Sin (Sinclair O'Malley Book 1)

by J. M. LeDuc

  “What about you?” Sin asked waving her gun at Westcott.

  “We’re on the same damn team,” he scowled. “If Frank doesn’t have any answers, neither do I.”

  “Then this topic of conversation just ended,” Sin said.

  Graham huffed a deep breath. “You’re not making this easy, Sin.”

  “Good, that wasn’t my intention. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have people expecting me for lunch.”

  “We’re not done yet,” Westcott said.

  Sin could see a sly grin creep up his face. It reminded her of the way poison oak creeps along the trunk of a tree. She stared a hole through Westcott. “Frank do me a favor and pick up his gun,” she finally said.

  He did and went to hand it back to Westcott.

  “I’ll take that,” Sin said.

  “That’s my gun!” Westcott yelled.

  “Stop acting like a whiny baby,” Sin said, taking the gun from Frank. “I wouldn’t trust a pussy like you with a fucking butter knife, never mind a loaded gun.” She removed the magazine and tossed it to Westcott.

  “I have back up ammo,” he smirked.

  Sin pulled her other revolver, both aimed in his direction. “And I have ten reasons why you will holster your sidearm. Is that clear enough?”

  Westcott’s indignation increased with the redness of his complexion. “Tell her, Frank,” he said, holstering his gun.

  Sin acted as if she were Annie Oakley and spun her revolvers back into her holster. “Tell me what?” she said straddling her bike.

  “We have eleven dead civilians—eleven prominent civilians—scattered across the states and Europe.”

  Sin shrugged. “It looks like you have some work to do.”

  Graham pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. “They were all murdered with in a one week time frame in a very organized strike.”

  Sin lowered her sunglasses and took the envelope from Graham.

  He pointed to the envelope in her hands. “We have visual confirmation of these individuals entering the cities where the victims resided.” He nodded toward the envelope. “Open it.”

  She did. Inside were pictures of each member of her unit. She flipped through the pictures and handed them back to him. “Am I supposed to know these people? I’ve never seen them before.”

  “Bullshit.” Westcott pointed at her. “They are all members of your unit. Fucking mercenaries. The lowest of the low.”

  Sin removed her sunglasses, sucked air in through gritted teeth, and shrugged. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. And before you get your panties in a wad, unless you can show me documented proof of what you’re saying, I would stifle it before I sue you and the U.S. government for libel.”

  “Sin,” Graham stood next to her bike—a look of compassion on his face, “we need to stop fighting and work together to solve this and figure out who the mole is and why these people were killed.”

  Sin lowered her sunglasses. “Now, you want to work together? You’re a little late, don’t you think, Frank?”

  “So you’re just going to ride away into the sunset?” Westcott yelled. “Just like you, O’Malley. Same old modus operandi.”

  Sin started her bike and pulled away, giving Westcott a middle finger salute as she left.

  A mile down the road, Sin reached into her shirt and pulled a taped wire from her skin. “Did you get that?” she asked.

  “Every word,” Charlie answered.

  “Can you match verbal signatures to what we pulled off of the computers from the church?”

  “It will take a while, you and Fletcher did one hell of a job taking out the audio feed. I’m having to go back to the old audio messages between the members we found on Heap’s computer to try to get a voice match.”

  “Did you hear Westcott’s words—modus operandi. It’s him, I’d stake my life on it. He’s El fucking Presidente.”

  CHAPTER 50

  Three months later

  Charlie had reconfigured the mole’s encryption code and was able to stay one step ahead of the bureau. Every time the FBI started to get close to Sin’s men, they disappeared. He had also found a way to untangle the electronically altered voices of the guests and compare them to the recorded voices of Westcott and Graham. Sin was right, the leader of the slavery ring was indeed Folsom Westcott.

  Charlie wanted Sin to talk to Frank Graham, but she refused. Her answer was that she trusted Frank, but she no longer trusted the system. Sin’s unit was still at large—still hunted—and she wasn’t taking any chances.

  Westcott seemed to be of single purpose. He had made it his mission to bring in Sin and her unit for murder.

  “How are you?”

  Sin sat on a park bench, smoking a cigarette. “A little chilly,” she said cradling her cell phone to her ear.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Charlie said.

  “You sound out of breath. Are you pacing the library?” Sin brought the cigarette to her lips and inhaled. Blowing out the smoke, she silently laughed. “I know what you meant.”

  “How’d you know I was moving?”

  “We’ve talked so much in the past months, I can tell when you’re pacing or about to pass gas.”

  “Nice.” Sarcasm oozed through Charlie’s voice. “So answer my question, how are you?”

  “I’m as good as can be expected,” she said. “I have half the bureau looking for me and my men, and I’m tired of watching Westcott.”

  “I might have a way to get you and your unit out of that mess.”

  “Hold that thought,” Sin said. “Old business before new. Have you had any luck identifying Marilyn?”

  “No.” Charlie sounded exasperated. “Whoever she is, she has disappeared.”

  Sin leaned forward on the bench, elbows to knees. “She hasn’t disappeared, Charlie. She’s just dug in, but eventually she will surface. Shit always floats to the top.”

  “You have a way with words, Sinclair.”

  “Whatever. I know if I stay on Westcott, she’ll show. That’s as clear as I can be.”

  “You know or you have a hunch.”

  “Same thing.” Sin took a final drag off her cigarette and flicked it on the grass. “So, tell me your great idea to get my men and me out of this mess.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” Charlie said. “All of you.”

  Sin sat back on the bench and waited for the punch line—none came.

  The silence was broken by the sound of laughter—her own. “Only the man who found the gun in the grassy knoll could think up such shit.”

  Sin hung up the phone and pulled her leather jacket tighter against the wind. She stood up and looked across the street at 935 Pennsylvania Avenue. For the first time in months, the view brought a smile to her face.

  CHAPTER 51

  Sin sat across from Troy and Charlie in an all-night crowded coffee shop in Alexandria, Virginia. She stared over the top of her cup, looking between the wisps of steam. “You didn’t say anything about bringing him with you.”

  “You didn’t say not to.”

  “Do the two of you mind? I don’t appreciate being talked about as if I wasn’t sitting right in front of you,” Troy said.

  “You’re not sitting right in front of me,” Sin replied. “I never saw you.”

  “Makes sense,” he smirked, “since I wouldn’t have known it was you unless you were sitting across from me. What’s up with the mousy-brown hair and looking like a bag lady?”

  “Not to mention your clothes,” Charlie added. “When did you become Amish?”

  Sin sipped her coffee. “Screw you both, but you have to admit, the disguise is good. I purposely bumped into Westcott at the mall yesterday and he didn’t even notice me.”

  “That was an unnecessary risk,” Charlie said.

  Sin s
at back and adjusted her coat. “I’ll be dead in a couple of days. I needed a little excitement before going to my grave.”

  “Speaking of which, we need to go over the plans with your unit. How can we reach them?”

  Sin turned her head from left to right, peering at the people in the coffee shop. “They’re all here and wired. Everything you say, they can hear.”

  Charlie and Troy looked about. The shop’s patrons were either involved in personal conversations or working on laptops. Every one of them blended in with their surroundings.

  Charlie smiled and stroked his white beard. “I’m glad I won’t have to repeat myself.”

  “Me, too,” Sin said. “We’ve talked so much lately, I feel like we’re dating. So what’s the plan?”

  Charlie opened a backpack, pulled out a file, and slid it across the table. “The twelve of you are flying out of the country tomorrow. Different cities and airports. We don’t want it to look too cheesy. Just before you board the planes, I want you to show yourself to the security cameras. In a way,” Charlie emphasized, “that makes Westcott and his men think they’ve spotted you, not like you’re trying to be seen.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I figured I would send you someplace you’re familiar with. Nicaragua. I also thought you might be able to clean up a few loose ends down there before your demise.”

  “What loose ends?”

  “A new ring has started to form. Page three in the file contains a biography and photo of Manuel Juarez, the—”

  Sin grabbed the file and tore it open to Manuel’s bio. “There must be some mistake, this man can’t be starting a slave ring.” The words spilled from her lips at a frantic speed. “He’s my contact—a friend.”

  Charlie hesitated before answering. “My intel tells me different.”

  “Your intel is wrong!” Sin slammed her fist on the table.

  Charlie leaned forward and whispered. “Calm down, Agent. I’m just telling you what has come across the wire.”

  Sin mimicked his movements and tone. “I’m not an agent and the ‘wire’ is wrong. Do the weapons of mass destruction in Iraq ring a bell?”

  Charlie dropped his shoulders as his posture relaxed. “You have two days to figure it out, because on the third day—you die.”

  Sin thumbed through the file. “This is thick, how complex is your plan?”

  “There are twelve copies in there. I want everyone to memorize what’s in there and burn the contents, tonight.”

  “Done,” Sin said. She fanned out the packets of information and over the next fifteen minutes while she, Charlie, and Troy were talking, eight men and three women walked by and nonchalantly picked up a packet before leaving the coffee house. The last one—Fletcher—winked at him as he passed by.

  CHAPTER 52

  Sin lay wrapped in nothing but a silk sheet and Troy’s embrace as she watched the sun rise over the nation’s capital. Her thoughts were far away, thinking of the days to come.

  Troy stirred and stretched, bringing her back to the moment. “Mornin’,” his gravelly voice sounded somewhere between a breath and a moan, “damn glad to see you’re still here. I was afraid last night was just a dream.”

  Sin cradled her head into his chest and let her hand slide over his washboard abs. “Not a dream, just a break from reality.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I wish you would reconsider and let me go with you. I’d feel—”

  “No. We discussed it last night. Nothing has changed. I need you here, keeping an eye on Westcott.”

  She felt his chest rise and fall as he sighed. “But—”

  Sin twisted her body, and slithered on top of him. “Do you want to spend what little time we have arguing or—”

  Troy wrapped one hand in her hair and pulled her lips to his. “Good answer,” she mouthed, biting his lower lip.

  Sin handed Troy a towel as he emerged from the shower. “Let’s see,” she said, eyes twinkling, “make up sex, frustration sex, good morning-got to go sex, and shower sex.” She held up one finger for each point, “I think we have all the items on my list covered, how about you?”

  “For now,” Troy said, pulling her to him and kissing her hard.

  Sin let their kiss linger and then pushed away. “Down, Cowboy. You have a maggot to follow, and I need to get to the airport.”

  Troy ran his fingers through her hair. “It’s nice to see you back to black. The bitch vibe works better when your hair is as dark as your soul.”

  Sin’s full lips turned up at the corners, resulting in a sultry expression. “Such a smooth talker, Stubbs; no wonder you banged all the girls in high school.”

  He snapped her with his towel. “Hurry up and get ready.”

  Sin eyed herself in the mirror, it felt sacrilegious wearing a sack-like, sky blue dress. “Thank god this is the last time I need to wear this piece of shit,” she mumbled. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall when Westcott gets confirmation my unit has left the country. His head is gonna spin like that chick in The Exorcist.”

  She draped her head in a dingy, grey scarf, concealing her mousy brown wig. “Let’s go,” she said.

  “One minute, Agent O’Malley,” Troy said as he checked his weapon and slid it into his shoulder holster.

  “You’re just doing that to make me jealous,” she said, hip checking Troy. “I feel naked without my weapons.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s going to be hard enough getting through airport security without carrying guns and knives.”

  “Charlie said he sent everything yesterday,” she agreed. “Getting them back will be the first indication that the intel on Manuel is a bunch of crap.”

  “If not?”

  Sin’s expression turned dark. “If not, I will find a blade and gut him like a fish.”

  Two hours later, Sin had made it through security at Dulles International Airport and waited in the boarding area. The plan was simple enough. She would board a flight to Miami, Florida, from which she would grab a flight for Tonconin International Airport in Tegucigalpa, Honduras.

  Each of the members of her unit would do the same from other U.S. airports. They would all meet up outside of Choluteca: Manuel’s hometown.

  Sin arrived in Miami early enough to check in on her unit and Charlie.

  Everyone was either en route to or at their perspective airports.

  Sin sent a group text to her unit, tossed the throwaway phone in the trash, and sat back and smiled—a final going away present for Westcott.

  Sin slouched back in her chair and closed her eyes. It’s funny how life works, she thought, a few months ago, I never would have dreamed I would have been reinstated in the bureau, never mind go back home. She sighed and thought about her father. A warmth flushed through her—a feeling of relief that she had the chance to reconcile her relationship with him before he passed.

  “Now boarding flight 249 for Tegucigalpa, Honduras.”

  The boarding call jarred Sin from her thoughts. She gathered her carry-on and made her way to the ladies room.

  A few minutes later, she re-emerged sans the dress and wig. She was dressed in her signature black jeans, grey t-shirt, and black stiletto heels. She was the full embodiment of her own persona—beautiful, bold, and bodacious. She sashayed her way to the front of the line, handed her ticket to the attendant, and reached back to scratch her head with her middle finger, before walking into the jetway.

  CHAPTER 53

  Folsom Westcott fumed, stomped, and threw anything that wasn’t nailed down in the conference room.

  “Calm down, Folsom.”

  “Calm down? Do you see what the bitch just did?” Westcott said, pointing to the monitor. “She just gave me the finger. Hell,” he flipped through multiple images, “I was able to get security footage from every airport with a flight headed to Tonconin Intern
ational Airport today. Her entire fucking squad just gave me the finger!”

  Graham emitted an involuntary chuckle.

  “What the hell is so funny?”

  Graham couldn’t contain himself and burst with laughter. Watching Westcott stomp and fume like a toddler throwing a tantrum just made him laugh harder. He slowly composed himself and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “Come on, Folsom,” he said, “if the shoe were on the other foot, you’d be cracking up.”

  “But it’s not. That bitch is not above the law.”

  “That bitch did in a matter of weeks what our entire departments couldn’t do in months! You,” he poked Westcott, “are pissing in the wind with this personal vendetta.”

  Graham grabbed the computer remote out of Westcott’s hand and flipped back through the presentation. A picture of Ezekiel Miller filled the screen. “She took out the scumbag who killed our agents and our friend.” He clicked to another photo. “She took down an entire human trafficking ring and,” he clicked to a final picture, “Veloz . . .” He slammed the remote on the table, “one of the ten most wanted terrorists, single-handed, and you want to drag her in here in handcuffs like a criminal? You should be hailing her like the hero she is.”

  Westcott’s hue flushed blood red. He opened his mouth to respond, but Graham shut him up.

  “I can’t tell you how to run your department, but I can sure as hell run mine. This fucking manhunt is over.” His words were curt and his tone was final. “Knowing Sin the way I do,” he said, closing his file and heading for the door, “if I were you, I’d sleep with one eye open.”

  The door slammed behind Graham leaving Westcott alone in the conference room staring up at the dead members of the snuff ring.

  Turning away from the monitor, he pulled his personal phone from his pocket and speed dialed.