Page 6 of Night Justice

Sam could see Lance was still in pain as beads of sweats dotted his pale forehead. Lance Sorenson was a giant of a man, a remnant Viking in build and looks, but that said, he was far from invincible.

“Okay, so you have five minutes before Sam and Joshua carry you to your bed.” Melina threw her latex gloves and discarded wrappings into the trash can and gathered what was left in the first aid kit. Only then did she look at the three other members of the team. “I’m serious, after this little chat of yours, I want him off his feet and in bed, not downstairs.”

Lance didn’t look at all happy with the order, but one stern look from the doctor cut him off. “The only thing I want is you back to one hundred percent. If it’s what you want too, you’ll listen to me. I’ll be at the clinic for the rest of the day. Call me if you need anything.”

Once she’d disappeared, Lance sighed. “Sometimes, she scares me to death. I swear.”

In the background, Sloane snickered, and Joshua decided to sit.

Sam followed suit. “So, you want an update on last night? There’s nothing much to report. I followed Orla Karlsen as she’s our best lead. She spent most of her day at the Tribune, but when to West Englewood last night.”

Sloane whistled. “The girl has balls. Blonde, beautiful, brains... she’s a triple threat.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Were you following me?”

“I have access to the internet, stupid. The woman worked on the East Coast as a freelance foreign correspondent in war zones for years. She came back, and newspapers across the country wanted her, but she settled for Chicago and the Tribune, but only if she was allowed to choose what she investigated. She’s won a Pulitzer and flirted with nominations several times. Mostly works solo, the more dangerous the assignment, the better. She’s not seen a lot on the social scene, or social media for that matter. Seems to keep to herself a lot.”

Sam had seen pictures and had gotten close enough to touch. Beautiful wasn’t the right term to describe her. She was like a sunrise over the ocean, a bright flame you wished you could touch. However, getting close to Orla Karlsen wasn’t his mission. Keeping her under surveillance and discovering what she knew was.

“She met Martin Pebbles, aka Freckles, known drug dealer and petty criminal. She was there about ten minutes before returning home. I tried to use the amplifying listening device, but it was sketchy through the walls. I was able to confirm she’s investigating Phantom.”

Lance nodded. “We expected that based on the intel from the police. I’m still waiting on some intel from other sources, but so far, we know Phantom is being prepared for distribution. Someone won the bid, and we need to stop it. Whatever the cost.”

Joshua, who had remained silent so far put his elbows on his knees. “If the war was won, Phantom will hit the streets soon. The only thing working in our favor is that whoever invented that shit, made sure very few people know the recipe and they mean to keep it that way.”

“Yeah, but it’s only a question of days before it starts killing people.” Lance winced. “We need to keep a close eye on Karlsen while keeping up our side of the investigation. Sam, you’re on it with Josh as back-up. Our computer mastermind should be in-house too, so if you need extra support, you’ll have it.”

Devin Curtis was not only a first-class hacker but also a renowned computer game designer, who made shitloads of money. He’d contributed a great deal to their business in addition to helping create some useful gadgets for their nightly escapades.

When they’d founded Noctem, one of the things they’d agreed upon was that there’d never be more than one vigilante on the streets at a time, the exception being high-level emergencies. It was a way of controlling the rumors, curiosity, and patterns and reducing the risk of anyone thinking of the vigilante as an organization.

Being alone was dangerous, and Sam was very aware of the load on his shoulders during his time as the vigilante. He’d been on the other side of the law for a long time but had never touched or dealt drugs. Violence and death could certainly impact family, but drugs destroyed one’s life to a completely new level and affected people way beyond the circle of crooks.

Lance gave his last instructions to Joshua, who went back to the lair with Sloane on his heels. Sam had seen the slight movement of his head, silently telling them to leave them alone, a move that was far for innocent. Lance obviously wanted to talk to him. “From the beginning, it’s been your case, Sam. You’re the one who suited up for this. However, I want you to be careful. So far, we’ve acted in small, contained situations, but this one is affecting the entire city and might explode in our faces if we’re not careful. And now we’re dealing with a renowned journalist. That means we have to keep our cards even closer to the vest.”

Sam had to agree with him. After reassuring his friend and helping him back to his room, he decided to do some more research and surveillance on Orla Karlsen.

After a quick shower and now comfortable in his chair at the command center, he started by accessing the cameras from Orla’s building, as well as past recordings. He’d followed her home last night at a distance, making sure she was all right, and she saw her heap of a car turn into the underground parking.

One positive point about the woman was how seriously she took her security. The building was in a secure area, coded at each entrance with plenty of locked doors, and had several cameras. She acted without considering the consequences when outside her home, but he recognized someone who needed balance in her life and a haven to go home to. Too bad that even from afar, Sam could see numerous problems and blind spots that made her vulnerable.

He dug some more and discovered she was an only child. No children. No current attachment. A definite workaholic from what he found. What drove her? Investigative reporting was a difficult job, dangerous at times, and mostly dominated by men. He couldn’t help but admire her, appreciate her constant quest for the truth, to show the world for what it was.

Sam had read her articles, and they were fantastic, explosive, and focused on the human side of things with a definite Chicago flair. The more he learned about her, the more his admiration grew.

And that was a bad thing. When he’d decided to follow Lance and become a vigilante, he knew what it entailed, and how attachments would be pushed aside, if not abandoned altogether. There was no fantasy in his world, only the gritty reality that meant that apart from a quick fuck, women were out of bounds.

One last time, he opened her image on the screen and leaned back in his chair. It was his favorite one of Orla. She was obviously in the Middle East, dressed in tan cargo pants and a black t-shirt. Her hair was in a ponytail, but the wind was playing with endless free strands around her beautiful face. She was crouching in front of two children, her smile genuine. The beauty and kindness that came through the composition gripped him like nothing else.

It took every ounce of strength in him to close the window and step back. Orla Karlsen wasn’t part of any fantasy, and he had a mission to do. Mindlessly, he rubbed his knuckles over the words inked on his chest:Usque Ad Finem, To the very end. The same words were etched on each member of the team and represented what they were bleeding for. The safety of the city and its people mattered above anything else, and when he suited up, that’s exactly what Sam did, he kept the city and everyone in it safe. To the very end.

Chapter Three

Chicago vibrated like usual,but Orla couldn’t shake her unease. Something was off, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Far from a rookie, she worried about her instincts for a second. Was she losing it, or was there someone following her every footstep?

From the moment she’d stepped out of her apartment late in the afternoon, that nagging feeling had intensified to the point where she’d almost turned back. Instead, she headed to the newsroom and carried on as normal. The Tribune was buzzing as usual as everyone raced to meet his or her deadline. Kelli was out, and Orla decided to check her messages and emails. It would soon be time to head out. She was tempted to call her therapist about her paranoia and hoped it wasn’t a resurgence of her PTSD, but she decided to shove that worry to the background for now and concentrate on the job at hand.

Day turned to night, and she went home to change. She had to look polished and professional in the newsroom, but it wasn’t the right look for where she intended to go.

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