Shadows to Light (Shadows of Justice 5) (3 page)

"Am I getting another sedative?"

"No," he replied, sounding unhappy about it. "You've been cleared."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but she was increasingly certain she didn't want to stick around. The door opened behind them and another man entered. With a big smile, he shrugged into a battered leather bomber jacket as he approached them.

"I'm Cleveland," he extended his hand. "I'll be your driver, young lady." He jerked his chin at Jim. "Is this guy bothering you?"

Mira wondered just what sort of rabbit hole she'd fallen into. "He's fine."

"That can't be true, though there's no accounting for taste," he added in a stage whisper. "I'll assume he's just being his normal imposing self. Don't worry.
Micky doesn't let him bite. Where are we headed?" He waved her toward the car.

Mira aimed toward the open back door, but Cleveland pushed it shut. "You'll ride up front with me. Better view." She followed, sliding into the offered passenger seat. With the black bag on her lap, she waited until the doors were closed before she quietly told Cleveland where to take her.

He laughed out loud. "Nothing like a visit to the warehouse to instill a bit of paranoia. Don't worry, he doesn't really know everything."

"But you'll tell him where you dropped me."

"Won't have to."

An industrial sized garage door opened and Cleveland eased the car forward into a long tunnel.

Mira sputtered. "You just said he didn't know everything."

"He doesn't. He may know where you go, but not why you made the choice."

Mira wasn't sure that was a valid distinction. Micky couldn't possibly stay at the top in his game if he didn't know how to read people. She wasn't even sure which part of that equation bothered her most. "Thanks for driving."

"No problem. I was headed that way."

"You're not a tax-"

"Do not finish that question," Cleveland said, sliding a glare at her. "This is a classic 1957 Chevrolet. Not an old cab. I've sweated over every inch of the restoration and made her compliant with current emissions
regs. This paint job happened to be very popular in the mid-twentieth century and -"

Mira's burst of laughter interrupted his tirade. "So-s-so you must get this a lot."

"Enough that I'm considering a new paint job. My kids groan when I take them to school in this."

"Kids?"

"Yeah. Couple of former street rats, brother and sister, and smart as I've seen. Love 'em to death. The adoption should be official soon," he finished as if he knew what she was thinking.

Except he couldn't know she was thinking of her own father and the years she'd gone without him because he was working on something sensitive, or more likely something the elders wouldn't approve of. There were notes and emails, but she'd always felt something missing. The feeling intensified, along with the mystery as her gift for healing strengthened and developed into a brighter power than any of her peers.

Cleveland drove across the river into the refurbished and now respectable Financial District.

He pulled to the curb in front of the bistro and put the car in park. A neon sign over the door declared it
Leanore's and a handwritten sign in the window announced it was under new management.

"That's the place," he said, shifting to face her. "You have allies here in town, Mira."

She paused, one hand on her bag, the other on the door handle. "If I ever don't need a cab, I'll be sure to call you."

Cleveland smiled, but his eyes were a little sad. "Do that."

With the sense that she'd disappointed him, she said thanks and climbed out of the big vehicle, uncertain what sort of reception she'd get from Leanore.

No coward, Mira took a breath and walked through the bistro's outdoor dining area decorated with white lights and fresh evergreens and into the colorful small, restaurant. It was an odd little place, a blend of coffee shop, convenience store and bar. When she spotted lobster ravioli in
take out containers in self serve cooler near the door she realized Leanore catered to a specific clientele with superb taste.

A waitress smiled on her way to serve a table outside. "Seat
yourself, we'll be right with you."

Mira took an empty seat at the granite-topped bar and tried to decide what to tell
Leanore.

A slender woman with platinum blonde hair in a short spiky style burst through the door behind the bar.
"Mira?" She smiled and rushed forward. "It's so great to see you!" She swept Mira into a hug. "God, you look amazing. Come on back and let's get caught up." She drew Mira with her into the kitchen, then pointed at a small office. "Go on ahead, I'll just order up something to nosh while we chat."

Moments later she returned, closing the door to the noisy kitchen. "I'm
Leanore. Micky sent me a picture of you so I'd know who to expect."

Leanore's
big, happy personality filled the small office and Mira struggled to find words beyond 'Thank you'.

"It's no problem. I'd bet good money everyone in town owes Slick
Micky in one way or another. What do you need?"

"A chance to catch my breath, I guess."

Leanore laughed, the merry sound pinging around the small space. "I can make that happen." A knock on the door signaled the tray from the kitchen. Leanore accepted that, but cut off the long, curious stare aimed at Mira.

"I've got a room upstairs you can have for as long as you need," she said when they were alone again.

"Is that your repayment to Slick Micky?"

Leanore's
smile slipped. "Girl don't you get it? There are things you don't want to know. Suffice it to say you can stay here with no obligation to me. Okay?"

Mira nodded.

"Now dig into that lunch special then I'll give you the tour and your own access code. As far as anyone here knows, you and I were friends in school."

"Got it."

"And you're staying with me while you look for a job. Is that good enough?"

"Sure."

"I thought that would explain any coming and going you might need to do."

With her mouth full of the delightful sliced roast and red pepper sandwich, Mira nodded again.

"Look, I don't know what your deal is with Slick Micky – and I really don't want to. All I ask is that you keep your business to yourself. That means no visitors beyond the restaurant floor."

"No problem." She couldn't imagine anyone who might visit anyway. Well she could imagine Jameson, but if she wanted to maintain her sanity she really shouldn't linger over that day dream.

Besides he wasn't anywhere near Chicago.

A scream followed by a violent outburst interrupted whatever
Leanore was going to add. "Someone probably cut themselves. Happens often enough, but let me check on it." She opened the office door and Mira watched the color leach from her face as the riot level noise poured into the tiny room.

The sounds of pain were clear and Mira ran into the fray before she knew what she intended to do. It looked like a brawl with two people trying to hold down a third. Words drifted around her as
Leanore's employees related events, but her healing instincts were locked onto the person in need.

The waitress who'd greeted her had apparently drifted too close to a burner and her blouse had caught fire. Mira took in the details, cataloged the woman's injured side and arm, and called for cool water.

She would need the practical external help as well as a distraction for the onlookers. "And bar towels," she called out.

"I'm on fire," the waitress wailed.

"No, no it's out," Mira assured her in a soothing voice. "It was just your shirt," she murmured, stroking the girl's forehead.

The wails faded to soft whimpers and soon, thanks to Mira's touch, the waitress would be unconscious.

She heard Leanore restoring order in the kitchen and giving instructions to reassure the customers too. "Do you need anything?"

"Just the water and bar towels."

"Right here."

Someone set a five gallon bucket and stack of bar towels next to her.
"A knife? For the shirt," Mira clarified, as she continued to soothe her patient.

A knife appeared on the stack of towels. "We've called 9-1-1."

"That's good. That's fine," she lied. It wasn't fine for her. Burns were tricky and now she had to hurry on top of it. Using the wet towels to disguise her actions, she pulsed a bit of her energy to assess the damage underneath the skin as the water cooled the surface.

She found third degree burns in a few spots, but the rest were the more manageable second degree.

The formal inquiry had put her on edge. If an emergency crew was on the way, they'd expect a certain degree of injury. She couldn't just heal the waitress completely. Damn.

Making a snap judgment, she instructed
Leanore to keep pouring cool water over the wet towels and she turned her focus to the healing the worst of the burns. Taking the third degree injuries out of the equation would reduce the patient's risk of infection or complication at the hospital. Letting the paramedics treat the second degree burns and transport would be the best option. But she had to give them a scenario that made sense and kept her under the radar.

She tried to make her movements resemble a standard biofeedback technique as she applied her gift and sought out the most problematic areas. Relieving the general pain as she went, she lingered over the spots that lit up like hot coals to her healer senses.

Seeing injuries as variations in the light spectrum was just another deviation the stodgy Five and their ultra-conservative supporters would use against her if they knew.

Mira gasped over a particularly bad patch where the shirt had melted into skin.

"You okay?"

She answered
Leanore with a sharp nod and probed deeper with her own healing light, scouring the burn from the inside out. When the area felt more like the second degree burns, she moved on. She was just finishing up as the ambulance siren blared in the alley and the paramedics rushed into the kitchen.

Mira let
Leanore explain the first aid measures they'd taken as well as rattle off her insurance details so they could transport the waitress. Everyone agreed Leanore would meet the patient at the ER rather than ride along in the ambulance.

"We're taking her to Mercy."

"But-"

"Central's ER is over the limit. Sorry."

The driver left, with another wail of sirens, and Leanore urged everyone back to work. "I'll show you around," she said to Mira. When they were alone in the upstairs hallway, she paused. "You have medical training."

"Yes."

"Will Stacy be okay?"

"I believe so. She'll be sore, as much from the tackling as the burns, but she'll recover quickly." The girl's system had suffered a shock, but overall she was in good health. Mira could hardly blurt that out.

"We're a close group here. Even the customers will worry if she's away too long."

"I'm sure the ER will give her a once over, some burn ointment and pain killers and send her home."

Mira held steady under Leanore's assessing gaze, refusing to volunteer anything that might give her away.

"Thanks. I owe
you
one." She swiped a key through the lock, twisted the knob and pushed open the door. "The place is yours for however long you need it." Handing Mira the key, she grabbed her for a quick hug, then retreated down the stairs.

Mira stood in the hallway, shell shocked from the hug for just a moment longer, but the privacy of the room drew her in.

She closed the door, locked it, and slid to the floor. The tears flowed and she didn't resist. She needed to let loose some of the bottled up emotion of the past days and recent events.

Her crying jag slowed when her mind started wandering over details again. How many days had she lost to the inquiry and the smuggling? She reached into the black bag and plowed through the contents, belatedly remembering the cell card she'd seen in the shopping bag. Maybe it was programmed.

Hoping she'd feel better and more in control with solid information, Mira pushed herself to her feet and looked around the modest room for a computer dock. The room was small and spartan, decorated in warm shades of brown. Not precisely homey, but a step above an impersonal hotel room or military quarters, but no computer dock or phone. Mira tapped the card, happy to see the calendar feature appear. Trusting it was accurate, she was pleased to discover she hadn't lost more than a day.

Now she just needed to find a computer to access whatever else might be on the card. She turned to the door, intent on asking
Leanore, and stopped short. With the room and furnishings absolutely spotless, she felt a stab of guilt over scattering her belongings.

Scooping everything back into the bag, she plopped the whole mess on the bed.

She wanted to ignore the bag, wanted to believe it was just clothes and essentials, but she knew there was more waiting for her inside. Her father was in trouble and most likely, at the very least, some sort of directions were waiting for her to find them.