by J. M. LeDuc
“Your invitation? I could have sworn it came from the White House.”
Graham sipped his martini. “I figured that would help get you here. I knew you would love another chance to lurk around the halls of the White House.”
Charlie laughed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been inside. It’s always nice to see what changes a new administration makes.”
Their chitchat stopped as Westcott entered Charlie’s peripheral vision. Like everyone else, he was in formal attire. He strutted around like Napoleon Bonaparte and on his arm was his Josephine.
Graham watched Charlie watch Westcott. “Did you bring me the evidence proving your allegations against him?”
Charlie accepted another drink from a passing waiter. “Not tonight, Frank. Let’s just ring in the New Year like a couple of spies and talk business tomorrow.”
Graham waved to a couple of passing politicians. “What about O’Malley? How is she?”
“Why do you speak of the dead, Frank?”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Then, I guess, you will just have to wait and ask her yourself the next time you see her.”
“Tell her I’m still holding her position open for her when you talk to her.”
Charlie tipped his glass toward Graham. “I’m too old for all this glitz. I’m going to call it an early evening. Good night, Frank.”
Charlie handed his valet ticket to an all American looking young man—Troy—who soon returned with his car. Along with a tip, Charlie slid a piece of paper in his palm.
Troy grabbed the next ticket and ran for the guest’s ride. In the car, he read the note and called Sin.
“Black Tails and Emerald Green gown.”
“Gotcha,” Sin answered.
Shortly after the guests counted down the New Year, the event ended. Troy watched for Westcott and Maggie to leave and grabbed Westcott’s ticket as soon as he laid eyes on them.
Again, he phoned Sin. “Black Lincoln Towne car. I’m placing a GPS inside the passenger rear wheel-well.”
“That’s his ‘company’ car. Fully armored,” Sin said. “I’ll take it from here. Let me know if the bastard tips.”
“Will do,” Troy laughed.
“Charlie, you copy?”
“I’m here, Sinclair.”
“I have eyes on Westcott’s townhome, I just need you to follow them and let me know if they deviate from the destination.”
“I have the GPS pinging on my dash. I’ll stay in touch.”
Thirty minutes later, Sin watched as Westcott drove his car into his garage.
Sin leaned away from her vantage point, watched, and waited. In that moment of silence, she thought of all the pain they had caused and of the words Westcott said when they had raided the church.
With money comes power and with power, we can do and live as we please, and nothing you do will change that.
The stupid bastard gave himself away with that ‘Modus Operandi’ bullshit, she silently snickered.
She took a deep breath and waited for Westcott to enter his townhome.
Sin watched as Westcott and Magdalene entered the bedroom and waited for the perfect moment. As they hurried out of their evening attire, she threw open the closet door and stepped out.
Westcott’s mouth dropped open and his complexion ashened at her sight.
“It’s like seeing a ghost, isn’t it, Folsom,” she said as she pointed both of her 45s at the pair.
“How could you―” he stammered.
“I thought she was dead!”
Sin looked at Maggie. “Not everything is as it seems, is it Mrs. Heap?”
Perspiration clung to Maggie’s bare shoulders. “I can explain,” she said. “I was a victim, just like you, and―”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sin yelled.
She looked back at Westcott who seemed to gain confidence in his situation. He held his hands out and smirked. “Go ahead and cuff me. This isn’t over yet.”
“Yes, it is,” Sin said, looking at both of them with dead eyes.
With a steady pull of the triggers, she thought, Tonight, I am an instrument of change.
La Perla Angel de la Muerte.
61
The rifles aimed high and the shots rang out in a twenty-one-gun salute. Politicians, friends, and acquaintances gathered around Folsom Westcott’s gravesite as the nation said its final goodbye.
All the guests were dressed in their finest mourning dress―black suits for the men and black dresses for the women. All but one. One was dressed in black leather pants, a black tee-shirt, and black stiletto heels, all covered in an ankle length black leather coat with an open seam up the back.
Once the crowd dispersed, Graham stood face-to-face with Sin. “There aren’t many people who could have entered the Secretary of Homeland Security’s townhome and shot him from point-blank range,” Graham said.
“No, nice to see you alive, or how have you been. That’s not very politically correct of you, Frank.”
“Cut the shit, O’Malley,” Graham steamed. “It didn’t have to end this way and you know it.”
“Yes, it did.” Sin turned to walk back towards her bike.
“Sin,” Frank yelled, “I have to take you in. Damn it, you know that!”
She turned to face him. “This all seems so familiar, doesn’t it, Frank. Do you remember when you asked me to take this assignment? Do you remember standing here at Alex’s funeral?”
“What’s your point, Sin?”
“My point is,” she pointed to Westcott’s gravesite, “I finished the assignment. You wanted justice for Alex and the others? Now, you have it.”
“But―”
“But, nothing, Frank.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to take the law into your own hands.”
“Bullshit, Frank. The bureau does it all the time. You want to take me in? Be my guest,” Sin pulled a file out of her coat and handed it to Graham, “but before you do, read this.”
He opened the file. “Jesus, O’Malley,” he said, shutting the file, “where did you get pictures like this?”
“Just the tip of the iceberg, Frank. In that file is everything Westcott was involved in: human trafficking, pedophilia, and snuff films, not to mention being a government mole. Copies of all the files are in there.”
“What do you mean copies?”
Sin swung a leg over the seat of her bike. “Read it and then we’ll talk.”
“How am I supposed to reach you?”
“Capital Grille at noon, tomorrow.”
Sin looked up from her menu as Frank Graham took a seat. Few words were spoken as they ordered drinks and eyed the menus. Once their drinks were served, Graham opened the conversation.
“I can’t tell you how many dinners I had here with Folsom,” he sighed. “The man I knew and the man I read about in the file you gave me couldn’t be more polar opposites.”
“And yet, they were one in the same,” Sin answered.
“After I read the file, I went back and viewed your last case.”
Sin’s eyes rose in surprise. “Why?”
“I needed a different perspective. I wanted to see what drove you to do—”
“The right thing.” Sin finished his sentence. “You want to know what drives me Frank? I’ll tell you. Justice drives me.”
Frank leaned in across the table. “You call this justice?”
Sin leaned forward, closing the gap between. “You’re damn right I do.” They stared at each other until Frank turned away, diverting his sight. “Look me in the eyes,” Sin said, “and tell me that if we brought Westcott and Ramirez in to custody, they would have been convicted of murder.”
“Sinclair, we can only do our job and let the system do the rest.”
“Not,” she said through gritted teeth, “when it’s the fucking system on trial. Christ, Frank, he had federal judges in his pocket.”
“So, where does this leave us?”
“Wit
h a closed case,” Sin answered.
“You mentioned that this file contains copies. If this case is closed, I would like the originals.”
“I have one more request before I turn over the originals.”
Graham sat back and crossed his arms. “And that would be?”
“I have eleven good men who have fought for justice from outside the system for the past six years. They would like to work from the inside.”
“Speak clearer, Sin.”
“I would like my unit admitted into the next recruit class at the academy.”
“On one condition of my own,” Graham said.
“That is?”
“Upon completion of their training, your unit gets split up.”
Sin nodded. “There is always the annual Christmas party.”
“How am I supposed to find eleven ghosts?” Frank asked.
“Leave me business cards and I will see that they get them.”
Frank pulled a leather business card holder from his coat pocket and placed the cards on the table. Within the next few minutes, eleven people got up from tables around them, walked by, and took a card on their way out.
Fletcher slapped him on his back as he limped by. “We’ll be in touch.”
A few minutes later, Sin stood to leave.
Graham turned to Sin as they walked out the front door. “So where does this leave the two of us?”
She held up her hands in mock arrest. “Up to you, Frank.”
He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a badge―Sin’s badge. “I think you dropped this some time back. Hold on to it. I’ll be in touch.”
Sin reached out with pearl-painted nails and traced the cold metal with her fingers. “Thanks, Frank.”
Sin straddled her bike and kick-started the Harley.
“Agent,” Graham yelled over the wail of the exhaust “answer your phone when I call.”
Sin pulled her mirrored shades down over her eyes, flashed her pearly whites, and twisted hard on the throttle, leaving Frank in a cloud of dust.
Dedication
When writing a story with a strong female protagonist, it only makes sense to dedicate it to the strong women in my life—three generations of them.
To my daughter, Chelsea, your independent spirit and love for life makes me so proud to be your dad. Wherever life takes you, I know you will leave your mark. Follow your dream and never settle for second best.
To my wife, Sherri, you are the rock (and roll) of my life. With a quiet strength, you lead by example, but you can be a hurricane of emotion when it’s appropriate. I am blessed to share my life with you.
To my mother, Judy—the real J.M. LeDuc—your memory lives on in the hearts of all who knew you. Through your life, you taught me how to face every day with a smile and to have the courage to fight the unwinnable battles. I thank you for passing down your love of the written word, your values, and your ‘attitude.’ It may have skipped a generation, but it is in full bloom in your granddaughters, Chelsea and Lauren. You would be so proud.
Acknowledgments
I would like to send a special acknowledgment out to all those who fight the battle against human trafficking. You save countless lives on a daily basis, yet you go unnamed and don’t look for accolades. Thank you, and may God bless you for all you do.
About the Author
Mark Adduci, writing as J. M. LeDuc, is a native Bostonian, who transplanted to South Florida in 1985. He shares his love and life with his wife, Sherri and his daughter, Chelsea.
Blessed to have had a mother who loved the written word, her passion was passed on to him. It is in her maiden name he writes. When he is not crafting the plot of his next thriller, his alter ego is busy working as a professor at The Academy of Nursing and Health Occupations, a nursing college in West Palm Beach, Florida.
J.M. LeDuc’s first novel, “Cursed Blessing,” won a Royal Palm Literary Award in 2008 as an unpublished manuscript in the thriller category and was published in 2010. The rest of the Trilogy of the Chosen: “Cursed Presence” and “Cursed Days” followed in 2012, as well as a novella, “Phantom Squad”—a prequel to the trilogy. “Cornerstone,” the continuation of the Phantom Squad series was published in 2013 to critical acclaim.
“Sin” is the first book in the new Sinclair O’Malley series.
J.M. is a proud member of the prestigious International Thriller Writers (ITW) as well as the Florida Writers Association (FWA) and loves to interact with his fans. He can be reached at [email protected] and on Facebook on his author page.
