Tracking Shadows (Shadows of Justice 4) (25 page)

"But you…you're dead."

"Officially yes. And you're invisible. Officially." She closed the distance, reaching for him.

He popped the disk out, catching her hands in his.
Warm hands, soft skin. Not a ghost, thank God. The relief washed over him, was reflected in her eyes. He dragged her closer and her uncertain smile turned brilliant as he laid claim to her lush mouth.

When he pulled back he saw the worry etched on her face and her hands fluttered restlessly on his shoulders. "Am I really welcome here?
With your family?"

"Only if you're not an illusion."

She relaxed, leaning into him. "I'll show you my scar," she replied with a wink and a wicked gleam in those amazing blue eyes.

He laughed until she kissed him, breathless with happiness. Finally his world felt steady again. When he led her back into the warehouse, he took her the back way, straight to his apartment, giving her the last of his secrets and keeping her all to himself for just a little longer.

The End

Bonus Short Story

A Gala Extraction

Chicago: November, 2096

Jameson reported to HQ, stealth suit on, ready for a night shift on the rooftop. Night after night it was the same thing: quiet, cold, and still. It was enough to make him grateful he didn't give the orders. It had to be maddening to keep reporting all this 'nothing' up the chain of command.

Normally the circumstances and environment wouldn't be an issue. Location, weather, none of it mattered to him when there was a job to be done. But since his brief stint as a prison guard, when he'd met her... Well, the ongoing silence and hours with no distraction made it difficult to forget her.

Knowing he could never see her again, he really
needed
to forget her.

He swiped his badge and stepped into the communications center.

"CO wants to see you," the communications tech on duty told him.

Toying with the stealth suit disk in his pocket, Jameson made his way to the commanding officer's office and knocked on the open door.

Gideon Callahan, CO for this op, waved him in. "Close the door."

Jameson's instincts went on full alert. A meeting was one thing, making it private another. He took a seat and waited.

"I've been asked to extract another operative working undercover in the city." He slid a compact e-notepad across the desk. "Read it over."

Gala event at the
Shedd Aquarium, black tie, starting in two hours. He scrolled down, memorized the confirmation phrase the operative had chosen. He nodded once, slid the notepad back. "She's expecting me?"

"She's expecting someone." Callahan jerked his thumb to a garment bag hanging on the coat rack.
"Your tuxedo. Should fit over the stealth suit."

The idea that the suit might be necessary caught Jameson's attention. "Do you believe her
intel is connected to our case here?"

Callahan leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen against the edge of the desk. For a second Jameson thought he'd overstepped. He'd worked with Callahan before, but something about this op
had  the CO brooding. Probably the inactivity. Callahan's reputation was all about getting the job done.

"I don't have to tell you the risks involved if Dr. Luther is working for
Montalbano in that lab," Callahan said at last, referring to the building they'd been assigned to observe. The most boring building on the planet at the moment.

"Of course not."
While Dr. Luther was responsible for advancements like the stealth suit, Montalbano was known more for developing things for the highest military bidder, which was rarely America.

"With the recent upheaval and betrayal between Dr.
Kristoff, his health initiatives, and the current concerns of the Defense Department, that mob bastard is surely looking to make a move. He may be at the gala tonight."

Jameson nodded.

"I've got a team trying to find Montalbano's leverage over Dr. Luther, but so far we've got nothing."

Quite possibly, this woman undercover had the piece of the puzzle they needed. "When I get her out, where do I take her?"

"She'll tell you."

"Fine."

"There's an invite and a tag in the inside pocket of the monkey suit. If you get a chance, put it on Montalbano. Even a few hours of tracking his moves could pay off. God knows we're overdue on a break."

Jameson nodded. Clearly the CO was just as frustrated with the extended boredom as the rest of the team.

"All right. Take the tux and get the hell out of here. Don't forget your limo will be waiting a block away in an hour. Have fun Cinderella."

Jameson did as ordered and met the car on time. The driver confirmed his destination and then drove to the gala without another word.

Jameson had been to a few fundraisers and more than one military ball, but this group had elevated the experience to a new level. White lights twinkled in topiaries lining the entrance and into the lobby. Waiters in white jackets circulated with shining silver trays of champagne. Gowns of every color and cut sparkled on women, a dynamic rainbow against the backdrop of men in black tuxedos.

He didn't gawk, but it was a close thing as he made his first circuit. When no one approached him, he moved into the silent auction display of services and items available for bidding. All of the bids were way out of his price range, but he made a show of looking, as he examined the registers for familiar names.

Montalbano's mother had bid outrageously on a week-long holiday trip by rail through Canada, and Jameson wondered if she intended to get her son out of the city. Still no one approached him as he nursed his champagne, smiling and making eye contact with everyone.

A couple of blitzed businessmen shook his hand and offered the standard bullshit and Jameson knew why he'd been tagged for this extraction. Callahan knew he could hold his own, that he understood the verbal and non-verbal clues in this sort of arena.

And having a history with the operative was a plus too.

The cell card Callahan provided hummed inside his breast pocket and he excused himself to take the call. It was a simple text message to get to the otter exhibit. Smart girl, the otters were infinitely more interesting than most of the guests. He smiled, made the right noises and casually worked his way downstairs.

Ah, very smart operative, he thought, seeing the curved couches placed around the otter tank. They could pretend to be any of the couples on a date this evening. A perfect cover and natural pattern of extraction. He wouldn't even need the stealth suit.

He took an open seat on the couch and waited, watching the otters, wondering what they thought of this late night interruption of their routine.

To her credit, his target didn't make him wait long.

She strutted in on sky-high heels, her sparkling, emerald green dress slit to the hip. The heads turning in her wake couldn't have been more coordinated if they'd rehearsed it. He wondered where she'd managed to hide her gun. This gala thing was becoming more interesting by the moment. He was ashamed that it took him a moment of admiration before his gaze registered the racy red lipstick and the smoky eyes. A champagne flute in one hand, she saw him and gifted him with an amazing, seductive smile.

His stomach clutched and a cold chill ran down his back, but he forced his face into the expected expression of male appreciation for a sexy, inviting woman.

She paused just a pace away and they did the agreed verbal exchange. Not that he needed it, and he knew she didn't either. He took her hand and drew her toward the couch, but she twisted at the last moment and landed
in  lap with a cheeky grin.

"I didn't even spill." She took a dainty sip of her champagne, leaving an imprint of red lipstick on the crystal.

Feeling the envy of every man in the vicinity kept him in character when he wanted to dump her on her fine ass. "Lay off. This is weird enough already."

"I've
gotta make it look good, sugar," she whispered at his ear. "They're watching me too closely."

He fought gallantly against the ick factor and won.
Barely. Julia was one of the best in their elite division. He hadn't seen her in over a year, but he'd recognize the eyes and the courage no matter what she wore, what role she played. He wouldn't blow her cover now. "What's your name?"

"What do you want it to be?"

Mira
. Jameson paused. No, he had to put her out of his mind. He couldn't afford to be distracted from the job by wishing the woman in his lap was Mira, the one woman he hadn't been able to forget. They'd only had a few minutes in a prison infirmary during another undercover liberation op. A single thought swept him back into that moment when her lips soft under his and her eyes sparkled with an emotion he couldn’t define. Would he never get her out of his mind?

"Oh, dear.
I must be losing my touch." She placed his hand on her thigh.

"Jane is fine with me," he muttered.

She beamed at him. "Jane it is." She whispered in his ear. "You're pretty grumpy for a guy with a woman like me in your lap."

He toyed with her long, glittering earring, dragged his finger over her bared shoulder. It was tough to act like lovers when he thought of her as a sister. "I can't believe they
comped you an outfit like this."

"Let's just say I earned it."

"Good grief. Don't tell me that crap."

"I'm hardly the only hooker here."

And this was hardly the point of their meeting. "You're the only one for me."

"
Aww," she ran her fake fingernail around the curve of his ear. "It's been that long?"

He smiled. She was close enough to see the threat in his eyes, but still he jumped when she put his hands on an item just under the edge of that revealing slit. "What the-"

"Relax," she hissed. "Never knew you were such a prude." She tugged the edge of a cell card from a secret pocket along the edge of that slit in her skirt. To any cameras or curious onlookers in the area, it looked like she'd flashed a condom. Julia slithered out of his lap and drew him up to his feet as well. "I know just the spot."

His hand on the small of her back, he matched her pace. They were the picture of elegance, in no rush, but oozing obvious attraction and intent. They paused to dance, both scanning the room for trouble. She might have broken up a couple relationships with the long, hungry gazes sent her way when she leaned up and nipped his jaw. Pretending to focus on her, he followed her subtle hand signals to the man glaring at her from the other side of the dance floor.

He put his mouth close to her ear. "Your pimp?"

She laughed, a sound so sexy, it unnerved him. "Let's go with supervisor tonight."

Doing his best to look like a man about to get some quick satisfaction, he led her away from the dancing, toward the silent auction area. They pretended to sip more champagne and come to terms as they reviewed prizes and bids.

"I already completed my assignment this evening." She shook her head when he gave her a questioning look. "But he doesn't trust me.
Or wants to move me up the chain. Either way, I need to get out of here tonight."

She guided them into an empty gallery, the only light coming from a handful of small aquariums on one wall. He bent his head as if to kiss her. "We can go anytime, I have a car waiting."

"I can't just stroll out of here with you."

"Why not?
I'm a paying client." He pinched her waist and nibbled her neck. "We're not alone yet."

He knew the minute she saw the shadow hovering at the gallery entrance. She leaned into him, molding her body to his. To save his sanity and make it believable, he imagined she was Mira.

After saving his brother from a deadly infection, Mira had collapsed, exhausted, into his arms. No other woman had felt so right in his embrace. Until tonight, with Julia, no other woman had been so close. He recognized he had a problem, but he had no way of solving it. And Julia deserved more than a half-assed rescue.

"Hit me."

"Hell no." Not even his imagination could tolerate that.

"He's still there," she said through gritted teeth. "Sell it."

She made a move, aiming for the pocket where most men kept their wallets and Jameson shoved her back and grabbed her wrist. She twisted, he countered, moving so he'd block the other man's view. Raising his arm, he struck, pulling the punch just as she cried out and ripped at the slit in her dress. Sputtering a few obscenities, he shoved her to her knees, and pretended to fumble with his zipper.

"Is he gone?"

Julia peeked around him. "Yes."

He helped her to her feet and they moved to the darkest corner of the gallery. "Can we get out the back?"

She shook her head. "If he doesn't have security in his pocket, I'm likely to bump into one of the other girls. After our scene he'll give me a little time to 'freshen up'."

"Stealth suit it is." He twisted out of his jacket, grateful for the clip on bow tie. She'd already kicked her shoes aside and was wriggling out of her dress. "Julia!"

"So don't look. I'll sneak out and meet you by your car. Hurry," she snapped.

He turned away, but not before he learned where she was keeping her gun tonight. Stripping out of the tux, he tried to purge the image from his brain. He ignored her teasing about his workout regime and body heat as he peeled away the stealth suit and handed it to her. The woman was forever irreverent.

"Have you seen Montalbano?"

She held out her hand for the disk that would activate the stealth suit. Jameson carefully placed it in her palm. "My boss got a call he wasn't coming."

"His mommy must have him on restriction," he said as Julia placed the disk under her tongue and virtually disappeared into thin air. "I'll get rid of the dress and meet you at the car." He made her recite where he'd parked and a moment later he knew he was alone.

Retrieving the micro cell card from her gown, he debated staging a scene, but settled for stuffing her clothes and shoes under the debris of the nearest wastebasket. Not ideal, but getting out was more important.