed to be on the street, feeling his way toward the bastard gunning for him, not stuck inside writing a few sentimental words about Sis he knew he'd choke on. Now the buzzing announcement of an instant message wasn't helping.

He swiped the track pad, bringing the monitor to life. The grumbling ceased and his dark mood improved when he saw the IM from the former police chief trying to get his attention. He keyed in a greeting and waited.

"Killer found."

"Arraignment?" he replied, wanting to be there.

"Not necessary. Killer found dead."

"Where?"

"Meet me at the Pier in an hour."

Micky
sent the agreement immediately. He wasn't happy giving the impression that he'd take orders from Brian, but he looked forward to getting out of the warehouse. An alert to security told them he was leaving, but he exited through his private route. With everyone coming and going today after being cooped up and edgy, questions were inevitable and he wasn't in a mood to offer answers.

Remembering that stupid photo Brian had provided to the department,
Micky removed the mask that covered his scar and pulled his Cubs hat down low. Hunching into his beat up bomber jacket as he made his way across town to the Navy Pier, he was as nondescript as any other weary man on this cold fall day.

It didn't take long to spot Brian people-watching on a bench near the sky wheel. Taking the other end of the bench, he braced his elbows on his knees and waited for the former cop to share.

"That's some impressive makeup," Brian said.

Micky
nodded, having expected the assumption and wanting to feed it to protect his anonymity. "I know some talented people," he replied. "So what have you got?"

"It seems the guy who did your friend, Sis, liked to keep trophies." Brian paused. "We might have closed the case earlier, but we kept getting leads pointing to the Reverend."

Micky was glad he'd put his scar side to Brian, it helped conceal the twitch that wanted to become a smile. "Haven't talked to that freak in long while. Why would he put a hit on me?"

"I'm not a fool,
Micky. If he put any kind of serious hit on you, we can't find it and frankly he's not that subtle. Neither are you. You think my detectives can't trace an anonymous email?"

"Your detectives?
Did you re-up?" He leaned back, completely amused by this flustered version of Brian. "I know for certain that whack-job put a hit on me. The contractor was inept and less than enthused. He's on my team now. Better retirement plan. And my systems are completely secure. Just ask your wife."

"Christ." Brian shook his head and got to his feet. "Come on. I'll buy you a dog and tell you the rest."

"You're such a thoughtful date."

"Shut it a minute and listen," he said as they walked. "Because we –
they
– were looking elsewhere, they missed the connection lying down in the morgue. Sis's killer was a John Doe until someone cataloging the personal effects connected an earring in the guy's effects as the earring missing from Sis when she, um..."

"Died,"
Micky finished. "So where'd they find this John Doe?"

"He was stinking up a hotel room on Michigan Avenue."

Micky tried to swallow the rush of excitement. "Have you been to the scene?"

"Not personally and I'm not giving you the name or address."

"Okay." Easy enough to find out on his own. "Got a reason?"

"It's an ongoing investigation."

"I didn't think he'd died of a guilty conscience." Another man might've missed Brian's flinch, but Micky had honed his observation skills to a better standard. "What?"

"When the body was found, suicide was the first, obvious conclusion."

"Before the earring," Micky said to himself. A cold knot of fear landed heavy in his gut. He tossed the remainder of his lunch in the trash and waited for the rest of the story.

"Mid-level professional on a sex holiday overcome with guilt is how it looked to the evidence crew. But the victim's prints came back as unknown.
Very unknown."

"Military."

Brian nodded. "Don't get me started on that side of the investigation, but the pieces wouldn't fit in the right places until the earring broke it all open."

It seemed Brian was content to walk and contemplate, but
Micky felt the wasted opportunity of every step. "So what's your opinion? Why did he take out Sis?"

"You were right about being in someone's crosshairs."

"Where does the investigation go now?"

"I think you're safe from the cops," Brian snapped. "This new direction leads away from you and your group."

"You can't think I'm involved." Micky looked closer at the people nearby, searching for signs of anyone working undercover.

"Oh, I think you're involved, I just don't know what to do about it."

This was getting too damn sticky. He shook his head. "Go back a second. Who did this guy in the hotel?"

"We don't have a clear lead.
Yet. But why is the most confusing part. I'm sure he was a grinder, but he was staged in a way that makes me think another professional took him out. A guy like this? Hell, even on the slab in the morgue he was intimidating." Brian scrubbed at his face. "When we figure out why, we'll have a better line on who."

"Did the hotel have any visual record of this guy's stay?"

"Already recycled by the time we asked."

"No one went looking when he didn't check out on time?"

"I'm telling you the detectives thought of these angles. He extended his stay through the in-room computer."

Micky
recognized the limit of Brian's patience as they neared the Pier's exit. "Thanks for letting me know the bastard is dead."

"Don't go looking to pin a medal on his killer."

"Hey," Micky smiled. "That's probably got nothing to do with me. Lover's tiff, professional disagreement. Maybe a way to thaw a hiring freeze. Times are tough."

"You're not funny."

He shrugged. Humor wasn't the point. "I won't be assisting the investigation or the search for the other killer."

"What a surprise." Brian studied him a moment longer than necessary. "Just don't throw them anymore false leads."

"Sure thing. Thanks for lunch." Micky turned toward the nearest taxi. If Brian had called in favors and ordered a tail, Micky meant to lose it immediately. He had a couple mules on Michigan who were probably up to speed on the dead guy already and he wanted to hear their take on it.

Sliding into the back of the car, he swiped his credit card through the reader. Requesting a circuit of Lakeshore Drive, he sat back to enjoy the ride. When he was sure none of Brian's old friends were following, he'd request a drive toward Michigan Avenue and the hotel.

* * *

Trina marveled at the elaborate camouflage of the neighborhood as she made her way from
Micky's hideout to the el station. The bright fall sunshine didn't even seem to penetrate the cloak of decay and hopelessness the smuggler had crafted to guard his secrets.

Amazing really, she thought as she boarded the train. No sane person would think of disembarking here without a loaded weapon and battle ready tank. And yet,
Micky's team came and went, raising no suspicion. After her first visit, she knew if snoopers or law enforcement got too close, Micky's security team responded with quiet efficiency. The thought wasn't much comfort as she changed trains.