Sin (2019 Edition) Read online

  Sin

  The Sinclair O’Malley Series Book One

  J.M. LeDuc

  Contents

  Also by J.M. LeDuc

  Praise For J.M. Leduc

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by J.M. LeDuc

  Phantom Squad Series

  &

  Trilogy of the Chosen

  Cursed Blessing

  Cursed Presence

  Cursed Days

  Cornerstone

  Short Stories

  Phantom Squad: The Beginning Trilogy of the Chosen

  Sinclair O’Malley Thrillers

  SIN

  Painted Beauty

  Domino Effect (coming soon)

  Evil Awakened Series (YA Fantasy)

  Evil Awakened

  Spirits Collide

  Demons Rise (coming in 2020)

  SIN

  By

  J.M. LeDuc

  DIGITAL EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY:

  J.M. LeDuc

  Copyright 2019 J.M. LeDuc

  PUBLISHING HISTORY:

  Suspense Publishing, Paperback and Digital Copy, May 2014

  Cover Design: Story Wrappers

  Cover Photographer: KD Ritchie

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Praise For J.M. Leduc

  “J. M LeDuc has written an action-packed sizzler of a novel with “Sin,” kicking off a new series that introduces readers to the “beautiful and bodacious” FBI agent Sinclair O’Malley. From the second she roars up to a colleague’s funeral on her vintage Harley, it is clear that the people who have been killing fellow agents and murdering young girls are in for trouble. Sin’s return to her home turf on Tumbleboat Key will pack more power than a hurricane roaring up the Florida coast as she cuts a swath through the most evil cast of villains you’d never want to meet. Fast-paced and pulsating with energy. LeDuc has a winner with “Sin.” What a woman!”

  —Paul Kemprecos, #1 New York Times bestselling author of “Grey Lady”

  “J.M. Leduc’s “Sin” is a bone-chilling tale that’s as cautionary as it is timely. This blistering thriller brilliantly re-imagines the Florida of James W. Hall and John D. McDonald, serving up a powerful female protagonist who’s every bit a match for the low-lifes and corrupt power mongers who stretch all the way to the unfriendliest part of Central America. The title represents a double-entendre all onto itself, just one of the many highlights of a book chock full of them. “Sin” is a seminal tale sure to stay with you long after the final page is flipped and make you long for the next entry in what is sure to be a stellar series.”

  —Jon Land, bestselling author of “The Tenth Circle”

  “ “Sin” is a fast-paced, action-packed suspense novel that you won’t be able to put down. J.M. LeDuc offers up a wonderful story with a cast of characters and a roller coaster plot that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Highly recommended.”

  —Joseph Badal, award-winning author of “The Lone Wolf Agenda”

  “This is a thriller you don’t want to miss. LeDuc has shown he’s on top of his game with some of his best writing. I won’t be missing the rest of this new series!”

  —Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “The Other Side: Melinda’s Story”

  1

  The smells of the fish pier permeated Alex Bell’s olfactory senses as he stepped out of the black sedan: salt, suntan oil, diesel fuel, and the fresh catch of the day. If he inhaled deep enough, he could almost smell something else—death. His eyes darted back and forth, quick to survey his surroundings. He walked toward the beach and could hear the sound of the sand crunch under his black wingtips. The seagulls and palm trees gave the illusion of tranquility. Everything he smelled, heard, and saw should have brought back fond memories of his childhood, but they didn’t. Approaching the yellow crime scene tape, he knew his memories of the Florida Keys had been washed away for good—washed away by the death of three of his best agents.

  The local police chief stood just on the other side of the crime tape. Alex pulled his credentials out of the inner pocket of his suit coat and flashed them toward the chief. The large man briefly glanced at the badge, took the well-chewed toothpick out of his mouth, and slid his mirror-lensed imitation Ray Bans down his reddened, bulbous nose.

  “I’m Special Agent Alex Bell. I would appreciate it if you could give me a few minutes.”

  The chief yanked a ratty handkerchief from the pocket of his polyester pants and wiped the sweat from his furrowed brow. With a sigh of what looked like exasperation, he tapped his nametag with a nicotine stained finger—it read, Ezekiel Miller.

  Miller eyed Alex and said, “Federal Bureau of Investee-gation, huh?” He looked around at the small town fishing pier. “You boys must be slow. Guess you must of caught all them bathrobe wearin’ sand niggers that bombed the good ole U.S. of A.?”

  Internally, the police chief’s language or lack of it scratched Alex’s conscience like nails on a chalkboard. Externally, his appearance didn’t change one iota. He slipped his badge back inside his jacket and continued to stare at the pear-shaped, potty-mouthed, star-wearing inbred.

  Alex lifted the crime tape and stood close enough to the sheriff to tell what shade of gray his ‘white’ tee-shirt was. “One of the things we’re taught during our training is to multitask,” he said.

  Chief Miller cocked his head to the side like a confused hound dog.

  “You know,” Alex continued, “like being able to eat fried foods and smo
ke cigarettes at the same time. That sort of thing.”

  Miller tossed the toothpick on the ground and popped a new one in his mouth. He poked Alex in the chest with his finger. “You makin’ fun of me?”

  Alex glanced down at the sheriff’s finger and back up to his sunburned face. “Before things get out of hand, let’s get three things straight.” He held up one finger. “I want to be here as much as you want me here, so the sooner you can answer my questions, the sooner we can end this ‘friendship.’ Two,” another finger went up, “I’m here because three men have washed up on the shore of your little hamlet. All dead and . . .”

  “We can’t help it when tourists try to go fishin’ in bad weather and capsize their boat.”

  Still holding up his two fingers, Alex was beginning to lose his cool. “They didn’t drown, asshole; they had been drugged and shot in the back of their heads from close range.”

  Miller moved the toothpick from the left side of his mouth to the right using his tongue. “Them bodies just washed up yesterday, how you know all that?”

  “It’s called forensics. Now, what I would really like is for you to show me exactly where you found the bodies and then I want you to take me to where their boat was impounded.”

  “Wait,” Miller smirked, holding up two of his own fingers, “that’s only two, what’s number three or did you miscount?”

  Alex removed his sunglasses and snarled at the sheriff. “Three, you ever poke me again or touch me in any fashion, I will rip your finger off and shove it so far up your ass, it will take you a month to shit it back out.”

  He didn’t wait for a response, just turned toward the water and walked towards the CSI officers.

  2

  Ten days later

  The funeral service was well underway when the minister was interrupted by the deep rumbling of a motorcycle’s exhaust. As it neared the gravesite, a few mourners shook their heads, and a few others stifled a grin.

  Frank Graham, the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation kept his head down, but peered over his shades at the rider as she killed the engine of her 1952 Harley Davidson Panhead. The late morning sun reflected off of the bike’s white pearlescent paint and onto her mirror-lensed sunglasses as she swung her leg off the saddle. She stood next to her bike, removed the rubber band holding her ponytail, and shook out her long, raven colored hair. Arching her back to stretch, her curves caught everyone’s eyes.

  A voice chirped in his earpiece. “She’s headed your way.”

  The preacher looked back down at the good book and finished reading from Psalms 23. Finished, he closed the Bible and looked around at the hundreds of people who were gathered. “Even though Alex didn’t have any living blood relatives, I would be remiss by saying he had no family.” He spread his arms at the sea of humanity. “His family is here paying tribute to his life and mourning his passing.”

  When the service was over, the dark haired biker walked toward the casket, removed the black glove from her right hand, and wiped the tears that ran down her cheeks. With a tenderness that was antithetical to her demeanor, she placed a white rose on the mahogany coffer.

  “We haven’t had much chance to talk in the past few years,” she mumbled to herself as she stood over the casket, “but I’m going to miss you.” Once again, she wiped the tears as they streamed faster down her tanned skin. “You were my hero,” she mumbled. Her eyes darted right and left, glancing at all the polished wingtips in her peripheral vision. “All that was good and right about the bureau.”

  She composed herself, pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes, stood, and turned from the gravesite and faced her past.

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Agent O’Malley.”

  She eyed the man from top to bottom and back again. “Nice suit. Did Men in Black have a wardrobe giveaway?”

  She replaced her glasses and attempted to leave. She didn’t get ten feet before ‘clones’ of the first blocked her path.

  “Is this the game we’re gonna play, Frank?” she asked.

  “This isn’t a game, Agent. I need you to come in and I’m willing to do what is necessary to make that happen.”

  Sinclair O’Malley stood eye-to-eye with Frank Graham, ripped her glasses off and burned a death-stare into his flesh. “I’m no longer an employee of the bureau or the United States, so cut the bull with the agent crap.”

  Graham didn’t blink, he just smirked. “You left us no choice, Sin. You broke every directive you were given. You went so far outside the system, you’re lucky you weren’t brought up on charges.”

  Her jade green eyes pierced Graham’s shell. “What’s with the ‘us’ shit? It was your testimony that put the nail in my coffin.” She snapped her head toward the other agents. “In fact, Alex Bell was the only man with enough balls to stand by me. The rest of you empty-sack bastards can go to hell.” She again addressed Frank Graham. “I came to pay my respects to the only man worthy of them. Now if you will excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

  “It’s not that easy, O’Malley,” Graham said. “We have unfinished business and I need to take you in.”

  Sin took a step toward her bike. Again the agents moved in, each with their hand on the grip of their holstered weapons.

  “That’s not a card you want to play, Frank,” she said. “Do you think I would just show up alone?”

  Graham snickered as he stepped closer to Sin. “We have this cemetery surrounded. You have nobody.”

  The left side of Sin’s full lips turned upward as she returned the snicker. “You want to roll the dice on that one?”

  Graham pushed a button on his jacket. “Any sign of hostiles?”

  “Negative,” came the voice in his earpiece.

  Sin stepped toward her ex-boss.

  He could smell her perfume mixed with sweat. The aroma, seductive and evil, drained the color from his face. He closed his eyes, scrunched his nose, and exhaled through his nostrils.

  “We can both piss into the wind,” Sin said, “you can let me walk out of here, or you can tell me what this little show is really about . . .” Frank opened his mouth to speak, but Sin continued, “because we both know you have nothing on me.”

  Sin shouldered her way past the other agents and began to straddle her bike. Graham stood, wide-stanced, and placed his hands on the handlebars. Sin settled into her seat, crossed her arms across her chest and waited. Her eyebrows went up and her head cocked to the side.

  Frank dropped his head and shook it from side to side. “I want you to come back in,” he mumbled.

  Sin pulled on her earlobe with a well-manicured painted nail. “What was that? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

  He looked straight at her. “You heard me.”

  Sin leaned forward and kick-started her Harley.

  “Damn you, Sin!” Frank yelled over the growl of the bike. “Turn that fucking thing off.”

  She tapped her gearshift with the toe of her left boot and began to let out the clutch.

  “I said I want you back,” he screamed.

  Sin squeezed the brake and stopped her bike. “You see, that wasn’t so hard, was it.”

  Frank bit his tongue. He wasn’t about to give her any more ammunition.

  “Follow me to the bureau and I’ll fill you in.”

  “Why?”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why do you want me back?”

  He looked around and eyed the other agents who were still loitering about. “I prefer to talk in private. Please—for Alex.”

  Sin nodded. “That’s all you had to say.”

  3

  Sin followed Frank Graham to 935 Pennsylvania Avenue: FBI Headquarters.

  She began walking away from her bike, turned around and took her gun-belt, complete with holsters and revolvers out of her saddlebag and strapped it around her waist.

  Frank shook his head as she strutted towards him. “This isn’t the wild, wild west.”

  Sin looked around the D.C ne
ighborhood they were in. “Close enough,” she said, “and besides, I’m not leaving them here. You hire some iffy people: if they weren’t wearing a badge, they’d be wearing a prison jumpsuit.”

  Frank smirked.

  Once inside, he walked straight through the metal detector, but Sin wasn’t as lucky. Bells went off like a winning slot machine.

  Sin rolled her eyes as her gun-belt was removed by a female guard. Frank stood to the side smiling.

  “You think this is funny,” Sin said as two pearl-handled Colt 45 revolvers were removed from around her waist.

  Frank just shook his head.

  “Do you have any other weapons?” the guard asked.