Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4) (2 page)

Brian ignored him, pouring himself another shot of tequila instead. Tossing it back, he turned the glass upside down. "Fine. I'll take the names, but get me a working motive. And for god's sake stay alive."

Chapter Two

In the lobby of the posh hotel, Trina Durham sipped tea from an antique bone china cup, exuding calm, feminine elegance while inside she railed against the whims of Fate. Oh, to be a man! It wasn't the first time she'd had the thought and it wouldn't be the last. Although this time her new target was as much to blame as his gender.

When she considered the situation objectively, it was obvious that no one with an eye on the Slick Micky would hire only one assassin. That would be like loaning a Picasso to a museum without reviewing the insurance terms. Being the top smuggler in a city the size of Chicago came with countless perks and virtually untouchable power. A determined crime boss would take precautions, look for guarantees, even if that meant shelling out money for more than one deadly talent.

Understanding her client's mindset didn't make the situation any more palatable.
Especially when that superfluous talent screwed up her recon.

This pushed her payday back at least another week and now she had to dispatch her competition first. Her current client had known he was getting the best hitter in the field when he hired her. She didn't much care if her client had paid the extra premium for the insurance. She would not be sharing this target or the subsequent pay out with anyone. The man who went by Slick
Micky would die by her hand, right after she introduced herself. No one else would steal her supreme moment of vengeance.

Trina's solid lead on the smuggler had vaporized when the woman became an ugly puddle on the sidewalk. Frustrated with the time and money the clumsy thug had cost her, she decided to kill him slowly. Making him an example should send any other loitering assassins out of town.

Her tea went cold just as her secondary target, the jerk who'd pushed the woman rumored to be Slick Micky's sister out the window, appeared. She timed her move perfectly, gaining the idiot's attention. A moment more and she'd threaded her way through his lurid, none too original, thoughts about her breasts to plant the seeds of mind control she intended to cultivate to a devastating and lethal harvest.

As anticipated, he accepted her slow wink as an invitation and came
closer, oozing something he clearly considered charm.

Struggling not to use his professional handle, she let him believe his lines were effective, flirting until she had him where she wanted him, alone in the elevator.

She rewarded his clunky seduction attempts with a sexy purr and tolerated his beefy hand dropping from her waist to squeeze her ass. A shame what he was doing to the fine cashmere, but she wouldn't keep the dress anyway. Too likely someone would remember a sultry red head in an ivory sweater dress eye-humping a businessman during afternoon tea.

She didn't often show her true self to the world, a tactic which had kept her anonymous and alive.

As he boasted of creative sex and impossible bravado in her ear, she was thinking of the next step in his execution. The moment they were safe in his room, away from the hotel cameras, she moved with swift purpose.

While he reacted predictably to the elaborate illusion she provided, thoroughly enamored by the imaginary woman in his arms, she withdrew the slim toolkit secured in her garter. She restrained him, just in case he slipped out of her illusion, and started her questioning.

"Hey, Atlas." He didn't flinch at the sound of his professional moniker. "How's that feel?" She dragged her knife across his throat, leaving a faint scratch on his weathered skin.

"Yeah, Baby. That's great."

She smiled. He was still locked tight in the illusion, believing her blade was a feather. Perfect. "Who brings you to Chicago?"

"Who cares?
Come closer, sweet thing."

Trina slid onto the bed, pressing her hip to his. She was fit, but he was a collection of brawny boulders molded into a man. If he spent half as much time working on his brain as he did working on his body she might have an ounce of respect for her competitor. He was easy enough to look at from a distance, but she preferred her men leaner like...

No.

She stopped the flood of unwelcome memories with the ruthless efficiency of a girl who couldn't afford the distraction. She might be back in her home town, but she was here on a mission and dispatching Atlas was the current stepping stone on her path to vindication and liberation.

"Atlas, honey?" She pressed the knife point into his washboard abs and watched the bubble of blood  well up. "Who hired you to take out that wom –"

She gasped, the question unfinished as he flexed and
scissored his legs, capturing her midsection in a crushing hold. The knife slid across the bed and onto the floor.

Shit! She'd let the illusion lapse in her rush for information. Atlas would make her dead, and fast, if she didn't regain control.

He was grunting with the divided efforts of cracking her ribs and freeing his hands.

She sank her fingernails into his ass, but he taunted her, claimed it turned him on. She had to be careful how she went after him or staging this as a suicide would be impossible. It would be easier to be careful, to regain control, if she could breathe.

"Tell me – and I'll – let you – live."

"We'll see who's walking out of here, bitch."

She kicked his head, just behind his ear and grabbed some air when his legs relaxed a fraction. As the litany of curses poured out of his mouth, she found the train of thought that put her back in control: his preferred way of killing her once he was free.

With her skills at creating illusions and hallucinations, she tweaked his plans just enough to have him recite a report about killing her to the bastard who'd hired him.

As Atlas made the imaginary phone call, she got the name and direction she needed. Leaving him with a consuming sense of failure and depression, she prompted him to kill himself while she logged onto the hotel server. After adjusting his reservation and adding a do not disturb notice to his account preferences, she cleaned up her tools, turned on the air conditioner and left the body behind.

* * *

Micky eyed the octagonal disc in his palm and thought back to the first time he'd seen it.

"It's as safe as biological alterations get," Jameson had said.

Not a resounding endorsement, but Micky had agreed to the terms. A biological stealth tool in exchange for a particularly tight bit of smuggling.

Micky
smiled, thinking he should write a thank you note to the government; all their nonsense regulations equaled some serious padding in his offshore bank accounts.

"Tell me the risks."

"Addiction," Jameson had said with a laugh. "But only like an emotional thing. In testing some guys got hooked on being 'off the radar'. Just put the disk under your tongue, use the suit and you're virtually invisible to all security formats. Most people will look right through you. It's heady."

That had made sense to
Micky. The natural tendency of the general population to see what it wanted to see had worked in his favor for years.

"Anyone ever die?"

Jameson hesitated. "Not if you remember you're invisible, rather than
invincible
."

Micky
had remembered the limitations in all his previous outings with the stealth suit. With a flip of the disk, he prepared himself again. This would be the most important of all his invisible ventures. He was on the hunt for Sis's killer. He'd avenge her, and in the process, he'd protect the rest of his girls.

It was better than giving Brian the working motives he wanted for his legal paperwork. As if greed wasn't enough
motive for any of his competitors.

He pressed the button on the phone that connected him directly to Jim, the head of his security team. "I'm going out. Give the order to hold deliveries and keep the girls home for
awhile."

"Lock down?"

"Not officially." He smiled when Jim grunted on the other end of the line. "I just want things outside to calm down a bit before they go back on the routes."

"You got it, boss."

Micky disconnected, confident Jim would give the girls some valid reason to stay inside. Safety and caution should be reason enough, but most of his mules were determined, if not daring. It meant they naturally enjoyed skirting the law in the name of making money, but it also meant he had to hear their opinions when he set down an order they didn't like. But it was just one more reason why his system, why his entire team, worked so well.

In his hand, the silvery disk looked like a tiny stop sign, reflecting and absorbing the light. The first time he'd held it he thought he'd dropped the damn thing. Now, he was used to the disappearing effect.

It felt cool as it melded to the soft skin under his tongue. He checked the clock, not wanting to risk even the minor side effects possible for those who exceeded the recommended six hour safe limit. Surely he could find at least one good lead and be back here inside six hours.

He used the security camera feed on his hand held to avoid bumping into any of the girls. The last thing he needed was to start some ghost rumor because someone saw a door open and close on its own.

According to the infrared read out, Jaden's suite was full up at the moment. He should start charging her rent for stunts like this one. She might be doing enough training to cover her own expenses, but her ever increasing entourage was another matter.

Aw, hell. He shrugged it off. She was good for it. He was just
pissy about Sis and whoever was making a play for his operation. Life surrounded by women meant the estrogen was rubbing off on him. After this jaunt into the city, he'd have a better idea who was trying to move in on him, and be able to devise a counter attack.

* * *

The irony of the location wasn't lost on Trina. She stood in the heart of what once had been the Levee and the very pulse of Chicago's underworld nearly two hundred years ago.

"Well you can clean it up, but you can't keep it legit."

She'd followed Atlas's lead, only to learn the man wasn't top predator on the food chain. She didn't kill any of the middlemen, figuring it'd be more entertaining to watch the feeding frenzy when she took out the top dog. Not that she intended to stick around and watch.

Her current contract had only grown more interesting when she discovered Atlas hadn't been hired by the same crime boss she was serving. If her client and Atlas's client were working together, it could only mean there was a serious power struggle brewing in
Chicagoland. She wasn't sure she wanted to get tangled up in it even if her issues with Slick Micky went beyond profit margins and power plays.

But because her interest was personal, she chose to take steps to ensure her success. Having completed the background searches, she decided to toy with the leaders of Chicago's underworld. If she got lucky, her extra investment would pay off in more stress for Slick
Micky.

Her bonus target, the esteemed Stanley Dakota, finally emerged from the sleek limousine parked at the curb. A lush blonde about half his age fell into step beside him and his top lieutenant, Walker, followed with a pair of bodyguards. Trina moved into the building along with the crush of other employees returning from lunch. The man was outrageously bold, something she might admire later, but holding two entire floors in the posh building in the shiny new financial district didn't make him anything more than the head goon in a handmade suit.

Her heels clicked on the marble floor and the distinctly feminine sound soothed her as the challenge beckoned. It would take remarkable finesse just to create the opportunity to slide a deadly illusion into the notoriously corrupt financier's brain.

The elevator would put her too close. She waited for a different car and rode to the psychiatrist's office suite two floors below Dakota's headquarters.

The receptionist looked up and Trina smiled as she signed in. "I've got some new samples if he has just a minute." She patted her shoulder bag, knowing the doctor didn't have any appointments for another hour. Plenty of time to take care of Stan and make a graceful exit.

"I'll walk you back."

"Thanks."

In the doctor's office, Trina set out a collection of samples she'd scammed off one of Stan's drug dealing underlings. Irony, thy name is Trina, she thought with a grin. Her sly expression didn't fade until the shrink arrived and proved resistant to her first illusion. Grabbing the nearest sample
hypospray, she sedated him and got her plan back on schedule.

By the time she'd reached Dakota's empty office via the emergency
stairwell, she was holding her stilettos and spitting mad at the whole situation. The simple job and satisfying emotional and financial payoff of flying into Chicago, taking out a hated smuggler, and flying home was turning into a nightmare worthy of her own designs.

She caught herself before the burst of impatience completely derailed her planning. Irritability had no place in her professional world. Impatience was as much an enemy as Slick
Micky. So Dakota wasn't where she wanted him. So what? It didn't matter if nothing went as planned on this God-forsaken job. She could improvise. Just as long as she met the primary goal.