Shadows to Light (Shadows of Justice 5) (23 page)

Cali knelt by his side. "She casts illusions. The bastard thinks he's won."

With Mira locked with Jacob, Jameson didn't feel any relief at the sight of back up. He'd expected Callahan, but not everyone from the conference at
Micky's warehouse. "What can I do?"

Cali shook her head. "Follow your instincts."

The power might be unpredictable, the blue bubble moment certainly had proved as much already, but Mira was not. She was a survivor. She was compassionate. She was a healer to the bone.

Jameson looked to Luke and saw a reflection of everything he was feeling. The man shook his head in warning. Tears streamed down Lydia's face.

"I have to try," he whispered. He would not let this warped enforcer take her away by inches. He would not sit by while her gift faded when he already felt strong as an ox again.

Running on instinct, moved by everything he felt for Mira, he seized her free hand in both of his and just let that strange energy that was theirs alone surge on a tide of his devotion to her.

The light he'd found so amusing whenever he'd held her hand since the explosion blossomed, enveloping first their linked hands, then swelling to wash over her, much as she'd done for herself in the midst of the explosion.

On a curse worthy of a sailor, Luke reached for Jacob. He missed as the power between Jameson and Mira launched the hunter across the room, slamming his body into the wall.

Luke rushed over pressing a hypospray to Jacob's neck and cuffing him before the vicious bastard regained his senses.

But Jameson's attention was on Mira. She woke up faster than she had in
Micky's infirmary. Her eyes went wide with surprise, then sparkled with happiness. "You're alive!" She reached up and linked her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.

"You too."
It was all he could say. Unpredictable? Not his Mira. He held her at arm's length where they sat on the floor. "You're okay?"

"Better than. He's gone?"

He nodded.

"And I'm not charged with anything?"

He laughed. "No. I think you're a hero."

"No, not that.
I don't want to be that."

"Too bad, sweetheart."
Dr. Luther offered a hand to help them up. "This won't be easy to contain, not even within our own order."

"Dad?"
She got to her feet, but Jameson felt the desperation in the way she kept her hand locked with his. "You're not mad at me?"

"On the contrary."
Her father reached out and let his hand fall back to his side when she hesitated. "I'm so proud of you," he whispered in a voice ragged with emotion.

"We're
all
proud of you." Lydia hugged her daughter close, embraced Jameson and then slid an arm around her husband's waist.

Jameson looked around at the enforcers who were staring at them with an awestruck respect. He nudged her so she would be sure to see her uncle and his hunter Jacob, being hauled away by Callahan, Nathan, and Jaden.

Mira rushed over to hug Cali. "Thank you for being here. For everything." She looked to Micky and Trina. "I can't believe you came."

"We all had a part in the take down," Cali said. "Cleveland's at the wheel, but he wanted me to say hello. You've got friends you can count on." She patted Mira's shoulder. "You'll get used to it."

"It's good to get out of the office once in awhile." Micky shrugged, but his eyes and half smile gave away the deeper emotion.

"My apologies to all of you," Dr. Luther said, joining them. "I'm so ashamed of my brother and of myself for protecting him and later ignoring the situation. Something inside him broke when his son died. As an enforcer he couldn't heal the boy.

"I lost myself in the research and let his warped influence run unchecked. The Five were victims of his clever manipulation. That's on me. But you can fix all of it Mira. You, as a radiant healer can show the order how to move forward from here. Remind us of what we are designed and destined to achieve. Together we can get our healers back on the right track."

"I don't know." She shook her head. "Things are so different now. What about the Five? They'll be furious with me about this morning."

Lydia beamed. "I'm sure your work was superb. Combined with successfully taking down a madman bent on twisting our gifts for his personal vengeance, I'm sure they won't bring any further charges against you." She eyed each of the enforcers in turn, waited for their silent affirmations. "You have reliable witnesses to back up the formal report I will file."

"You'll file the report?" Luther stared down at his wife.

"I had to do something to stay busy while you were out innovating for everyone else." She winked at him. "Nice job on these contacts. Besides, infiltrating the Five helped me keep Mira out of trouble more often than not."

"You serve on the Five?"

"I've tried to be the voice of reason." Lydia brushed a tear from her daughter's cheek. "It can be a little lonely with those musty old grumps. Maybe you can both help me convince them of the best way forward from here."

Jameson squeezed Mira's hand, waited until she met his gaze. "What do
you
want, Mira?"

She sighed. "Things do need to change. Ability needs to be nurtured, not squandered or smothered. There has to be a path forward that is good for healers and the world at large." She looked at him intently, his love for her reflected in her shining eyes.

"I want to stop hiding, Jameson. I want my future, my way." She gripped his shoulders firmly. He smiled in perfect understanding. "No matter what happens with the order, I want a real future with you. I'm not letting go."

"We're in it together then."

"Yes." She kissed him. "You ready?"

"Always."
He spun her around in a happy circle, gave her a loud kiss. "For anything."

The End

Leanore Makes a Deal

Chicago 2095

Slick Micky was just another suit in Chicago's Financial district this afternoon. Men and women intent on managing for clients large and small barely noticed anything about their surroundings. Like them, he kept his eyes on his hand held and his shoulders hunched as if braced for the next sudden downturn in the market.

Unlike them, his mobile device was only pulling in data that mattered to him: coffee prices, sugar shipments and the latest rumors on new restrictions being considered on Capitol Hill.

It was a brisk spring day in the city. The wind was living up to the reputation, whipping around the high rises, snatching at open coats and loose ties. It was beautiful to be out of the office and enjoy the day without any risk of being recognized by customers or competitors alike.

He'd guarded his identity for more than half his life and he never appreciated that effort more than in moments like this one.

He found an empty table outside of a tidy little restaurant he hoped to one day to add to his exclusive client list. He'd been stopping by at least once a week, sometimes for a meal, usually just for a coffee. It wasn't easy to stay in character as he sipped the flat, half-caff brew the owner served in compliance with federal regulations.

He knew from his years serving the caffeine addicted masses that this little bistro could profit greatly if they started serving smuggled coffee - provided by his team, of course.

The smile he felt on the inside came to life as his favorite waitress, Leanore, approached his table.

She went through their standard exchange, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it. She had sunglasses on, which wasn't so unusual, but her platinum blonde hair was styled forward rather than into the normal ponytail.

She rattled off the specials when asked, then nodded when he ordered coffee and a slice of the apple pie. May as well go for both the coffee and pure sugar. The place would triple business within a week.

Leanore
reached for the menu, but he didn't let go. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Joseph." She slid a look toward the building and gave the menu a subtle tug. "I'll be back in a minute with your pie."

He let her go, content to watch. For now. But he sent a text to his security team, asking for a recon set up. It needed to be done before he approached the owner because Slick Micky didn't do business until he was certain of all the facts.

* * *

Leanore hurried back into the kitchen, her tender eye throbbing from the bright spring sunshine. She knew Davis, head chef and acting manager, had put her outside because he wanted to add insult to injury and heap on the humiliating point she wasn't really the one in charge right now.

He told her she worked the sidewalk because she had the best legs and therefore drew in more of the distracted businessmen, but they both knew that was bullshit.

She worked outside because she could manage the chaos without losing money on those distracted businessmen who weren't above walking on a check if they had the chance. Today was a bonus - for Davis - that the job she took pride in caused her more pain beyond the usual headache and tired feet.

She dropped the menu on the stack by the bar and rolled her shoulders back as she entered the kitchen. Too late, she'd learned the only thing a person could count on in Davis' domain was volatility, usually with a side of violent language.

Up until last night, she'd believed his violence didn't go further than language and the well placed meat cleaver.

Funny how a misplaced word could reveal the true inner terror of a person, she mused as she warmed the pie and added a scoop of sugar-free, non-dairy ice cream.

He hollered at her for selling dessert when she should be selling meals and she smiled gently when the bartender found a reason to come in and distract him.

It seemed her tinted glasses, makeup, and styling her hair around her face weren't fooling anyone. They might think being beaten up was something she intended to tolerate. They'd be wrong.
She just needed Davis to believe it for long enough to plan her way out from under his fist.

She delivered the pie and coffee to Mr. Joseph, forcing her bruised cheek into her customary smile despite the achy stiffness.

"Smells delicious," he said.

"Made it myself," she confessed on a whisper. "If you need anything else, I'll be around."

He gave her a long look that made her feel like he'd peeled back her bravado and clearly saw her budding plans. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but she didn't feel threatened or small, reactions Davis had been creating at will lately.

Later, Mr. Joseph swiped a card to cover the bill, but he tucked a bit of cash in her palm for the tip. The out of character move surprised her, as did his lengthy study of her. "Who made that pie?"

Leanore couldn't help it, she glanced around for any sign of Davis before she answered. "I did."

"It was delicious." Nodding, Mr. Joseph added, "If you need anything else,
Leanore, I'll be around."

The words sent a chill down her spine. She'd always considered him a bit more attentive than his counterparts, but the way he said that made her wonder about her assumptions. What exactly was he offering and why did she feel she should jump on whatever assistance he wanted to provide?

She watched him go, watched him blend into the crowded street, his dark suit one of many rushing from one place to the next. Next time he came in she promised herself she'd ask more direct questions.

* * *

"You don't have to be here, boss."

Micky
ignored the less than subtle hint. It was at least the third time Jim, his head of security, had tried to send him away. Any other man might be annoyed, but Micky knew Jim was looking at the big picture. If Micky was spotted it could mean the end of their entire operation, not just this potential rescue of Leanore. "No one will see me."

"Uh-huh."

"Just keep an eye on the restaurant." Micky went back to listening to the conversation going on inside. When he'd sent the recon request, Jim's team had leaped to action, stopping by as customers and getting a couple bugs planted in the process.

No matter how he'd tried to forget it, the image of
Leanore's swollen eye had haunted him all day. Combined with her skittish behavior, so out of character for a woman who always oozed confidence, his gut told him something was wrong.

"The pie is her recipe," he muttered to himself.

"Must be some pie," Jim grumbled.

"It'll be better with real sugar and something other
that the half-caff they serve now."

"Never pegged you for a
restauranteur, boss."

Micky
chuckled. "Diversification is key. Although in this case using good coffee and real sugar to make a better experience or product for the customer is not as diverse as smuggler and restaurateur sounds.

If the pie was hers,
Micky was betting most of the other recipes originated with her as well. He wanted to know why she let Davis take the credit.

From their listening post in the neighboring building
Micky heard a crash, deafening silence, followed by the roar of shouting voices. Beside him, Jim tensed. Micky heard Davis yelling vile insults, but they could hardly go in on that.

Leanore's
voice steamrolled over Davis. She wasn't backing down and Micky smiled, imagining the sneer as she tossed back some creative vocabulary.

The sudden clang made both men cringe. Even while
Micky tried to figure out just what the sound could be, he gave Jim the nod to send in the team.

The sounds of fighting didn't stop immediately, even after
Micky's security entered the fray. Finally they heard the all clear and Jim escorted him to the bistro.

Leanore's
tear-stained face registered shock at the site of him. "Mr. Joseph?"

"Are you okay?"

"Sure." She pushed loose hair behind her ear and her eyes darted wildly as if she didn't know who to focus on. "We're closed."

"I know." He smiled at her and leaned against a steel prep counter, doing his best easygoing friend routine. "You have a problem?"

"Yes. No. Not anymore." Her eyes rested on the big man on the floor.

Davis was apparently unconscious, slumped beneath the wall ovens.
Micky glanced to his team. "Is he dead?"

"No sir."

Leanore sagged with relief. "Are you a cop?"

Micky
chuckled along with the rest of his men. "No, but I can help you all the same."

"What's the catch?"

He liked this clever, feisty woman. "We'll get to that. What do you need here, Leanore?"

"I want him out of here. He fooled me once, but no one lays a hand on me and keeps it."

Micky took a closer look at Davis. His face was purple where he imagined she'd brained him with the cast iron skillet she still held, but the man's hand might never be the same. It looked like she'd managed to break all his fingers.

"He came at me with a knife this time after I- I suggested he let me make the ravioli tonight. The pasta was tough yesterday."

"The lobster ravioli?" Micky knew it well.

She nodded. "It's my grandma's recipe. He can't leave well enough alone and half the time, his inventiveness ruins the dish."

Again, Micky wondered why she let the man in the kitchen at all, but that wasn't the point now. "Does he have any legal claim to this place? To you?"

"No." Her expression
changed, the determination wobbling. "I hired him as manager, to give myself a bit of breathing room. But he was lousy. I tried to fire him and got smacked around." She pointed to the eye. "Fool thought I'd just curl up and let him ruin the place."

Micky
nodded to Jim who had his team in action within seconds. "We'll get him out of here," Micky said as they hauled Davis' big body out of the kitchen.

"Can you run this place by yourself?"

"Yeah. The rest of the staff is solid. Davis was just - just a poor judgment call."

"Happens to all of us."

"I wanted to expand the hours and menu before we were ready."

"Well he won't be a problem anymore."

"Where will you take him?"

"We should focus on the conditions of keeping him gone."

Leanore bristled and flexed her fingers on the skillet handle.

"That won't be necessary." He took a step closer. "Everything has a price,
Leanore. Let me outline mine."

He explained his intent to improve her business with a steady supply of real, fully caffeinated coffee and pure sugar for her baking. Her eyes sparkled with eagerness - most bakers did. Still she didn't agree right away, only relaxing when he told her the risk of a raid would be mitigated by his influence.

"You're Slick Micky," she said.

He nodded. "And you're one of very few people who know my face."

Her eyes went wide, taking in the implications of that.

"Do you have a nicotine license?" He felt it best to conclude business quickly. No matter what he told Jim, he really didn't like to be out in the city without some sort of disguise.

"No. Can't stand cigars or cigarettes."

"Then coffee and sugar is it."

"That's all? I just do my thing and serve your stuff."

"You'll pay a fraction above wholesale once this place is turning a better profit."

"What kind of fraction?"

Micky
laughed. "I like you, Leanore. It's why I helped you get rid of that dead weight. We'll start with a standing order of lobster ravioli, then you'll share the recipe with me. After say six months or so, I'll start collecting five percent."

"What?"

"You'd rather pay ten?"

"No- that seems so low.
I mean more than fair."

Micky
counted himself fortunate that he'd been able to deal with a flustered Leanore. Without the leverage of Davis, the woman might have negotiated him into paying her for his top of the line coffee and sugar.

"Five percent and -" he held up a hand to stop her interruption -"the occasional favor. Your location might come in handy once in
awhile. Your job would just be to make whomever arrives with my blessing feel welcome."

"I can do that."

"It won't be often, I assure you. And it won't ever be Davis," he finished, anticipating her next stipulation.

"Then we have a deal."

He extended his hand, managing not to laugh when she had to set aside the skillet to shake on it. "If I could make one more suggestion?"

She eyed him warily.

"Name this place after yourself."