by Black, Regan
Forcing himself to the task, knowing time was short, he examined the room. It surprised him they hadn't done any cleaning aside from the body and personal effects. The evidence team must have been spooked by the fingerprints. If the hotel ownership caught wind of a military connection, they might be anticipating a major settlement. Juiced soldiers causing damage in civilian digs always earned big hush money. Just another – legal – form of extortion, Micky thought.
Raised by generations of criminals, he had an advantage over cops and evidence teams. If the guy was a grinder, military assassin, he would've taken precautions that included an escape hatch identity. Brian had assured him the detectives were working all angles, and yet Micky felt there was something more going on.
He rifled every drawer, opened every cabinet door, feeling for false bottoms, inserts, tape or even residue. It was old school, but the simple techniques were favored for good reason: they were effective. Through it all, he thought of Trina's face and the unmistakable pride in her voice when she'd claimed to kill this man.
Had Trina really managed to stage it like a sex encounter gone wrong? Why?
Micky scrubbed at his face, wondering what the hell he was doing here. Any physical evidence was long gone. It wasn't like he'd find a stray red hair to confirm her story. The same lack of evidence meant he couldn't deny her claim either.
Brian's opinion about one professional taking out another drifted through his mind as he studied the bed. He just didn't want to admit she might be an assassin.
She made people hallucinate, offering up illusions that could amuse or terrify. Ben had mentioned being overrun by spiders and Darlene swore Trina's eyes turned an evil red. But sex gone bad?
God, it fit. Seduction was the perfect scenario for a woman to get close enough to restrain and kill a bigger, stronger opponent. Trina's sensuous build would cause any red blooded man to crave, to envision the possibilities even without her illusion skills.
Turning away from the nightmare of guilt that idea caused him, knowing it was not just possible, but probable that Trina had done this, he resumed his search for proof. This time, with the desperation of a man bent on protecting her.
If Brian thought the false leads were annoying before, he'd soon be pissed as hell. No way Micky was going to sit idle and leave Trina to twist for disposing of the bastard who'd murdered Sis.
He'd failed her once and he learned from his mistakes. Before, he'd blown off her unique skill with trite words and platitudes. Not that he'd known how to really help her, but he hadn't even tried. Back then he couldn't be bothered to find someone willing to talk to her or get involved. Nearly getting killed hadn't been his idea, but the circumstances left her friendless in a cold life. He should've worked harder to find her. He might have given her options or led her to a career with more promise than taking lives for pay.
Their recent encounters flashed through Micky's mind as he tossed the mattress and searched under the bed with his flashlight. When she'd startled him with the memories of the explosion, had that been an attack or just a blow back of her own shock at seeing him alive? He'd never given her a chance to answer.
In the atrium, she'd been alternately miserable and blissful, muttering about a mental breakdown and her attraction. To him.
Coming up empty on the search, Micky wasn't ready to celebrate. It was likely the evidence team already had what they needed to track her down. He cringed. If she'd left behind a stray red hair, they'd have her in custody the minute she showed up on any security feed in Illinois.
"Christ almighty. Are you lost?"
Micky spun toward the voice and the large man blocking the door, wishing like hell he'd relied on Kyle's hacking. "Might say the same about you, Gideon." They didn't really know each other aside from a fast intro from Jaden. Even in street clothes it was easy to believe his former life in black ops. At the moment he wasn't looking all that 'former'.
"Expecting trouble?" Micky nodded to the shoulder holster.
Gideon stuck his head in the door, looked around. "I've learned to expect a little of everything."
Micky glanced behind Gideon, looking for Petra. The man's wife was Jaden's sister and the mules had chattered about her supposedly psychic abilities. Right now, Micky wished he'd listened. "You come alone?"
Gideon grimaced. "I tried since it's business." He waved his pregnant wife in from the hall.
"And since it's business, I let him have all his super security fun." She winked at him.
The big man looked pained and adoring all at once. Micky looked away, barely resisting the urge to shuffle his feet.
"What happened to your face?" Petra moved closer, but didn't try to touch him.
Micky stepped back anyway, just in case his recent, vivid memories tried to jump out of his head and into hers. "Nothing. Just gives people something to talk about," he replied, but Petra's attention had already shifted to the stripped bed, visible through the wide doorway. He turned to Gideon as she walked by. "What's going on?"
"Doing a favor for an old friend."
More likely Gideon and the dead guy shared similar military connections. "You knew the victim?"
"No, but I knew his type." Gideon pressed his index finger to his lips. "Let her work."
Micky shrugged. He wanted to leave, but didn't dare. He had to know if Petra's skills turned up something that led to Trina. Wanted to be around to diffuse it. "What's she doing?"
Gideon leaned closer, keeping his voice low. "She 'reads' whatever crime residue is left behind. It's a mind thing I don't pretend to understand, but it's real."
Micky didn't dare speculate.
"Why are you here?"
"The cops found a connection between the deceased and my dead partner."
"No," Petra's serene voice drifted in from the bedroom. "Your partner is still alive."
Micky raised an eyebrow at Gideon, but the man only shrugged. "I've learned not to argue."
He considered his words carefully, hoping to draw out more information. "My assistant, Sis, was tossed out a window. When I heard the guy who did it died here, I came to pay my respects."
"Uh-huh. With a fake access card I'm sure."
Micky grinned, unrepentant.
"The deceased was a rank bastard. Went by Atlas on the street. Started as military, then discovered private contracts paid better."
Brian had called the man intimidating even when dead on the coroner's table. Micky was glad to have the scar in place, it helped conceal his reaction. Trina had called the assassin by that name – when she'd been trying to convince him she avenged Sis.
"Know who hired him?" He just managed to get the words out past the icy ball of panic in his throat.
"There's a working theory."
Petra returned before Gideon could elaborate. With a hand on her belly, her cheeks rosy, and a beatific smile on her lips she didn't seem any worse for whatever mind thing she'd been doing. "The baby has the hiccups." She waved Gideon over to share the moment.
Good grief! Micky wanted to leave, but he had to know if Petra had found anything to implicate Trina. "So, ah, nothing useful?"
"Oh, forgive me. It's just…well I won't bore you with it."
Micky waved off the apology. But he didn't like that soft tenderness in her eyes, as if she could see something deep inside him that he didn't want to examine. Whatever she thought she was looking at, he didn't want her psychic skills aimed at him any longer than necessary. "So did the cops get it right the second time? Was it murder?"
Petra tipped her head and turned toward her husband. Gideon shrugged.
"It was. And really quite an interesting one."
"Not self-defense?" Micky gritted his teeth to keep from blurting out more absurdities.
"Mmm." Petra shook her head. "No, not self-defense. It was a dark struggle. Not unexpected between two trained killers determined to live. Whatever she said or did, the deceased was motivated to take his own life."
"She?" Gideon spoke to Petra, bu
t his gaze was locked with Micky's.
"Got a woman on your old crew?" It was a minor victory to watch the other man bristle. Until he felt too childish as Petra quietly diffused his anger with a soft touch. "Sorry. Just trying to figure this out." He had the eerie feeling Petra already had.
"For the record, the man who stayed in this room was in Chicago on orders. His killer was not."
Micky gulped. "The record?" A grinder on orders in Chicago. Why would the military care about Sis or his operation?
"Yeah. Whatever Petra finds will be reported to my boss."
His boss. The Marine Corps Commandant. Shit. Micky knew how to read people and it was obvious Petra knew the whole story. Names and details aside, Trina was about to become a target in the military side of this investigation. The assassin label made her a shoot-first sort of target.
"What do you know about the female who took out Atlas?"
Micky shook his head, grateful he didn't have to lie. "Nothing." It wasn't semantics. He absolutely did not know a Trina capable of cold blooded murder.
* * *
"I know you're not his sister," Walker said when the elevator eased to a smooth stop at his floor. "Though you did a good job trying." He kept one hand on the override key and traced Trina's cheekbone with his beefy finger.
She didn't flinch, but it was a near thing. "Thank you?"
"What are you playing at, lady?"
"Short game, big stakes." She knocked his hand away. "Montalbano thinks Dakota territory is an early Christmas present. I'd rather not make it so easy for him."
"What do you know about it?"
"I know you've got associates in jail on faked evidence."
He tugged on his ear. "Huh. You some kind of court officer? Or one of those lousy cops in bed with the Mob?"
If only. "No. I'm some kind of asset to you if you've got the balls to make a decision that will put you in Dakota's vacant chair."
"Huh." He turned the key and the doors parted. "Let's see you convince the boys. Bring 'em around and I'll let you walk out of here in one piece."
Ten minutes later Trina was pretty sure she was about to die. Her life wasn't flashing by quite yet, but she was losing control of the crowd. If she could quiet the hecklers and get them viewing Walker as her supporter she might survive.
It was vital to remember the disguise, to own the disguise. Only Walker knew she was faking the sister thing. She planted her hands on her hips and stared down the length of the conference table. Walker looked like the bulldog he was, but he wasn't stupid. A point that worked both for and against her. He could recognize the value of her offer as well as the offer from Montalbano. She just needed him to decide she was the better risk.
Own the disguise. Micky's voice popped into her head: use the rumors.
Ms. Dakota didn't have any, but Trina could damn well drum up some chatter right here and now.
"Everyone out." The collective personnel dulled her message with their greed for instant gratification. She made strides with one argument, only to lose ground to the next doubter who opened his mouth. "Walker and I will finalize this."
"He can't decide for all of us. We –"
"My brother gave you an opportunity. I'm not opposed to taking it away." Trina's glare silenced the doubter. Finally, Walker added his vocal support.
"Democracy was the only way to get a little order," he admitted when they were alone.
Though alone was a relative term with Walker's crew loitering in the hall, glaring through the glass walls of the conference room.
"You lied to them?"
"There's a certain degree of enforcement needed to maintain the democracy thing."
"Any of that enforcement staff at the jail?"
"A few."
"Montalbano won't honor any majority rules crap."
"Oh, and you will." Their audience undoubtedly recognized the meaning of his sneer as well as she did.
She strolled toward him, putting her temper on simmer, striving to find the right nerve. When she did, she'd stomp it, and him, into submission.
"Dakota wanted the Slick Micky title. Everyone does." She held up her finger and thumb. "He was that close to taking it." She eased onto the conference table and crossed her legs. Walker swallowed. "As the Slick Micky, his territory expanded. Profits expanded. Opportunity expanded." She leaned closer, glass walls or not, they were the only two people who mattered. "Let the bean counters run the legit stuff. Follow me on the real business and you'll be leading this crew in a year."
"I lead them now."
"To jail." She gave him a pitying smile. "Back my authority here and Montalbano's idiots will be my problem, leaving you to run business as usual."
"Why should I trust you?"
She gave a twinkling little laugh. "Oh, you shouldn't. But you won't move up the food chain with Montalbano at the helm. He's ready to replace all of you with his own crew."
"You know this how?"
God he was a tough nut. "It's obvious. You lack the only thing he respects." Walker waited. "Real power."
"And you've got this power?"
She could feel him taking her bait. "I can get you to the top floor, Walker. Sooner rather than never."
"What's your price?"
"You'll find me more affordable and less demanding than you might expect."
Walker glanced to the glass and back to her. "You can get Montalbano's boys off my back and outta Dakota territory?"
"Give me control and he's good as gone."
"Prove it and you've got a deal."
What a suspicious bastard. Good for him. "What kind of proof do you need?" She leaned back on her hands, trusting the disguise to prevent him from recognizing her.
He stood and loomed over her, his eyes hard and his breath hot on her cheek. Trina held firm, refusing to be cowed. "Just who the hell are you?"
"Your business salvation." She drilled a finger into his chest and pushed him back, accepting his silent invitation and asserting her authority for the benefit of their audience. "If we can come to terms." Reaching into her pocket, she activated a signal jammer in case he was trying to record the conversation. She pulled out a breath mint, popped it into her mouth, and licked her lips. He was sufficiently distracted. "Dakota couldn't possibly give a rat's ass about Slick Micky's day to day business. Tell me why he ordered a hit on the man."
"Didn't know he ordered a hit on Slick Micky."
Trina pursed her lips. "The sooner you come clean with me, the sooner your view improves. Big office, supple leather chair. Executive washroom in that amazing rose veined marble."
"What?" His eyes were racing over her features. "How can you know that?"
"I know lots of things. I've been lots of places." She examined her nails while he swiped at the sweat on his forehead. "Why would Montalbano bother to sting one of your crews?"
Walker gaped at the rapid topic change. "Leverage for sure."
Trina rolled her eyes. "He needs your guys in jail for leverage? Come on."
Walker frowned, thinking it through. Now they were getting somewhere. "The guys in jail don't know enough about anything to trade info for a release. But taking them off that block gives Montalbano better access."
"Access to what? What's so important about that block?"
"We use the alley to cater designer product to upper crust clientele."
What did he want there? Her intel on Montalbano proved he didn't work that demographic. Instead, Crayland and his boys limited their drug services to the lower end of the economic scale. She'd concluded it was a conscious business decision designed to prevent Montalbano's double life from stinging him like a scorpion's tail.
It painted Trina's simple contract and her intent to combine revenge and profit, in a new light. Montalbano spearheaded the 'Kill Micky' campaign by hiring her, the assassin most likely to succeed.
She toyed with the notion that Sis had been the target Dakota wanted removed – but it again begged the question, 'why'?
&nb
sp; "Why did you order Atlas to push the girl out the window?"
"I didn't."
"Fine." She sighed. "Why did Dakota order it?"
Walker shook his head. "She wasn't supposed to die. The idiot was supposed to bring her in."
Trina pressed a button on the control panel, changing the lighting in the room and blocking the spectator view. She wanted the option to ditch her disguise, if necessary, without sacrificing her entire plan.
"For ransom?"
Walker shrugged. "Doubt it. We all know Slick Micky doesn't take it well when anyone messes with his girls. Calls 'em family," Walker finished with a sneer.
She mirrored his expression. "Then what?"
"Way I heard it, Sis had something for Dakota. Atlas was supposed to stage a kidnapping so they could make the exchange."
"You don't send an assassin to a kidnapping," she muttered. Both she and Atlas had proven that rule in different, but equally bad ways.
"How would you know?"
She ignored him. "If you can control the peanut gallery out there, I'll get you out of this with your ass and territory intact. They cannot fall for Montalbano's tricks again. They have to obey the orders I give you."
"And what's your first order?"
Trina considered. Walker wanted her to believe Sis was about to betray Micky, but she wasn't buying it. The working theory in her head kept putting Montalbano at the head of the plot to take out Micky in the most tragic, painful way possible. She needed to get to the why of that as soon as possible. There had to be something in his original plan that would shed light on his play for Dakota's market share. Something other than bald greed.
"First order." Trina tilted her head, quietly studying Walker until he squirmed in his seat. "Take me up to Dakota's office."
It was obvious he wanted to deny the request, but she applied a little of the pressure and a smidge of the hallucination she'd used the last time they'd met.
"Stop!" Walker's breath heaved. His eyes watered. "You bitch."
"Nice to see you again too. Now take me upstairs, unless you want to dance a bit more."
Walker shoved to his feet. It was a much easier trip than her last visit, but the stress and mistrust buzzed around them like bees. "I'm taking full access to his files."