Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4) (22 page)

"Whatever. Put the charges on the corporate account. I'll see you upstairs."

* * *

Micky
nodded at Jim. Finally, they were on the same page. Montalbano, a man of undisputed mobster lineage, with current, legitimate ties to the defense department hated Slick Micky. Who better to hire a grinder than the guy with the hefty defense contracts?

"Crap." Jim sat down hard and pulled the keyboard closer. "This email came through the filter and I put it in the 'Later' file."

"What?"

"It's where I put all the stuff that isn't quite crazy, but I don't have time to deal with."

"Even stuff addressed to me?"

"Yeah.
Sis and I set it up years ago."

"You filter my email?" How had he missed that?

"Precautions, boss. Relax. It's worked for a long time."

"But –"

"You need to be very careful here," Jim tossed the words back in his face. "I didn't know the sender and the IP address was funky."

"Email from Trina isn't spam."

"Except I didn't know it was from her until right now. You have a personal address for that kind of thing anyway."

"But this wasn't that kind of email." A simple statement while a complex knot twisted in his gut.

"Nope." Jim jerked his chin toward the monitor. "Check it out."

Micky
frowned, reading a list of headlines. It was like a cryptic ransom note with the cut and paste fonts from various online news outlets. Men arrested, suspects charged or not, suspicions elevated, connections carefully implied. He couldn't see how anything they'd talked about reminded Jim of their current mess.

"How is this helpful? And why do you think it's from Trina?"

"Montalbano sure as hell didn't send it. If you think she's connected to him, knows anything about his plans, this makes sense. Especially if you're right about her feelings for you," Jim added. He cleared his throat and kept his eyes doggedly on the monitor.

Smart man.
Micky cued up a couple of the stories and dug deeper. Damned if he wasn't right. He muttered to himself, speculating what these separate events had to do with Trina. Or rather what Trina was planning to do about these separate events.

"Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"Think she set you up?"

"No." Micky thought about Trina's body sliding like hot silk against his. He thought about what he didn't say, couldn't have possibly said while they were making love. Last night wasn't pity and it wasn't a power play. He'd experienced both, could read women well enough to tell the difference. Felt confident he'd been reading Trina well enough.

Her blue eyes had been clouded only with passion and his mind had been clear as they'd come together last night.

"Okay. If I'm reading between the right lines here and Montalbano takes control of Dakota's operation, where does that leave us?"

"Absolutely screwed.
If Montalbano uses his new drug to influence Dakota's clientele the world and all its funding is his oyster."

"Effectively making
Montalbano the Slick Micky."

Micky
met Jim's gaze and knew his friend was putting this on Trina, but it just wasn't possible. "Look, Montalbano spent the last two decades looking clean and operating dirty. Everyone knows it." Micky scrubbed his face. He was so damned tired of keeping up with the freaking rumors. "If he's moving on Dakota's circle it's about the money not the drugs. Blatant extortion was his grandpa's game." From an early age Micky's professional education had focused on the systems of old mob families, primarily how to avoid being a casualty or repeating the mistakes of others. Apparently Montalbano hadn't been as concerned with preventing a repeat of bad history.

He'd never been an ally, but greed made him a more dangerous enemy now. And the man wasn't a fool. He wouldn't have put all this in motion without skewing the odds in his favor.

"Shit."

"Boss.
I know you like her but..."

"No buts.
Montalbano may have hired her, that may be why she returned to Chicago, but she's not on the bastard's payroll anymore."

"You said you weren't blind to her."

Micky's temper snapped. "Would she have sent a warning about Montalbano moving on Dakota if she was on his side?"

"Maybe.
If being cryptic gets her off or lures you into the right trap."

He bit back the rush of nasty words he would surely regret. Jim was trying to help, to bait him into thinking clearly. But right now he didn't care about friends, the
past, or even teamwork. He knew what he'd felt last night, knew there was more to Trina than her hot temper and her cold profession.

An assassin, sure, but not cold like Atlas.
No matter how she'd gotten into the business, he would not believe she was a cruel automaton out simply for a payday.

"She knew this wouldn't get to me."

"What?"

"She sent this to the filtered email just to be sure we had this conversation."

"You've been smoking with Chloe," Jim accused.

"Do I look any kind of agreeable to you?"

Jim shook his head.

"Good. Now shut up and hear me out. She's too good not to find my private email." He stopped Jim's dispute with another laser glare. "For the record, she kidnapped Ben and Darlene because she thought Slick
Micky was abusing the family of her old friend. Me," he clarified. "I told you we went way back. Before you tranqued her in the woods, she'd asked me what my mother would think of me working for Slick Micky."

"But you are –"

"I know who I am, she didn't. Not then anyway." He waved it off, getting back on topic. "Long story. What matters is she found the corporate registration of the storage unit."

"No way."
Jim scowled at the computer with the intensity of a man betrayed by a lover. "That's buried too deep."

"Now who's gone blind?"

"If she's so full of sunshine and rainbows, why didn't she just tell you about her deal with Montalbano?"

He shrugged. "She's female?"
Micky had a better theory but some things a man just didn't share before he knew the truth. "Bottom line. It doesn't matter how we got reacquainted, she's on our side now. Whether she knows it yet or not, she needs our help to stop Montalbano."

"Fine.
I'll go –" Jim was interrupted by a shrill warning from his cell card. "Oh, crap," he said when he'd read the message. "Your girl's on her own," he said. "The video bug is back, riding shotgun with Chloe."

An emergency signal chimed on
Micky's screen. Both men groaned. "Damn," Jim said, reading over Micky's shoulder. "That's a security breach a block away from the dining hall entrance. Stupid girl."

"Take care of it,"
Micky ordered. "I've got to get to Trina."

"You'll need back up."

Micky paused at the back door of his office, while Jim mirrored him at the front. "Protect this place. The team comes first. I'll send word if I need help."

"Give me five minutes and I'll go with you."

"Trust me, dammit. I know every shadow and shortcut in this city. Montalbano doesn't stand a chance. Protect our interests here and we'll compare notes when I get back."

Chapter Twenty-two

Expecting Walker to watch or maybe even follow, Trina crossed the street, just another suit in the current of people rushing to offices tucked into the looming
highrises. At the mouth of the alley, she sidestepped and caught her breath. So much riding on this next move.

The scene was eerily similar to
Crayland's operation in the slums. No surprise he didn't change a successful system, aside from cleaning up and packing himself into an expensive three piece suit. Where Chloe had been giggling and mooning over him yesterday, today it was the socialite.

Rumpled tux-man's body language said he wanted product, but more, Trina realized, he wanted the socialite separated from
Crayland. Interesting.

Knowing their routine from her earlier observation, Trina gave the enforcer a weak smile as he approached. "Sorry," she muttered. "I was looking for something, I mean
someone
. Someone else."

"Got it."
His eyes glinted and he dipped his chin, leaning closer and oozing friendliness. "What's this someone look like?"

"Um."
She darted a look at Rumpled tux-man. "I'll just come back later." She edged away, but the enforcer shifted to block her exit. Trina showed him the fear and uncertainty he expected from a woman out of her depth. "Have a nice day."

"Come on, sweetheart. Stay awhile." He gripped her elbow. "You'll enjoy yourself."

She let him lead her into the alley, toward Crayland, her prime target. The challenge of dragging her feet, of maintaining a mouse-like exterior when she was ready to roar and strike had her heart thumping in anticipation. She'd take particular delight in separating Crayland from his ego.

Her henchman escort brought her right into the action and she found herself the recipient of the socialite's sweet smile and Rumpled tux-man's frowning suspicion. At least he'd buttoned his shirt.

"Welcome to the party," Crayland said. "Need a little something to get your day going?"

"Says she's looking for someone," the henchman declared.

"I'll come back another time." Trina felt Crayland's sharp interest like a knife at her throat. She made a showy attempt to free her arm.

"Stay awhile. Have a smoke before the starting bell. You won't regret it."

Rumpled tux-man used the distraction of Trina to draw the socialite out of Crayland's embrace. Fine with her, she didn't need witnesses.

"Thanks, but I don't smoke.
Just looking for a drink. But it can wait."

Crayland
wasn't fooled, and not nearly as distracted as she'd hoped. "Hey now," he called after the socialite, "where you going, honey?"

Trina tittered, imitating the moneyed young woman stumbling toward the street with her liberator. Using a reflective technique, she drew
Crayland closer, helping him believe she was now the socialite.

"Nowhere without you."
She batted her lashes at him, willing him to see a stoned platinum blonde instead of an alert red head. The henchman scowled and she looped her arm through his, drawing the men close on either side. "Why don't you show me what's so great about smoking?"

Tall as she was, well-trained and strong, Trina knew she was no match physically for either of these two. She needed them focused on her. The plan was coming together even on the fly, but
the bigger goal was to trap Montalbano. Her only hope was her inherent skill. Tapping their lust for power, following the veins of greed and grandeur, she set a little of her talent free.

* * *

Micky arrived in the crowded financial district, wishing he'd chosen a business suit over the stealth suit. It was impossible to travel on the busy street without knocking into people. While the stealth suit blurred him out, he wasn't sure everyone would see a shadow when they bumped into something solid. Amusing as it might be as a social experiment, it was just too early to start a riot or induce panic.

He climbed fire escapes and skimmed along
rooftops, until he reached the alley where Dakota dealt elite illegal substances to Chicago's bored and wealthy. Trina's cryptic email had made a point about recent activity here. He checked the time, planning to give it an hour. If she didn't show, or he didn't have a new lead on her, he'd go back and get Kyle's help on another angle.

The search hadn't been easy, since first he'd raced to
Montalbano's corporate offices. He assumed she'd go straight to the root of their problem, but everything was situation normal there. Yes, the emails had implied Montalbano was moving on Dakota territory, but what did she hope to do about that as one woman against a powerful gang? He knew he was applying his own bias to her profession, but really, wasn't wet work a one-on-one kind of thing?

It haunted him what he didn't know about Trina, the woman. Every inch of her body sure, but the way her mind worked…hell, he wasn't even close.

Evidenced by his impatiently waiting here for something to happen. Something besides typical business, he thought, as a senator's daughter wobbled deep into the alley leaning on the arm of a well-dressed thug.

Sure, the girl's face sparkled on the Internet and news channels, but usually for innocuous endeavors like an art opening or a trendy new night club. Cameras followed her everywhere. Remarkable how she'd kept the media away from her bad girl side.

Micky crept closer, hoping to hear the conversation as the gatekeeper handed the woman off to the dealer: not Dakota's man, Walker, but Crayland. Wow. Montalbano had dressed him up, but the hard edges were still there, visible to anyone with basic survival instincts.  Apparently the girl was too stoned or too drunk to recognize her peril.

Micky
considered intervening. The senator would owe him a huge favor if he rescued her, but just then another man ambled into the bizarre equation.

The rumpled tuxedo obviously fooled
Crayland and his guards, but Micky recognized the underlying danger in the man's movement. Gideon.

Shit.

Knowing the senator's influence on defense contracts, Montalbano's moves against Dakota territory made more sense. But if Trina was headed this way, Gideon would snap her up and have her secreted away and charged with Atlas's murder within the hour.

Micky
held his breath, praying Trina was safe elsewhere.

While the senator's daughter threw herself at
Crayland, Gideon played the role of stoned suitor perfectly. Micky silently cheered for Gideon's success. Not just for the girl's safety, but to get him out of the alley fast.

Apparently
Montalbano's new drug only made this victim agreeable to her dealer. Gideon would have her attention and Crayland would draw her back. The subtle tug of war continued for several minutes. Mesmerizing. Annoying.

Take her and run
, Micky coached silently from his perch on the fire escape. Movement near the street caught his attention. Damn. Trina had arrived.

He shifted to intercept her when Gideon's head snapped up, eyes locking for a moment too long on his position.
Micky knew he wasn't clearly visible, but he couldn't afford to be careless here, not if he wanted to help Trina.

He watched the maneuvering, Gideon drawing away the girl, Trina moving closer. It was like watching a strange stage production from the backstage catwalk.

Then it got weird.

He gaped as Trina's voice changed to a flawless imitation of the senator's daughter. Her red head shimmered, alternating between too bright and too dark, as if the settings on a monitor needed adjusted.

He rubbed his eyes, common sense insisting this was trouble with the stealth technology, but he knew better. This was Trina's strange gift and she was ramping it up, using it to control Crayland and his gatekeeper.

Lambs to slaughter
, he thought. She was taking them into a service access that connected many of the buildings. He didn't want to think about what she planned to do with them there.

Brian's voice broke into his thoughts, spouting theory about sex-
cations and staged murder scenes.

Micky
went cold and his stomach rolled.

He hated himself for the reaction. It felt disloyal. She was a person, as flawed and imperfect as anyone else in the world. He couldn't judge, was surprised he even wanted to.

Did he want to?

No
. He couldn't judge when he held such an affection for her. Affection? What a joke. He loved her, and assassin or not, he wouldn't leave her to handle this alone.

He slithered down the fire escape and silently fell in behind her and her captives. She was his now.
His to protect, whether she knew it or not, whether she wanted it or not, just like he'd told Jim. Whatever she was up to, he wouldn't fail her this time.

He paused at the corner as Trina guided the men into the alcove at the end of the alley. Her voice was her own, but so soft he couldn't pick out the words. He could only see the gatekeeper's blank face. Micky couldn't help wondering what images she propagated, what the men thought they saw. Her tone changed from soothing to commanding and he realized she must need the audible cues to hold them both.

Suddenly both men were dumping the contents of their pockets and Trina had a nice collection of bank cards, cash and even a few pieces of expensive jewelry. She stashed the take in an oversized purse and tossed the purse toward a fire exit door.

Curious, Micky couldn't take his eyes off her as she continued her charade. She positioned the men to face each other, stepping between them. From his vantage point, it seemed she paused to collect herself before she faced Crayland.

Her features rippled like the air rising from a blistering hot street at the peak of summer. Both men drew weapons; the gatekeeper a knife,
Crayland a gun. They started to circle, Trina between them, her lips still moving while she watched them.

She'd die, caught between them if she didn't move. She had to move. But she didn't move.

"No!" Micky hollered, lunging for her as the men lunged at each other. Knocking her out of harm's way, he rolled with her toward the fire exit door.

Beneath him he heard her swearing, but the gunshot followed by a yelp of pain behind them confirmed his decision to intervene.

"Stay down," he hissed, rolling to his feet and turning toward Montalbano's men. They were both bleeding and cussing at each other. Crayland's eyes were wild as he looked around the tight space.

"Show yourself, Dakota!"

His gatekeeper pressed a hand to his bloody side. "My suit's wrecked."

"Shut up,"
Crayland shoved the other man toward the alley and turned on Trina. "You traitor!"

He raised the gun and
Micky closed in. He scissored his hands, keeping them open like blades, snapping Crayland's forearm. The gun went flying and Crayland ran away screaming about ghosts.

Satisfied,
Micky smiled at Trina, forgetting she couldn't actually see him, only to find her glaring in his general direction.

He hesitated as the adrenalin rushed through his system and the battle to stay or go raged inside him. Exposing the stealth suit gave her the last of his secrets.

"For God's sake show yourself. They're long gone."

She didn't sound happy about being rescued.

"Are you all right?"

Trina brushed herself off, collecting the gun and her purse. She refused to speak with a shadow.

She wasn't convinced she could speak at all. He'd ruined everything. Her illusion had been working and if he'd let it play out, Montalbano would have stormed Dakota's offices by day's end. Most likely after thrashing Crayland or the gatekeeper, depending on which one lived to make the report.

She couldn't see him, not really, but she knew he was there, knew it was
Micky. "How did you find me?"

"Luck," he admitted.

She snorted and moved to get by him. Now she had to rethink the frame up and possibly abandon her carefully detailed personal plan for Montalbano.

His invisible arm blocked her path,
then floated down to touch her hand. "You can see me?"

"Not really," she said, the words triggering memories of their time in the atrium. And that frightening moment in the woods when she'd thought he was a torso apparition after the kidnapping. She looked straight at him,
then turned to the side. It was easier to pluck the shape of his head and shoulders from the background when she used her peripheral vision. But of course she knew where to start looking.

"Stealth suit?"

He coughed. "How'd you know?"

"Jane's Report."
He probably didn't expect her to keep tabs on the world's advancements in weapons and technology. "Didn't know they'd made it to the salvage sites."

"They haven't."

She smiled at the irritation in his voice, picturing the offended look on his face. "Ah. You made an 'anything' sort of deal."