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  Now it was her turn to smile. “Me? A mere woman? How could I pose any kind of threat?”

  He pulled her card, and placed it on the bar without a word and she took it.

  “That is not a threat, Mr. Evans. It’s logic. You think I’m the only one trying to uncover who’ll be distributing this shit? You may be in it for the money, but my motivation is to prevent people from overdosing on it.”

  Evans gestured the barman to pour him a shot and downed it as soon as it was placed before him. “You’re digging in a minefield. That... drug. I guess if you came to see me, you’ve heard the rumor we put our cards in the mix. What else do you know?”

  “That you lost the bid.”

  A corner of his mouth went up. “Yeah. Many groups were battling to get the upper hand. That’s not newsworthy.”

  Orla angled her head. “Why do I get the feeling you were relieved to lose?”

  The man leaned forward, so close she could smell the vodka on his breath. “You’re playing with fire, Ms. Karlsen, and I strongly suggest you leave and never come back.”

  It wasn’t her style, and she pushed her luck by closing in and almost coming nose to nose with the man. “I won’t. I hoped you’d help, and I could’ve put in a good word for your group. You know, when the police take everybody down.”

  They were now so close, Orla almost believed he would kiss her. Instead, he licked his lips and leaned back. “Let me think about it, Ms. Karlsen.”

  She was about to press him for more when gunfire exploded outside. The crowd reacted as one. Shouts and screams surrounded her. Before she could say anything, Evans grabbed her and swung her over the bar.

  As her bones rattled, training and experience took over. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in this kind of situation. Half crawling, half crouching, she saw the barmen doing the same as he headed toward another door behind several cases of beers.

  Her heart hammering and breathing hard, Orla stumbled out of the bar. Dots danced in front of her eyes when she exited into the chilled air.

  Now on the opposite side of the building, as far away as possible from the attack on the front, she took a moment to breathe and try to get her wits back.

  It was a struggle, but when her head finally cleared, she looked for an escape route and saw the barrel of a gun aimed at her face. Shit!

  Chapter Four

  There was no time for hesitation as Sam jumped from the club’s roof and landed on the sidekick of the man pointing a gun at Orla’s head. He’d been tempted to break that fucker in two first, but the risk of him accidentally pulling the trigger had him switching targets.

  There was a sickening crunch when Sam fell on him with his full weight, but he didn’t care. Scumbags like him weren’t much better than bugs. Leaving his victim to suffer, he twisted and landed a kick on the bigger man’s arm, snapping it in two and forcing him to drop his weapon with a yell of pain. Moving fast, he snapped his neck. As the inert body dropped to the ground, Sam turned back to the first man and made sure he’d never draw another breath.

  The noise increased in the area, and it was only a question of time before what was happening up front would join them out back. He turned to Orla then.

  The woman was on her feet, breathing hard and clearly shaken, but holding onto her determination like a buoy at sea. “I knew you existed and weren’t a figment of everyone’s imagination.”

  In full gear, with a high-tech mask hiding his face and head, Sam knew she wouldn’t recognize him anywhere else. The suit was mostly a mix between futuristic soldier and a cat-burglar. Even his voice was protected with a modulator. “Go! It’s not safe to be here.”

  But he should have known the reporter in her would be stronger than her self-preservation. Instead of fleeing, she took a step in his direction. “What are you doing here?”

  Sam, go now. There are at least ten guys about to reach the corner.

  Joshua’s voice in his ear was the signal that shit was about to hit the fan. Instead of answering the woman, he grabbed her elbow and ran in the opposite direction. The only problem with the plan was they’d be in the open once they rounded the building and reached his motorcycle hidden nearby.

  “Wait! What are you doing?”

  She’d been following him without question until then, but before he could answer, gunfire came from behind them. Acting on instinct, Sam pulled Orla to the ground and covered her with his body as he took out his gun and fired back. Gang wars were rarely predictable. The mob had arrived, and they weren’t happy, but Sam’s accuracy downed three of them, which slowed them and made them reconsider long enough for Sam to find better cover. Sam rolled and pulled Orla behind several garbage cans. Not much cover, but it would do.

  “Hey, buddy, I’m gonna cause a distraction. That should give you time to escape. Get ready to run.”

  Sam looked around and positioned himself for a better angle as he waited for Joshua to get back to him with further instructions. Whatever Joshua had in mind, some of them could still get past. Orla remained silent and ready to bolt, which was more than he’d expected. In extreme situations, people tended to fall apart, but not this lady.

  Twice more he fired, holding the bad guys around the corner. He didn’t want to stay there longer than necessary because one of them may have the idea of doubling back to trap them from the other direction.

  “Get ready to run.”

  Orla jumped at his voice and nodded.

  Sam couldn’t wait any longer, and rose to his feet, ready to make a run for it. A detonation sounded from the other side of the building, the earth vibrated, and noise rang in his ears, knocking him backwards. Joshua had set off a grenade. Gunfire sounded again, but the direction had changed. Joshua had drawn the mob away.

  “Now!” Sam sprinted toward the side street, Orla on his heels until he saw the bushes where he’d hidden his ride. When he got on his nondescript but improved where it counted Harley-Davidson, it roared to life.

  He turned to Orla and gestured for her to get on the bike behind him.

  “I think I’m safer on my own.”

  Sam knew full well a white woman alone at night in Auburn Gresham wouldn’t go undetected for long, and he was about to drag her onto the bike, kicking and screaming if necessary, when a man shouted from the parking lot. “I can see them! They’re here!”

  Without a word, Orla jumped behind him and hooked her arms around his waist as he took off. The situation went south fast when he saw two cars speed out from the bar and close in on them. “Hang on tight; I need to lose our tails.”

  Sam didn’t wait for bullets to fly to take a sharp turn to the right. Orla didn’t have a helmet or protection of any kind. His priority was to escape with minimum risk to his passenger, and as he’d hoped, his guardian angel’s voice echoed in his ears.

  “Hey, Sam, it’s Devin. Hang on tight, and I’ll find you a way out.”

  Sam slowed down at an intersection, before he twisted the handle, hit the gas, and flew past a few vehicles, barely acknowledging the strangled yelp of surprise from Orla. He would have preferred to drop her somewhere safe, but if his pursuers didn’t see a second person on the bike, there was a risk they’d try to find Orla, and on foot, she didn’t stand a chance.

  The woman was holding onto him hard, and if he hadn’t been wearing body armor, Sam was certain he’d be sporting bruises in the morning. He wished he could reassure her, but nothing was certain.

  Devin came back in his ear. “Okay, stay on your current course and head straight for the 94.”

  The two men thought alike, but heading straight, there was too much of a risk. They would be sitting ducks.

  “Sam? Do you acknowledge? You’ve turned again.”

  “Secondary option. Lead me to the 94, but not in a straight line. She’s behind me, and they’ve already fired on us. I need to keep buildings between us.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  There was no way he was going to answer her questions now. The
less she knew, the better. Two additional cars joined the chase, and he knew he’d made the right decision.

  He made another turn and lost them for a few seconds before they appeared in his mirror again. He needed another way to add distance between them.

  “Joshua is on his way. I can send the others too if you need back-up.”

  Devin’s voice was a matter of fact, but Sam had already made a decision. His priority was to protect Orla and to do that, he needed to take the men down. “No, better not. I’m gonna blow them up.”

  He felt Orla stiffen, but didn’t give her time to say anything. He slowed and fished a small ball from his breast pocket and after a quick look to make sure there were no civilians about, threw it over his shoulder. Only then did he hit the gas.

  Less than a second later, he took a hard left and heard the explosion, but they were away. The entrance to the 94 was just ahead, and once there, they’d be safe.

  He didn’t slow, ignoring the risk of being pulled over by the cops. With his modified bike, there was no way they’d be able to get them.

  Reassured they were finally alone, Sam took the next exit. The neighborhood was a tad safer than Gresham, and when he reached a back alley between two buildings, he stopped and turned his engine off.

  Orla was still holding onto him, and despite his gear, he could feel her shake. It was cold, and at the speed he’d been going and the danger they’d gone through, he wasn’t surprised she was in that state.

  Gently, he unhooked her fingers from his waist and helped her off. Her legs were wobbly, but she soldiered through.

  “Are you all right?” Sam knew it was a stupid question, but he wanted to know if the adrenaline rush hadn’t masked the pain of an injury.

  Apart from the two red flags on her cheeks, she was pale as a ghost, her blue eyes feverish when she finally looked at him. “Can you turn off that Batman voice? It’s creeping me out.”

  Sam had absolutely no intention of giving her any clues to his identity. “What did you learn about Phantom.”

  At least that got her attention to the point she stopped shaking. The woman was a true reporter, through and through. “How did you know about that?”

  “I asked you a question first.”

  Her frown deepened. “I’m not giving you squat until you tell me who you are.”

  Sam snarled and took a step forward. When she took a step back, he knew his words would get through to her. “Who I am is not important. Stopping Phantom’s distribution and getting rid of the monsters who’ll spread it like a disease over this city is. Now, tell me what you know. Why did you meet with Damon Evans at the El Diablo tonight?”

  And there it was, the air of defiance he’d seen in her. “I’m a reporter, not a snitch. If you don’t know how to get information on your own, maybe you shouldn’t be wearing that suit.

  Anger flared, and he pushed her hard against the brick wall behind her, not to hurt her, but enough to rattle her. Keeping his gloved hand on her sternum to hold her still, he hunched himself until he could look directly into her eyes, even though she couldn’t see his behind his mask.

  “How do you think I know about you being assigned this investigation? I know this city, and I have no doubt I’ll find the source. My only objective here is to speed up the process. Phantom will be hitting the streets soon.”

  Orla had been struggling in his grasp, but his words stopped her movements. He removed his hand, and she remained in place, deep in thought. “How do you know that?”

  She may have asked the question, but when she started pacing, Sam figured she knew he’d never give her the answer. “The police need to be informed.”

  “About what? A rumor? And if the information is solid, as soon as they make a move, the target will have changed locations. The rumor is that several labs are being built. I only have to find one, and for that, I need your help.”

  Her blond head snapped in his direction. “Stop it? How? Kill them as you killed those two guys at the bar? Or the others in that explosion?”

  Sam had no qualms with killing someone if it saved thousands of lives. “If we don’t shut them down completely, they’ll come back. And you don’t want that happening.”

  She seemed to consider his words. “Those who intend to spread Phantom on the streets deserve to die in my book, but that’s not how the police will see it. I won’t be part of a hit if that’s what you’re planning.”

  He could go harder on her, but he suspected it would only strengthen her position. Instead, he returned to his bike. If she wouldn’t help, he wasn’t going to waste any more time on her, even for her breathtaking face and enticing ass.

  “Wait!” He turned slightly to look at her. He could see wheels were turning hard and fast in that smart brain of hers, and he waited for her to speak. “Let’s work together on this. Tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I discover.”

  Sam smiled behind his mask at her guts as he got on his bike and started the engine with a roar. “No. I won’t put anyone else in danger.”

  Orla took another step. “You’re already working with someone. You were in contact with them, and they helped us escape. I think you need my help with this, and I need you.”

  Sam shook his head. He knew he’d be able to get to the bottom of this on his own; he’d done so many times before. The only difference here was the time constraint. If he could get information from her to close this faster, he would. But he wasn’t dumb enough not to realize she had another motive for her sudden generosity. After all, she was a journalist.

  “It’s the middle of the night, and you have nothing yet. Damon Evans didn’t have time to tell you anything useful. You have squat, so unless you can miraculously come up with new information, there’s no reason for us to work together.”

  The woman gasped, clearly taken aback by this bit of information, but Orla Karlsen wasn’t the kind of person to quit easily. “I’ll get the information. How can I contact you?”

  Sam took one last look at her. “You don’t. If you find anything worth my time, I’ll find you.”

  Chapter Five

  As she watched the bike’s taillights disappear, Orla cursed, wanting to punch the brick wall beside her. How long had that wacko been following her? Had he been in the bar before the fight? Or maybe one of his associates? It was another reason to look into the vigilante haunting Chicago. Even if his current quest was one they shared.

  Her car was back at the bar, and Orla was stranded in the middle of nowhere. She knew she needed to talk to Evans fast and convince him to help her before time ran out. Too bad she didn’t know where the man lived. But there could be someone who knew.

  Deciding the walk would do her good and give her time to calm her temper, Orla headed to a busier street. This wasn’t a neighborhood she was familiar with, but at least she could walk with less risk to her life. Not that she cared. If only Evans had told her what he knew on the spot. Damn bikers. They never saw the big picture, just played and enjoyed the moment with women and money.

  However, she hadn’t worked to grow a network over the years for nothing. Despite the ungodly hour, the ends justified the means and she scrolled through her phone until she found the number she was looking for. Three rings were all it took.

  “Yeah?”

  The sleepy female voice on the other end made her cringe, but there was no way to avoid it. “Hey, Deva. How’s my favorite massage therapist doing? So sorry to wake you, but I have a huge favor to ask.”

  “Orla? Is that you?”

  She could hear a sheet rustling and a deep rumble in the background. Orla had met Deva Landry a couple of years earlier when she’d returned from the Middle East, battered and bruised and in desperate need of physical therapy. Deva primarily worked with injured soldiers and sailors in Chicago and Orla had been referred to her. Over the weeks, Deva told her about her past connections with the darkest part of the Chicago underground. Her father had been an MC president in his time. Unable to stop herself from
digging deeper, Orla had learned her husband Aleksei Voronov had, and maybe still had, ties to the Russian mafia. It was two good reasons to reach out to her.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s kind of an emergency, and I think you can help me.” Orla gave her a quick rundown on her current investigation into the impending release of Phantom throughout the city, knowing she could trust the woman. She avoided talking about the vigilante or her encounter with him, preferring to keep things simple and straightforward.

  “You’re working with the chief of police on this?”

  “Yes. Listen, Deva, I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, but the faster I can get Evans’ address, the faster I can knock on his door and ask him what he knows.” She tried to keep her tone of voice as detached and factual as possible, but beyond the potential article, there were lives on the line.

  “I only have his phone number, and I can’t guarantee it’s still current. Give me a sec, and I’ll send it to you.”

  Orla fist pumped and almost did a victory dance. “Thanks, Deva. I owe you.”

  “Yeah, you definitely do. I’ve heard about the damage Phantom has done in Europe, and I don’t want this shit here either. I’m gonna make a few calls on the down-low and try to get more information if possible. Find out if Damon was one of the bidders. No promises, but I’ll call you.”

  “Don’t get yourself into trouble because of me.”

  Deva half-laughed on the other end of the line. “You’re the one in deep shit. If you were seen or recognized at El Diablo, there’d be hell to pay, and unless we know where it’s coming from, you need to watch your back.”

  No truer words were spoken, and Orla knew it. After reassuring Deva she’d be careful, she hung up and didn’t waste time dialing Evans’ number. The night air grew colder as she walked and she longed for a hot bath. If Evans didn’t answer, she’d call it a night. However, despite the tiredness pulling at her, Orla didn’t want to stop.