Page 3 of Night Justice

Rolling her eyes, Sloane leaned forward. “We’ve known each other for years now, Sorenson. Don’t expect us to suddenly turn into heartless jerks. I may have found my place in Purgatory, but I’ve never been a white knight, and nor is the Aussie beside me. Apart from a few with medals like you, none of the team ever really walked the straight and narrow before Purgatory.”

Something softened inside him, but Lance had made his decision and that didn’t include anybody else. “Sorry, but no. You’re true friends and I’m not risking your lives or freedom on what I’m searching for. You’ll remain where you are, even if I have to kick your asses to kingdom come to prove it.”

Chapter One

Five years later, Chicago Tribune, Chicago

“Can’tyou look where you’re going? I almost fell on my ass because of you, idiot!” Orla Karlsen glared at the intern who’d almost made her spill the contents of her coffee cup. He looked barely past his teens, and scurried away from her so fast, she almost thought he’d peed in his pants.

“Whoa! What’s going on with you? You almost bit off that innocent kid’s head.”

Orla sat at her desk, which was just in front of her friend and co-worker, journalist Kelli Brice, gossip extraordinaire and the journalist assigned to the business section. The two women had bonded when they’d started at the Tribune. Still, Orla preferred the unexpected adrenaline of the newsroom to boring business suits and numbers, which was why she was assigned more high-profile stories. Although they were in two separate departments, they had placed their desks on the border of each area to maintain contact.

“If he can’t walk and look where he’s going at the same time, he shouldn’t be in this newsroom.”

Kelli wasn’t the kind of person to be impressed by a woman in a mood. “I doubt the poor intern is the reason you’re about to explode. I’ll risk my own very nice ass by saying there’s another cause. Either your dry spell is worsening your temper, or you still haven’t found proof that there’s a mystery vigilante acting in our fair city.”

Sitting on her chair, Orla took a sip of her coffee while eyeing her friend from above the rim. She hated when her temper was immediately linked to her lack of sex and had no intention of walking down that path, even with her friend. “He exists. Countless people have seen him, and we even have a picture of him.”

“And it’s blurry as hell. That could be a dog taking a shit, and you couldn’t tell the difference.” Kelli played with a tiny ringlet of her jet-black hair. “I can see how it’s intriguing, but unless you come up with more definite proof, the chief will pull the plug, and you’ll be back on the street beat.”

Not what she wanted, but her interest couldn’t be helped. “Maybe then I’d have a better chance of finding him. Don’t worry about me, I’ve been assigned another story, but I’ll work both in parallel. When I’m done, I’ll have two amazing articles, and the chief will kiss my feet in adoration.”

Kelli scoffed. “Yeah, right. I’m starting to worry about you. Have you hit your head? You imagine things, like the chief being a teddy bear, a mysterious vigilante, and I’m a gullible twit.”

It was difficult to hold on to her frustration when Kelli had such a way with words. “I’ll accept the fact I’m wrong about the chief, but you’re definitely a twit and the man roaming the streets and kicking criminals’ butts is real.”

“Orla, the only people who’ve seen that weirdo were either wasted or high. One person said he was as wide as a brick wall, and another swore it was a woman who cuffed a couple of muggers. You’re a journalist; those contradictions don’t make sense.”

Even if she hadn’t seen the vigilante with her own eyes, Orla knew when to listen to her gut feeling. And her stubbornness had paid off more times than not. “Well, we’ll see who was right and who was wrong once I’ve finished investigating.”

Kelli didn’t look convinced, but there was no way to help it. “Just be careful. Losing your job is one thing, but roaming the streets at night will get you killed.”

“Says the woman who survived the worst neighborhood in Chicago.”

Kelli grimaced. “I did survive, yes. But barely. As a black woman from a shitty family and an even shittier environment, I got wise. And you should listen to me if you don’t want your white ass kicked or your blond hair chopped off.”

What she described wasn’t the worst a woman could suffer if her luck ran out. “Don’t worry about me. I was a foreign correspondent for years, and I’m used to war zones.”

“Babe, I trust you, but remember Chicago is a war zone in its own right. You may be one of its daughters, but never doubt it won’t swallow you whole and spit you out in a second without regrets if you’re not careful.”

* * *

Kelli’slast words stayed with Orla for a long time. Not because of their drama, but because her friend was freakishly serious, which was unlike her.

The sun had made his usual arc over the land as she hopped into her car to start her assignment. Being asked to stay after work was unusual, but her boss had done exactly that the day before. Once the newsroom had emptied, he’d called her in to his office.

Her surprise had been seeing Chicago’s chief of police in the same room. She had turned from intrigued to enthusiastic. She had a reputation as an investigative reporter with a particular interest in the darker side of her city, but what they wanted from her was a little different to her usual assignments.

Chicago was like a living, breathing creature, and if you knew where to look, and kept your ear to the ground, there were murmurs. And one had been particularly persistent over the last few months. And those murmurs, which the chief of police confirmed, was that a new and powerful drug was being manufactured by an independent group in Europe, and that made every gang and mob boss bristle throughout Windy City.

The drug, named Phantom, was said to be powerful, addictive, hallucinogenic, giving users the buzz of their life if it didn’t kill them in the process. Until last year, the drug hadn’t crossed the Atlantic, but now it seemed it was only a matter of days before it hit the streets.

What had put the authorities on edge was how easy the authorized dealers could make it—authorized being the operative word. The only comfort they had was that the formula hadn’t leaked. The entire force was on it, but their contacts had proven useless so far, so they’d turned to Orla to investigate.

Anticipation flooded her veins, but her boss made sure she was covered against whatever she did, and that the Tribune could publish her report as an exclusive.

Indeed, Orla had friends and contacts in unusual places that had helped her over the years, but deep down, she knew to be careful, even paranoid, was crucial to her success.

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