Tracking Shadows
Available at Amazon
Tracking Shadows, book four in the Shadows of Justice series, gives new meaning to star-crossed lovers…in an action-packed thriller, this novel features the notorious smuggler, Slick Micky and Trina Durham, the assassin who’s been hired to take him out.
When your past becomes your future you’ll find yourself Tracking Shadows:
In Chicago, Slick Micky is the king of smuggling. Known to deliver anything, anytime, anywhere, he specializes in caffeine and sugar and works in the anonymity of shadows. But recently an old enemy is tired of waiting for Micky’s empire to crumble and has called in the best assassin in the business to take him out.
Trina Durham is an assassin with a sterling reputation, thanks to her unique ability to induce deadly hallucinations. When Slick Micky killed her best friend, she left Chicago – forever. She’s back now, unable to resist the perfect opportunity for vengeance. But no one warned her Slick Micky might as well be a shadow. Or that shedding light on the man and his secrets would put both her heart and reputation at risk.
Discover all of the Shadows of Justice adventures at the Shadows of Justice series page
~~~REVIEWS~~~
“Tracking Shadows is a smart, sexy, and dangerous read that you won’t be able to put down!” –Crystal <3
“All the elements readers have come to expect from a 2096 novel– a kick-butt alpha female lead, an equally strong hero, and a gritty, fast-paced thriller.”
” …film noir atmosphere with the tinge of a science fiction…” –The Bookish Dame 5 stars (Amazon)
“Join Ms. Black for this amazing addition to a powerful series – you won’t be able to put it down once you start.” –Jordan 5 stars (Amazon)
~~~ENJOY AN EXCERPT~~~
Chapter One
Chicago, October 2096
He stared at the twisted remains on the sidewalk as if a piece of his heart hadn’t just died in equal agony. Ten stories up, the empty, open window mocked him. He, along with the other stunned pedestrians, stared up at the curtain flapping at the open window. Whoever pushed her was up there, watching the street, likely watching for him. The police evidence van arrived with a squeal of brakes and technicians vaulted out to gather pieces of the broken woman, speculating aloud as they bagged and labeled. By tomorrow they’d be calling him out for questioning. Or wanting to.
He might shock them by answering this time. Talking to the cops would shred his street rep, and his vital anonymity, but like every smuggler before him who’d reached the summit of the Chicago underworld and earned the title of Slick Micky, he’d known the reckoning day would come.
It was one of those inevitable elements of a smuggler’s career when a man’s enemies found the thing he cared for too much.
He melted a little deeper into the shadows and the camouflage of the onlookers, watching for anyone who looked like they might have just ended a life. It gave him something to do until he could continue his annual pilgrimage. He’d never detoured before, he wouldn’t detour now. Looking away from her broken face, he knew she’d appreciate his diligence.
The day, the girl, the place all added up to serious trouble. For him, and by nature of the business, for all who depended on him.
One of the cops called out when they matched her prints and her name. “Shannon Irene Sevier.” Her name bounced off the hard street and echoed through his memories.
Shannon Irene Sevier
In all their years together she’d never fessed up to the middle name. He’d called her ‘Sis’ so long most people believed they were really related. Now here she was, his first contracted ‘mule’, dead in the street, because of a nickname. It certainly limited the pool of suspects, but the police wouldn’t know that. Unless he told them.
As if his year hadn’t been going to hell already with a rogue judge culling six of his mules and dealing the women like cards to the highest bidder.
He sighed. This time when they demanded Slick Micky show up at the station, he’d go.
An hour later, when Sis’s body had been officially declared dead, when the evidence van was done, and the sidewalk was only a sidewalk again, Micky shuffled away from the tragedy.
Every year, he walked this specific route. It was his private way of honoring Gypsy Smith, the vibrant evangelist who’d changed so many lives in Chicago’s Levee district way back in 1909.
He could count on one hand the number of people who knew he made this annual trek. Yeah, that suspect list was short, but he’d recently gained a solid connection to the department. If he made the right deal it might be enough to avenge Sis and protect his mules.
As he walked on, Micky considered the admirable improvement in law enforcement since the early twentieth century. No, he wasn’t in the market to bribe or compromise anyone in the department. But he wasn’t about to give up the service he provided to those upstanding citizens who considered the federal government’s restrictions of caffeine, nicotine and sugar unconstitutional.
Contrary to the government mandate du jour, he wasn’t dealing hard core substances. Odd how law enforcement procedures improved while public choice and personal accountability were tossed aside.
“Maudlin much?”
It didn’t surprise him to hear Sis’s voice in his head. She’d been with him since his first days dealing real sugar in high school. And taking a page from his family matriarch who’d transformed her brothel after Gyspy Smith’s march, he’d taken steps to ensure loyalty in the organization he wanted to build. The sort of loyalty that went beyond a cut of the take, to a lifetime of unprecedented success for all parties involved. The sort of loyalty that vaulted him to the title of Slick Micky earlier than any of his predecessors.
Micky marched on, letting the feelings come and go, seeing beneath the current sparkle to the grit and temptation that had once been advertised in every doorway back when vice was king. Decades of clean ups and crack downs hadn’t changed humanity’s underlying desire for black market products and services.
Sis’s life, her life as his friend, passed before his eyes as he trudged onward. From their sketchy first days on street corners when the future was only a wild brainstorm in the high school cafeteria to the hidden empire they’d built and stocked with every luxury. She’d made it bearable during their rocky start up phase and she’d been the catalyst behind several exponential expansions in their distribution. God, what was he going to do without her?
Following his annual pattern, he paused at the end of the evangelist’s original route and envisioned the streets clogged with quiet marchers and observers.
“And let’s not forget all those new customers,” he muttered, thinking of the tale handed down from his many-greats grandmother about the busiest night the district had ever enjoyed.
The skin on his neck prickled. Someone was watching him. He held steady, tempting Fate to take her best shot.
No bullet, no blade, not even a sucker punch from a passerby.
So he’d been given time to stew over Sis’s death. If his enemies thought mind games would help their cause, who was he to spoil their fun? Another day alive meant another day for him to plan and protect the people who mattered.
Just for the benefit of the lurking hit team, he pretended to choke back a sob. Hunching deeper into his jacket, he headed for the elevated train platform. The pinch points at the el offered the epitome of temptation for an assassin looking for payday.
If it was one thing Micky understood, it was temptation.