Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4) (24 page)

"We're clear, boss. After we rousted one of
Montalbano's scouts near the platform, there's been nothing new to report," Jim insisted when Micky finally got through.

He'd helped himself to clothes at a corporate health club and called in a favor with a bookie that maintained his old Levee roots in a shop two blocks back from Dakota's shiny high rise.
"I've put out the alerts, everyone's in place," Jim continued. "And I've doubled the guard. We're ready for anything."

"It could be a swarm,"
Micky said, thinking first of Montalbano. "Or a precise strike." If Gideon planned it. "Where's our agreeable friend?"

"Off campus," Jim replied, chuckling over the Chloe reference.

Off campus could mean anything from rehab to dumped on Mary at the storage center, but the end result would be a normal, bratty Chloe with a clean slate and a second chance. Micky could live with that, as long as the warehouse wasn't compromised.

"Everything scrubbed and clean?"
Jim would know he meant files and records.

"Yes."

The computer and security teams were earning every bit of their pay today. He couldn't risk Gideon getting wind of Trina's visit or Montalbano learning about other guests. "Great. I'll be back as soon as possible." With Trina.

Micky
placed a bet for good luck, thanked his host, and headed out.

Chapter Twenty-four

Montalbano
straightened his tie and checked his perfect hair in the glossy reflection of the elevator door as the car sped up toward Dakota's penthouse office.

"This merger is the right call, Walker. She's ready to deal, you say?"

Walker nodded.

Montalbano
smiled. "About time. When I give you the sign, just shoot her. I'm very unhappy about what she did to Crayland."

Walker nodded again. Connected or not, this guy was one top of the line
asswipe.

"Be alert. She's sneaky." He winked at the shorter man. "It's why I hired her."

The doors opened and Montalbano glanced around. "Heavy on the glass and marble, but we can redecorate," he commented, taking in the posh surroundings. "With the piles of money Dakota tucked into funds and safes, this place will be looking better in no time. Make a note to get some contractors in here for interviews."

"Will do."
Walker found it a supreme challenge to stick to the plan when the guy was right here begging for a knife between the ribs.

"Pretty low on personnel.
Payroll problem?" Montalbano laughed at his lame joke while Walker forced a smile. Jerk. They'd cleared the floor to prevent collateral damage if things got ugly.

"This way."
Walker opened the door to the conference room, not missing Montalbano's covetous glance toward Dakota's office.

"Ah, we meet again." He smiled at Trina who waited calmly at the other end of the long conference table. "I must say your recent choices have surprised me."

"You know us women."

"Fickle."

Trina shrugged. "If you say so."

Walker took up a post halfway between
Montalbano and Trina, keeping a keen eye on both parties.

"The agreement," she said, pointing to the electronic notepad in front of
Montalbano.

He leaned forward, palms braced on the table, reading through it.
"Interesting." He met her unwavering gaze. "You know I can't give you any sort of reference."

She gave a tight smile.
"Understood."

"You did not complete the job you were hired to do."

She nodded. "Yet you have what you want if you sign." Her fingers tapped together in a move purposely reminiscent of Dakota. Seeing Montalbano swallow, she knew it had the desired effect.

"You'll leave town."

"Immediately."

"Forever."

She nodded when she wanted to scream. Would he ever put his signature on the line?

"If you scroll down, you'll see I've signed my own statement."

Montalbano read it and laughed. "Oh, look. You returned my deposit. How…thoughtful." He scowled at her. "And given your word not to kill me. I'm so reassured."

"I included the standard penalty clause."

"Young lady, I hired you –"

"And Atlas."

"And Atlas," he conceded. "For a specific purpose. You are in breach of contract." He jerked his chin at Walker, who slowly raised his gun, pointing it at Trina's head. "I don't approve of you or your tactics and I'll be sure you never work in –"

The door burst open.

Too soon, Trina thought, gaping as Micky plowed into Montalbano's back.

"
Micky, wait!" she cried. This would be much more tidy if the mobster would sign the confession first. Then Micky could have at him. She felt a very pleased, undeniably feminine flutter when he planted a fist in the Italian's face and nothing but shock as a bullet tore through her flesh.

No
tranq shot this time.

Her illusion worked. He'd taken the shot, thinking she was Walker. It would be laughable, possibly even a compliment if it didn't hurt so damned bad. The gun in her hand clattered to the floor and her body, dressed in Walker's suit, followed.

Only fair.

She killed with illusion and now she'd die by illusion.

* * *

Micky
panicked, his eyes locked on Trina's body. He'd shot Walker. Hadn't he? He stared in horror as blood bloomed on the man's shirt, Trina's blood, seeping into the carpet. He let the security team have his gun, but he fought the restraints, clawing his way to her limp form.

"I've got this one."
Gideon's voice. He hollered for a medic while Micky cradled her, rocking her close to his chest.

Good Lord, he'd shot Trina.

Dressed like Walker, she'd staged the scene to Montalbano's expectations. Confused, Micky looked back to where he thought she'd been. Only now, from his vantage point below the table he could see the holograph projector on the chair.

An elaborate illusion.

He was shoved roughly as the medical team worked to stop the bleeding. "We have to transport," they said, loading her up as they hyposprayed meds and hooked up an oxygen mask.

Gideon seized him. "You have to get out of here."

"Yes. With her."

"No!" Gideon hauled him up and spun him around like he was applying cuffs. "
You wearing the suit under here?"

Micky
gave a jerky nod.

Gideon hauled him out of the conference room.
Montalbano and the real Walker were just a blur of noise and chaos as Gideon's team dealt with them.

Micky
struggled to stay upright when Gideon shoved him against a wall. "Stay put," he said loud enough for the sentry near the elevator to hear him. Leaning close so only Micky could hear, he said, "When you get the chance, disappear. You nearly blew the whole damned operation."

Micky
didn't give a damn about anything but Trina. "Will she live?"

Gideon gave him a hard glare and walked away, shaking his head.
Micky watched as they hauled the defeated Montalbano to the elevators. In the conference room, he could hear them interrogating Walker about Dakota's systems.

Micky
inched toward the corner and into the next hallway, slipping out of the restraints and his clothing. Popping the stealth disc into place, he raced for the hospital.

He couldn't have killed her. No. She had to survive. She'd been too warm, too real in his arms.

He told himself he'd aimed to maim, not kill, but he wasn't believing it. He'd taken the shot from his knees, full of impatience and desperation. Never smart.

Micky
reached the nearest hospital only to learn no one matching Trina's description or injuries had arrived. Getting the same story at every facility, Micky realized Gideon had pulled strings. Strings that were beyond even Micky's reputation or reach.

Lost to everything but his terrible grief,
Micky made his way back to the warehouse, hoping one of Jim's computer guys could find where Gideon stashed her.

* * *

Trina opened her eyes to a stark white ceiling and groaned. They'd tranqued her again and put her back in that stupid room. Sitting up, the wave of pain lanced through her chest, bringing it all back with frightening clarity. Not a tranquilizer. Not the warehouse.

"It's too soon to move right now."

She turned her head carefully. The man sitting by her bed was only familiar because of the military record she'd researched. Gideon Callahan and his career in black ops had received her incriminating email and agreed to help. "Thanks for the back up." God, she could hardly breathe around that one sentence.

"Thank you for delivering
Montalbano. We've got him cold on enough charges so he'll die in prison. The senator's thrilled. I told him how you helped save his daughter."

She cringed, over the news or the pain, she couldn't decide. It didn't matter. "
Micky?"

"Well, that depends on if you intend to press charges."

She struggled again, but lost her breath, setting off alarms on the medical sensors.

"You're distressing my patient," the nurse complained. "She needs rest." She scowled at Gideon,
then smiled down at Trina. "I'm Mira. Take it easy, now." Her gentle touch on Trina's forehead brought instant relief.

"No charges," she managed after a few minutes.

Gideon snorted. "No surprise." He waited while the nurse finished her business. "Now, what do you want?"

Micky
. His face was a beacon. But he'd told her to stay away. She might have done the right thing as far as the government was concerned, but she'd lost everything that mattered before she had time to enjoy it.

"He threatened me you know.
Over you." Gideon came to his feet, studying her. "I asked him to bring you in. Told him I'd crash the warehouse if necessary."

Hope bloomed. Had
Micky ordered her away just to keep her safe?

"Yeah.
That pissed him off," Gideon said with a rueful expression. "He's big on loyalty and protection."

She tried to summon enough strength to hide her reactions, but it was impossible.

"He looked for you long and hard. Eventually he found the report I planted about your death."

Tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.
Death. A fresh start far away from here. Hadn't that been her plan? "Go away," she begged. It was better this way, safer. She'd go on and Micky would go on and they'd both be all right. Someday.

"Did you hear me? You're officially dead. Just like Joel
Mickleson."

Trina closed her eyes, wishing she were dead, wishing it all away. The pain from the bullet wound was nothing compared to the agony of her crumbling heart.

"Mira's right. You do need rest. I'll be back later."

When Trina woke again, the nurse was back, puttering with the equipment near the bed. "Ah, there you are. You have such lovely eyes."

Trina rolled the eyes in question and braced for the pain of conversation. "Am I alone?"

"Mr. Serious is gone, yes."

Boosted by how good she felt, she tried to sit up. "Where am I?"

"Chicago General.
In a secure ward, which is why the window is fake."

Trina followed her gesture to a lovely view of the city at night. "When will they release me?"

The nurse didn't answer, just helped her sit up a bit more while she examined the wound that marked the bullet's path. "Relax," she instructed.

A warm sensation flowed over Trina, filling her, surrounding her.
Offering an amazing sense of peace and wellbeing. She glanced at her IV bag. "Wow. What did you give me?"

"The last treatment."
The nurse looked a bit pale, but her smile was kind. "Since you're not officially here, not even officially alive, I think you can go anytime."

Trina wondered. It was easier to think without the pain, but it didn't make it easier to know what to do. Where did a retired assassin go? What sort of life could she make with her strange skills now? She had options and alternate identities, yet...

Micky
. Only that one word, only his face came to mind. She knew no matter what step she took next, she had one stop to make before she could leave Chicago.

* * *

Micky rubbed his gritty eyes, wanting to believe that this time the woman he watched was really Trina. He'd been seeing her in his dreams and this terrible reality of waking nightmares every day since he'd shot her.

Jim was in full protective mode, keeping the business going while he thought
Micky grieved alone in his apartment. But Micky couldn't stay cooped up where the memories and missed opportunities lashed at him. Getting out gave him a different view, even if he didn't know what to do with it. In his stealth suit, he'd wandered through Chicago, listening for any word, jumping at the sight of every red head. Not once had the glint of vivid red hair been her, only his lost hopes torturing him.

He leaned against the side of the grungy building and waited for his broken heart to yield so he could see whoever was returning to the warehouse with clear eyes.

But the woman strolled directly toward his position rather than the nearest warehouse entrance, still bearing a striking resemblance to Trina. The hair, the eyes, even the tentative smile. The clothes were different, but he knew the curves concealed under the down coat and baggy hospital scrubs.

Good grief. He had to resign, turn over the title. His team deserved to have someone whole and sane lead them.

Trina – the woman – stopped a few paces away, looking at a spot just above his shoulder. "Hello, Micky."

God, that voice.
Her voice. He wanted it to be her so badly. "Trina?"

She stepped closer. It had to be a dream, maybe a nervous breakdown, because he was in the stealth suit and she was dead.

"Yes." Her smile brightened. "It's me."