Justice from the Shadows

by Nadirah Foxx

  “I found what we’re looking for,” she explained when I arrived at the bunker.

  “What?”

  “I couldn’t find a direct connection between GSG Enterprises and the ransomware attacks. When I checked the footage, I found picture after picture of Gena and a hacker I once knew—a man named Raj Sahir. He was the one behind the crimes.”

  Thanks to Tristan’s exposé, Mayor Simpson was arrested as an accomplice, but she had yet to turn in the man Debbie knew.

  Walter Puckett was dismissed from the Martin Company because of espionage. The fool had given company secrets to GSG Enterprises in exchange for erasing his gambling debt. Walter’s downfall was the hacker tied the crimes to him. Shortly after his firing, the FBI apprehended Walter.

  Regrettably, I was the one to tell my mother about Walter. First, she was furious, and then she blamed herself. Mom figured being lonely drove her into the man’s arms. She was satisfied when I told her he’d be serving quite a few years in prison.

  One thing that bugged the hell out of me was Adam. Debbie dug into it but couldn’t tie him or Covert Technologies to any crime. Josh said the best we could do was keep an eye on him. Sooner or later, Adam would slip up. Whatever he was guilty of had yet to be revealed.

  Technically, I should have been happy. My vengeance didn’t seem complete though since the mayor wasn’t the mastermind behind the scheme. The real brain of the operation was still dodging the authorities. According to Debbie, Sahir was an intelligent man who could go free for a long time.

  Was he truly responsible for the crimes? If so, what was his ultimate plan? Had we thwarted it, or would he strike at a later date?

  I also thought about the missing hard drives. Where were they? How did they serve Sahir’s purpose?

  Somehow, I had to find those answers. Maybe I could use the persona of the Phantasm to get them. She was more reliable than the LCPD.

  Speaking of the police…

  Captain Stratham appeared to be innocent. He actually called me into the office.

  “Kerrie, we could definitely use your expertise in the department. Have you considered returning?”

  “I have, but my place is with Sentinel. Ryan would have wanted it that way.”

  I’d discussed the matter with Josh and Debbie. We agreed I should focus on the company and let the LCPD handle its own shit. Besides, I still didn’t trust the captain. There was something about him that didn’t add up. Eventually, I’d learn the truth about Stratham—if there was a hidden one to be found.

  Since I wasn’t returning to the precinct, I couldn’t investigate Dr. Upton. Last I heard, the State Board of Psychiatry was checking into her files. If there was any wrongdoing, they’d yank her license. I was keeping my fingers crossed and my eyes trained on her. Yes, my focus on the doctor stemmed from my dislike. Outside of that, I didn’t believe she was innocent. I also didn’t believe in coincidences. There was no way the shrink wasn’t involved in the scandals rocking the Tri-Cities.

  Because of my speculations, I stayed ever vigilant. Someone had to watch over the good citizens.

  Despite Josh’s reservations, he was trying hard to support my night-time activities. After all, Phantasm was part of me. She was my darker side who didn’t rest until people paid for their crimes. If anyone didn’t like how she fought crime, they could blame the assholes who took what they wanted from innocents.

  Speaking of Josh, we were still taking things slow. In the end, he understood I had to have some space. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him. My problem was my feelings changed for Josh when I was with Ryan. My husband’s suspicions were correct, but I did my best not to act on them. Instead, I pushed the two men together and cultivated a friendship between them while tending to my child. It was enough of a distraction that I never thought about what could have been between Josh and me. Not until I lost Ryan. But one day at a time. When I was able to forgive myself, then I’d move on.

  Meanwhile…

  Once again, I was suited up and ready to act. My hood was in place along with the mask. I was focused. People looked past me, unaware I walked beside them. Each night, I did my patrol of the city—on foot and by car when needed. There was a lot of work to be done, but I was ready for the task.

  “Are you there, Phantasm?” Debbie’s voice came through the comm.

  “I am. What’s up?”

  “Situation by the stadium.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Eventually, I’d find my answers.

  In the meantime, I had a city to protect.

  THE END

  COMING SPRING 2020

  Fighting for Mine

  A TKO Love MMA Romance

  Chance Hanlon screwed up everything eight years ago. He lost the girl, but never lost his drive to fight. When circumstances bring him back to his hometown, Chance crosses paths with Ximena Ibarra—the only girl he ever loved. But he shattered her heart and altered her reality. Can the fighter be victorious in the only fight that ever mattered to him?

  Chapter One

  Ximena

  On the day we buried Papa, the brightest object in the room was the oversized diamond on my finger. The man who put it there, however, wasn’t by my side. Robert Westmore was on yet another business trip. Despite being surrounded by my family, I felt utterly alone—and ashamed. Due to my tragic accident, I didn’t come to El Domingo often.

  Liar!

  I didn’t come home at all. When I saw my family it was done at one of my brother’s houses in Albuquerque. It was my way of avoiding everything—and everyone—which led to the disaster.

  So the contemptuous stares, albeit out of place for the occasion, made perfect sense. My father’s death, however, was difficult to understand.

  For some reason, he chose to hide his illness from me. Of course, Mama knew about it. So did my oldest brother, Dr. Angel Ibarra. Papa trusted no one else in the family. Knowing him, he probably thought he was protecting us.

  Protecting me.

  I didn’t need guarding.

  Rubbing my thumb across the silver band, I thought about Papa’s sparkling eyes. He was always so glad to see me. Parents loved unconditionally. With all the mistakes I’d made, I was surprised the adage held up in my case. The ring was vivid proof of my latest blunder.

  A cold rain fell as the stretch limo wound its way over the curved path toward our destination. The gray skies were an appropriate backdrop to the marble, concrete, and granite headstones. Angel and I rode with Mama while each of my other brothers rode with their respective families.

  “Mama, are you all right?” he asked in his deep voice. Angel was a perfect baritone. He sang Papa’s favorite hymn, Blessed Savior, Thee I Love, during the church service.

  Our mother was a trooper, not shedding a tear. From a distance, Mama was a vision of utter calm and sophistication. She wore her best black lace dress, and her makeup was impeccable with just a touch of sheer red lipstick. Despite her age, our mother didn’t wear sensible, low-heeled shoes. Last Christmas, she bought herself a pair of black patent-leather strappy sandals. The heel was at least four inches, but Mama strutted in them as if they were made for her. It didn’t matter to her that the shoes were second-hand. She said they were new for her.

  Despite her appearance, I knew Mama was hurt. She’d lost the love of her life, her best friend. Much later, when everyone had returned home, she’d cry behind doors. It was the same way with my grandmother and my great grandmother.

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to worry about me? José and I prepared for this day. I made my peace with the Lord. I’m good, mijo.”

  The procession stopped at a site on a hill with a pop-up awning. When the driver opened the door and the gust of wind ruffled the hem of my dress, I was grateful Angel had rented the structure. It would provide a little shelter against the elements.

  Earlier, we had a small Mass at Our Lady of Sorrows. The graveside service was for the many people who wanted to pay their respect to the tow
n’s most popular sheriff. Glancing around at all the mourners and my enormous family, I wondered if there would be enough room.

  My brother, Diego, had five kids plus his wife was huge with another one. Cristóbal and his wife had three kids. Junior, a recent widow, had four girls. Angel and I were the only ones unattached without children.

  Mama, always wanting to be in charge, took over. She corralled the rowdy kids, making the older ones hold the younger siblings. When it was all said and done, Mama’s children occupied the front seats. I got to sit at the end of the row where I hid my crutches away from curious eyes.

  Thank God the ceremony wasn’t lengthy. When Angel gave the eulogy, I breathed a sigh of relief. Mama had said I wouldn’t have to speak, but I thought someone would ask anyway. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to say anything. Staring out at all those faces—some accusing me of being a terrible daughter while others wondering about the accident—wasn’t something I could do. Not that day.

  The one person who knew all the details didn’t care. He didn’t even stick around after the incident. I was only too happy that the selfish prick wasn’t there.

  Mumbling voices garnered my attention. People began pointing. Even the priest stopped speaking and glanced up from his Bible. I turned toward the source of the distraction.

  Chance Hanlon, the cause of my misery, attempted to sneak in unnoticed. A few well-meaning individuals blocked his path. Angel sneered while my other brothers rose to their feet.

  I couldn’t breathe. It had been eight years since I last saw him. My traitorous heart skipped a beat. He looked damn good in a coat and tie. His garments clung to his body as if doing so was vital to their existence. Why did he have to come?

  Chance’s steel-blue eyes scanned the crowd and then landed on me. A flush crept across his cheeks, but he didn’t flinch. I, however, practically fell off my chair.

  “Mija?”

  I couldn’t speak. Mama grasped my hand. At some point, Angel left the podium and stood beside us.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  “Angel!” Mama gave him a stern look and then swiveled on her seat.

  If I didn’t say something, Chance would make a scene. Clearing my throat, I summoned up what little courage I had. “What are we going to do? He shouldn’t be here.”

  She said, “José was like a father to that man. Chance has a right to pay his respects too.”

  Right?

  Since when did he have any privileges in my life or the lives of my family? If it weren’t for him, I’d be a lawyer just like Diego. If it weren’t for Chance Hanlon and his gigantic ego, I could have walked out. Neither of those things would happen because I gave my heart to a no-good bastard.

  I swallowed hard and looked away.

  Somehow, the ceremony continued, but my concentration was shot. Instead of focusing, my mind was in the back row with the jackass. He had a lot of damn nerve to show up. Eight years without a word and then he just appears as if nothing happened. As if he did nothing.

  The service ended, and I missed it. Leave it to Chance Hanlon to screw up my father’s funeral.

  People shuffled forward saying their goodbyes, but I stayed put. Even if I could have jumped to my feet, my legs wouldn’t have held me up.

  Angel, acting as head of the family, shook hands and offered kind words to everyone who spoke to him. They said things to me too, but I didn’t acknowledge them. All I could think about was how my whole world fell apart eight years ago. Thanks to Chance, it shattered like glass. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him approaching.

  What did he want?

  The tent cleared out except for my family. As long as Chance Hanlon was nearby, they wouldn’t leave me alone. They remembered the pain… The heartache he put me through. Diego and Cristóbal, looking like younger versions of Papa, stood ready to fight. In case things turned ugly, Junior gathered up all the wives and kids and headed toward the exit.

  News flash. Things became ugly when my former boyfriend appeared.

  Angel said, “Go-go and Cris, you should go with Junior. I’ll handle this.”

  Diego’s eyebrows knitted together. “You’re sure? You might need us.”

  “I didn’t come to fight,” said Chance. The first words I’d heard from him in years.

  “Then why did you?” I spat out. “This is a family event!”

  “Mija!” Mama admonished. “Behave yourself.” She looked up at the man. “Thank you for coming. José would have appreciated it.”

  Despite the relationship he had with Papa, my ex didn’t belong there. Chance needed to slither back into whatever hole he crawled out of.

  “You should leave. Let us have our time to grieve.” My voice cracked. He picked the wrong day to return to El Domingo.

  Chance stood as still as one of the many statutes in the graveyard. He sank his hands into his pockets and clenched his jaw. In a controlled voice, as if he’d rehearsed the lines, he said, “I had to pay my respects.” My former love stepped forward, and Angel moved toward him.

  “Later, man. Wait until she’s gone. You don’t have to rub this shit in her face.”

  “Angel!” Mama reprimanded again. “Language!”

  Without looking at her, my brother said, “Sorry, Mama, but this piece of trash doesn’t deserve decency from us.”

  Chance pursed his lips. “You’re right. I’ll wait outside until you’re gone.”

  I wanted him to go far, far away. Run back to Avery Clarke. Go any place where I wouldn’t have to see him again.

  The clanking of my crutches—a pair of high-tech ergonomic supports Robert had made for me—interrupted my thoughts. Angel stood beside me. “Come on, sis. People are waiting for us.”

  Of course they were. A slew of neighbors would be clamoring to get inside my family’s small house with casseroles and cakes. Enough food to fill Mama’s fridge and freezer for months.

  Reluctantly, I took the items from Angel and pushed up to my feet. The wheelchair might have been easier, but I felt helpless in it.

  Chance’s eyebrow shot up when I clumped toward him. His kissable mouth slackened, but no words came forth. Instead, he grimaced and averted his eyes.

  Good.

  Maybe I should have used the chair.

  ◆◆◆

  The rain stopped, and a bitter cold settled onto the landscape. It wasn’t uncommon for late October. The rainy season would soon depart, leaving behind frigid temps. Another reason why I hated coming home. Ever since my accident, it was hard for my body to regulate its temperature. When others were hot, I was cold and vice versa. Southern California with its mild climate was better for me.

  Rather than try to fit everyone into our family’s small home, Angel rented space in the only event hall in town. It was a sizable venue, but nothing was spacious enough to put distance between my memories and my reality.

  I placed my hands in my parka pockets. It wasn’t exactly a fashion forward choice, but nobody there was looking to take me out. The only man who would was on a business trip in Dubai. Thinking about Robert should have put a smile on my face, but it didn’t.

  Robert was a good man. We’d met in a coffee shop in Los Angeles. At the time I didn’t want to be bothered, but he was relentless. If I hadn’t loved the coffee and pastries served there, I would have stopped going.

  “Forgive me. I promise I’m not stalking you, but you’re so beautiful,” he said.

  I glanced up at the man. He was excessively average—mousy-brown hair, dull-brown eyes, and kind of short in stature. He wore a cheap-looking navy-blue suit. Even his shoes screamed frugal. I wasn’t a snob. It was just that clothes said a lot about a person, and his said penny-pincher. A man who was probably stingy in bed too.

  “If that’s a pick-up line, you need to work on it,” I quipped and lifted my cup.

  He chuckled. “My name is Robert Westmore. Mind if I sit?”

  “It’s a free country.”

  Of course, it didn’t register wi
th me who he was. A few days passed, and then I heard his name on the news. My stalker was none other than Robert Westmore the Third, CEO of Westmore Industries.

  Was I awe struck?

  Hell yes!

  The inexpensive suits made sense. Wealth didn’t happen if one spent all their money on stuff.

  His status didn’t interfere with our budding friendship. Every day I’d show up at the coffeehouse, and every day Robert would be there. Eventually, he went as far as having my order ready and waiting at our table by the window. Not once did he ask about my legs. He didn’t even flinch the day I arrived in a wheelchair.

  “It’s none of my business, but may I ask how you get around? You don’t have a caretaker with you.”

  “I’ve learned to be self-sufficient. Having access to transit services helps too.”

  His eyebrows knitted together. “That must get expensive.”

  “It can.”

  Robert tapped his fingers on the table. “One more question. What do you do for a living?”

  Yes, he was nosey, but it had been a long time since I had a conversation with someone who wasn’t kin or a medical worker. “I’m an artist. Mostly sculptures.”

  “Really? What if I told you I owned a gallery?”

  On the pretense of wanting to see my artwork, Robert drove me back to the two-bedroom house I was renting. When he saw it, he immediately arranged to display a few pieces at his Santa Monica gallery. In time, my sculptures caught on, and I became a featured artist.

  And his fiancée.

  “Penny for your thoughts, mija.”

  “Mama, you shouldn’t be out here. It’s freezing.”

  “Said the one wearing a winter coat. Besides, it’s not as cold as you think.” She sat beside me on the edge of the stone fountain. “Are you all right?”

  I side-glanced at her. It was tempting to lie because I didn’t want her worried, but if I didn’t speak to someone I’d burst. “Mama, why did he have to come?”