Sin wasn’t happy, but she agreed.
As Troy started his Harley, Sin made herself comfortable on the back.
Troy turned his head toward her and smirked. “Feel free to get real close if you want.”
Sin slapped his helmet. “Kiss my ass and drive.”
Troy laughed as he twisted the throttle and gunned his bike.
Within twenty minutes, Sin had subconsciously laid her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t until a carload of teenagers whistled at them at a stop light that she was even aware of her position. Embarrassed and a little mad at herself, she gave them the finger and sat up straight.
She tightened her grip on Troy’s waist when she realized they were nearing the cemetery where her mother was buried.
One block past the cemetery entrance, they pulled off the road onto a shell-rock side street. Troy shut the bike off and removed his sunglasses.
He nodded his head at the ornate, gaudy building ahead of them. “That is the Church of the New Son.”
Sin finger combed and shook out her hair. “Damn,” she said, “it’s huge.” She paused for a moment to think. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?”
Sin swung her leg off the saddle and stretched her spine. “That monstrosity must hold at least ten-thousand people. There is no way he has that many people attend his church.”
Troy smirked. “You’re as smart as you are sexy.”
Sin rolled her eyes. “Keep it in your pants and get me inside.”
Troy silently laughed. “I have one demand before we go any further.”
Sin’s hip jutted to the side at the tone of his words. She crossed her arms and scrunched up her lips. “And that would be?”
“You need to keep the attitude in check. Let me do the talking.”
Sin huffed. “Fine, let’s go.”
Five minutes later, they pulled up to a set of gold rod iron gates, which had a shield welded onto them with the letters P and H embossed in gold.
“Subtle,” Sin’s words dripped sarcasm.
She quickly surveyed the area. Security cameras and motion detectors every fifty-feet, she thought. There is a guard posted here and another posted at the church entrance and on the roof. Those I can see are all armed. What the fuck is going on in there?
While she was getting a lay of the land, the door of the security booth opened and Bubba stepped out. “Well, well, well,” he said, “it looks like Troy’s been fishin’,” he scrunched his bulbous, red nose, “and it smells like he caught himself a rotten tuna.”
Sin’s muscles contracted.
She felt Troy’s posture stiffen as she tightened her grip on his waist. He reached back and squeezed her thigh—hard.
“I brought Sergeant O’Malley here because she asked to see the church.”
As Troy continued to talk to Bubba, Sin’s senses were tingling. Her instincts told her that someone else was watching. That’s when she noticed the red light flashing on the control panel inside the security booth.
“The church is closed today,” Bubba said. “Sorry ‘bout yer luck.” He pulled a toothpick out of his jean’s pocket and flipped it in his mouth.
Troy was about to respond when Sin opened her mouth. “Why don’t we let Prophet Heap decide whether his church is open or not.”
Bubba smirked. “ ‘Fraid he ain’t here.”
Sin ignored his response. “Is that correct, Prophet? You’re not on the premises?”
She caught Troy looking at her like she was nuts—until the prophet’s voice came from the speaker.
“It would be my pleasure to show the sergeant around God’s house,” he drawled. “Please let the deputy and the sergeant through.”
Bubba flipped the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other and back again. With each flip, his face became a darker shade of red. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that his rage was increasing with his hue. He grabbed a visitor’s pass from the counter and slammed it into Troy’s hand. Bubba leaned close to Sin, pulled the toothpick from his mouth, and pointed the chewed end at her. “You embarrass me again and I’ll . . .”
Sin leaned into him and sneered. “You don’t need any help from me. You are an embarrassment to the human race.”
Troy gunned the bike as soon as the opening in the gate was wide enough. “Nice,” he said. “I asked you to do one thing, just one, and you couldn’t even do that.”
Sin just smirked as the bike lunged forward.
The guard at the entrance was another ‘punk’ from Sin’s adolescence—Ronald Shell. Dirty looks were exchanged as he led the duo into the church.
“Prophet Heap directed me to escort you to his outer office until he finishes his meeting.”
Sin’s eyes and mind were in overdrive. She couldn’t wait to get a tour of this place.
Sin flipped through magazines and continuously glanced at her watch. Patience was not one of her virtues. She stuck her wrist under Troy’s nose. “It’s been thirty minutes,” she mouthed. “Who the hell does he think he is?”
As Troy was about to answer, Heap and another man emerged from his office.
Prophet Heap’s smile was almost as big as his ego. “You remember Police Chief Miller, don’t you, Sergeant?” he asked.
Ezekiel Miller stood next to Heap, painted a pasty smile on his face, puffed out his chest, and attempted to pull his trousers past his ever-expanding waistline.
Sin took a final glance at her watch and arched her eyebrow. “I remember Patrolman Miller.” Condescension bled through her words. “Congratulations on your promotions.”
Miller’s face scrunched, turning sour. He stepped forward and belly bumped Sin.
The smell of stale liquor and tobacco permeated her personal space. Sin put her hands up in mock surrender and glanced at his enormous girth. “Whoa, Chief. We don’t want that thing to explode.”
He flipped a toothpick into his mouth.
Like father like son, Sin thought.
“You’ll find I’m not so easy to whoop as my boy, O’Malley,” he hissed, “so don’t try me.”
Sin’s expression didn’t change. “I’m not here to make enemies, Miller.”
His thick tongue protruded from his trout-like lips and flicked the toothpick into the corner
