Shadows to Light (Shadows of Justice 5) (4 page)

Find her father? She was
so
not up for this.

Too much personal baggage bogged down her memories of her dad. He'd been reviled in her community and revered in the world that would shun him if they knew exactly why he was so brilliant. She could almost laugh at the way people on both sides of the supernatural healer argument unknowingly agreed on one thing: they didn't trust what they didn't understand. Looking back the rumors and gossip had followed wherever she'd been.
On the school playground, at events, even during applications and interviews when she pursued her own education. Everyone had an opinion, everyone wanted to judge Dr. Luther and his daughter.

If her dad was in trouble, if he was here in Chicago, she'd bet the government had finally figured him out and cast him aside.

The lack of clear, tangible instructions paralyzed her and she chewed on her thumbnail. In an exam room or a crisis, she knew how to proceed, but not in the face of so many unknowns.

Her father needed her to quit dithering.

She dug into the bag once more. Inside she found a pair of jeans and two polo shirts with a clinic name embroidered on the sleeve. The name and logo were vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place them. Most independent clinics had folded during the health care reforms of the 2050s and only a few were permitted to reorganize and reopen in recent years.

She shook out every piece of clothing, checked pockets for any notes or cards. Finding nothing, she set the clothes aside.

She dumped the bag upside down and sorted through toiletries and a bit of makeup. She was convinced her mother had packed the bag when she found her favorite brand of mascara. No one else would know that about her, but why had her mother gone to all this trouble?

A chill skated down her spine, thinking of her mother's comment about a funeral pyre, but it made no sense. Mira tried, but couldn't find a context to make it fit. Most healers were cremated in standard facilities like everyone else. It had to mean something since her mother wasn't prone to drama. No one in their order had been executed for generations.

Moving forward was the only way to halt her spinning thoughts. She ran her sensitive fingers over the lining of the bag, but she didn't feel anything other than the expected seams.

"I'd really like to find Dad. A clue would be nice."

Maybe Slick Micky had found a note or an item meant for her. She considered trying to find her way back to his lair for about one second. It would be an effort as futile as changing the collective opinion of the Five.

She dug deep for a memory of her father that would perk her up, give her a spark of hope. Coming up empty only proved how tired she was.

Where the hell could she even start looking? She didn't consider it coincidence that she was back in Chicago. But it was a huge city with layers of old and new areas mortared with fragile hopes and dashed dreams.

Mira studied the old brass key in her palm, turning it over, trailing her finger over the jagged edge.

An old school key. She smiled. She hadn't held one like it since...

Oh! The last time she'd seen something like this was her father's key ring when she was a child. He claimed he carried it as a reminder of doctors who did their best to unlock the mysteries the gifted healers of their order saw so clearly.

She grabbed the shirts, studied the logo on the sleeves again.

"Oh, thank you, Mom!" Pocketing the key and the contacts, she went racing downstairs with the
cell card to borrow a computer.

Chapter 3

Leanore's
office door was closed. She was probably still at the hospital with Stacy. Mira glanced around the kitchen, but everyone moved with busy purpose and she didn't want to interrupt or overstep.

She skirted through to the bar area and around to the customer side. When the bartender glanced her way she gave a little wave. His wide smile and hearty hello seemed a bit much as he hurried over. "Wow. I'm glad you're here. I didn't introduce myself before." He blotted his hands with a bar towel. "Kevin. Stacy and I, um, well we're close," he finished in a rush.

The boyfriend. Mira knew the drill for calming family. "She'll be fine."

"Thanks to
you
. You were a big help with the water and the – the efficiency. Leanore made me stay and run the place while she went to the hospital. I want to be with her, but she said she'd probably get to bring Stacy right home."

"That's a very good bet."

"So." He smiled again. "Name it. Anything you want, on the house."

She started with the easy thing first. "Water, please?" Her stomach was too jittery for food. "And, I, ah..." She stopped, cleared her throat, and reminded herself she wasn't really lying. "Computer access would be great. I couldn't find one in the room. My dad has an office around here, but I lost the address."

Kevin placed the glass of water in front of her. "Got a cell card?"

"Yup.
Right here."

"Good." He reached under the bar, pulled up a screen and handed it to her. "Just swipe and you're good to go." He waited, making sure the panel loaded properly. "There. Search away. Sure I can't get you anything else?"

"No thanks." Mira was already adjusting to the touch screen keyboard and running searches on the clinic name, any possible variations, and looking for a street address in Chicago proper and the surrounding twenty mile radius.

She really hoped the address was within the el circuit. Allies or not, she wasn't sure how to reach Cleveland for his not-a-taxi transportation help.

When several addresses popped up, she sighed. But what else was on her agenda? It's not like she'd be late to a shift or anything. She copied and pasted the details to her cell card, and noticing the convenient icon, linked the addresses to the el routes. All of the addresses were inside Chicago city limits. At least that was easy.

She closed those apps and was about to withdraw her card when she noticed a new icon in the menu tray. With a tap she enlarged the logo and connected to an investment firm partnered with her bank.

Wary, she jumped when Kevin came back to check on her. "I'm fine really. Almost done here."

"Take your time."

When he'd wandered back to help a customer with a carry out order, she clicked the link. The login page came up instantly. She gaped when she saw her name filling the field. A box popped up on the screen, requesting her thumbprint.

What did she have to lose? Mira pressed her thumb as directed and tried not to look like a criminal while the system security did its thing. Account details filled the screen, starting with a 'thanks for trusting us' message dated yesterday, two deposit entries a week apart, and ending with a balance that nearly toppled her off the barstool.

Well, Merry Christmas to me.
Except she didn't know anyone in the mood to give her that kind of money. The first entry corresponded with, and she opened the details page to verify, her personal bank account. The second entry indicated a new investment account with a balance capable of pushing her into a new tax bracket.

Who would give her this kind of money? Whoever it was must have hijacked her financial details after they'd sedated her. It was the only solution that made sense. But why would they fund her? To prove they could, or to blackmail her?
And why so much? Instant wealth was convenient, sure, but she wondered about the current interest rate on free money. Exactly how many people would she owe before she found her dad?

With a sketchy plan forming in her mind, she returned to her room for her contacts and the coat, another courtesy of her invisible allies. She looked forward to what that little display revealed as she investigated her father's old clinic sites.

Leaving from Leanore's kitchen door, she walked out of the alley toward the street. The afternoon sun made the city sparkle, winking off the polished windows of the high rises, but the wind battered her – as only wind in Chicago could. Still, as she walked to the el station she felt energized for the first time since the enforcers had picked her up. As the el whisked her away from the financial district toward her first stop, she watched the view change. Every year, the city splurged on Christmas decorations for the main streets in the 'good' neighborhoods. The unadorned contrast of struggling areas only underlined one of her dad's first goals – to help people without options.

The first planned stop didn't require changing trains and she got off with the small crowd. But a glance from the platform told her this stop wouldn't be much help. The area near the station had been leveled sometime in the past decade and what replaced it was up to code. There wouldn't be a classic tumbler lock anywhere around here, only card or biometric access.

She walked past the block anyway, just to be thorough. Where the clinic had once been, she saw a dormant community garden blanketed by snow. She considered it a victory for the neighborhood. Healthy food was vital to a healthy body, she reminded herself, trying to think like her father as she returned to the platform and waited for the next train.

It was late and the light was fading when she reached the University of Chicago campus. This would have to be her last stop for the day and she sent up a prayer it would prove more productive than the others.

Hands stuffed in her pockets against the wind chill, she trudged along with students and figured she was blending pretty well. According to her cell card, the building she wanted was on the fringe of the campus. A less populated fringe if the thinning crowd was any indication. The wind whipped up, tugging at her hair, blotting out the sounds of life. She leaned into it and trudged on, passing a shiny new science center as she aimed for the older buildings behind it. A sense of vacancy and benign neglect filled the air as the wind was diverted by architecture. Her mood bordering on melancholy, she found the right building, but no sign marking the old clinic. She found the main entrance locked with an older push button system and the windows felt like so many blank eyes watching her as she circled around.

Giving herself a pep talk as the wind found her again, she tried to convince herself she'd find what she needed. She'd find the door that matched the key. Having to search wasn't a failure, only giving up.

She was fairly annoyed with her persistent chant of optimism when she turned a corner and saw the faded sign. Nearly illegible between age, snow, and poor lighting, she thought her mind was simply caving to the power of suggestion.

But she looked closer and smiled, feeling a fresh burst of energy bubble inside her when the logo and clinic name came into view. She lurched toward the door, dashing away tears induced by wind and hope with one hand and fumbling for the key with the other.

It was the right kind of lock. No push buttons, electric keypad, or biometric scanner. Her heart hammered in her chest and her mind raced over the possibilities.

A sound that was probably a security guard doing his rounds startled her, but she didn't see anyone when she turned and searched the shadows. She paused, debating the wisdom of charging in without any information. Like diving blind into a shock victim or coma patient, there was some risk just barging into an abandoned building.

It was nearly full dark and the security light above the doorway blinked on, startling her as it glinted off the brass key.

She had to try. She looked around once more and satisfied she was
alone, she slid the key into the lock. It slid home and she nearly shouted for joy. Then it stuck, unwilling to twist either direction, and her joy bubble popped. This wasn't the right door.

But when the damn bit of brass refused to come out, she considered throwing the mother of all hissy fits, security and witnesses
be damned. She struggled with the key, heard another footfall on the slushy sidewalk, but refused to leave her only tangible clue to her father behind. Figuring she still looked young enough to make up some excuse about being sent out here by a professor, she kept at it and hoped she wouldn't have to lie.

Finally, by luck, friction, or divine intervention, the lock tumbled and the knob swiveled. She paused, suddenly uncertain. She hadn't considered an alarm system until this moment. As the moment stretched without a screaming alarm, flashing lights, or the sound of footsteps rushing in her direction, she relaxed.

The building seemed well and truly forgotten. Unless the system hadn't caught up with the breach. What if...?

She could stand out here and freeze all night long or she could get on with the matter at hand. Someone, her mother or the 'allies' Cleveland referred to, wanted her to find her father.

She nudged the door open and breathed a sigh of relief into the continuing silence. Waiting one more beat for the hammer to drop, she slipped through the opening and closed the door behind her. She was inside.

Leaning back, giving her eyes a chance to adjust to the dark, she chided herself for even trying to play this game. She wasn't cut out for this. Hell, she didn't even have a flashlight to look for whatever clue or evidence she was supposed to find.

The only consolation, aside from being out of the weather, was that no one had seen just how bad she was at all of this.

* * *

Jameson watched the woman disappear into the building. "I've got a possible situation," he whispered.

"Explain,"
came the reply from HQ.

"Female nosing around.
Appears to be alone." A status he knew would only raise more questions.

"Verify and report."

"Yes, sir."

"Do not engage," Callahan added.

But Jameson was already too close to the potential threat to risk a verbal acknowledgment. He clicked his mic in the affirmative. A stealth suit was one hell of an advantage in the daylight the way it refracted light and sheltered the wearer. At night, in a deserted area, he might as well be truly invisible.

It was a heady freedom as he reached the door where Mira – the
woman
– had entered the building.

He knew what Callahan must be thinking. Anyone in this deserted area of campus had to be connected to the situation they were monitoring. As long as he didn't find Mira inside that building he'd agree. Telling himself it couldn't be her, that his mind was playing tricks on him, he turned the knob.

It couldn't be so easy. This kind of easy made him wary. He took his time, listening for signs of the woman, adjusting his night vision until the room glowed an eerie green. Nothing. Not a whisper, not a shout, not a single movement.

He edged toward a counter, certain she was hiding behind it. Unless she'd seen him coming – highly unlikely – there hadn't been enough time for her to do anything else. The soft
whoosh
of movement wasn't enough warning and though he turned, tried to deflect, the impact of a body running for the door took them both straight to the floor.

Even bathed in the eerie green light and with absolute panic etched on her face, he recognized Mira. Disappointment and answers had to wait until he had her contained and calm. In her rush to get off him and escape, she was damned close to trampling on some sensitive places.

"Stop." He flipped them over, blanketing her with the weight of his body.

She squeaked. Not a scream, a squeak, followed by squirming that only compounded his natural reaction to having her soft body under his.
"Mira, stop. I won't hurt you."

"What? How? What the hell is going on?"

He understood her desperation and confusion, was feeling more than a bit of the same himself. "Hold still?"

"Jameson?"

He froze. He hadn't removed the stealth disc. Did she have some sort of detection or sensor he didn't know about? Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers were skimming over the stealth suit. "Stop," he hissed. He wanted to kiss her, to forget where they were and why, and just sink into the miracle of holding her again.

Remembering the other biofeedback technologies attached to him, he eased off her, just enough to see if she'd try to run. She stayed put, well everything but her hands did. He figured all these little fires where she touched him
was like being in the center of a sparkler. The comm tech was probably having a field day with his vital sign readings.

He caught her hands and trapped them at her midriff. "Do. Not.
Move."

The order was as much for him as her. If either of them shifted the slightest inch, his body would reject all his training in favor of the promises her body was making.

With one hand he popped the stealth disc out of his mouth and into the pocket of his shirt. Did his best to ignore it when his hand brushed the sweet curve of her breast. The whole thing would've been easier without the soft gasp she made. From the contact, or his appearing out of thin air?