“Now, that FBI agent,” the voice said, “she’s got a head on her shoulders. I like her!”
The voice paused and Ash nervously waited.
“Nevertheless, if she gets in the way of the art, she will have to be dealt with. Nothing gets in the way of the art.”
Ash had been stalking his latest canvas for the past twenty-four hours. He now knew that her name was Sylvia Lang and she worked at a printing company in South Miami. In the time he had been following her, she hadn’t met up with any friends, or had much communication with anybody. The best part, she was plain—the perfect canvas on which to create.
It was a little after two a.m. when Ash made his way back to the Grove condominium where Sylvia lived.
It was time…
Time to begin his newest creation.
16
The more Sin reviewed her notes, the more Miranda Stokler’s art and her discussion with Ashley seemed to stick out in her mind.
As she stared at the Stokler names, she added other items of importance on the whiteboard. But then, a familiar voice—one she had hoped she would never hear again—ruined Sin’s concentration. The voice of Jack McGuire.
“I thought my ears deceived me when Director Graham said Sinclair O’Malley was in Miami.”
Sin snapped the dry-erase marker closed and turned to see Jack and a younger agent standing in the doorway. Behind them was a red-faced Evelyn mouthing, “Sorry.”
“I thought you’d be riding a desk in Washington by now, Jack,” Sin said, walking toward them. “I mean, that was the plan right? Stick your head so far up someone’s ass that they wouldn’t have any choice but to promote you? I guess kissing up isn’t the yellow brick road you thought it would be.”
Sin moved her line of focus from Jack to Evelyn and gave her a wink. A relieved grin crept onto Evelyn’s face as she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
Jack adjusted the cuff-linked starched sleeves of his shirt and straightened his tie. “You always did have a way with words and a vivid imagination, Sin.”
“It’s Agent O’Malley,” she said. “Let’s not forget who’s in charge.”
Sin concentrated her attention on the younger agent. “Agent Gonzales, I’m Agent O’Malley. Call me Sin. All my friends do.”
Agent Gonzales cleared his throat and extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please call me Alejandro.”
Jack walked past the two of them and stood in front of the whiteboard. “Care to catch us up, Agent O’Malley. I can only assume that since we were called back from Charlotte, you are in over your head here.”
“You know what they say about assumption, Jack,” Sin said, walking back to the front of the room.
She leaned against the conference table, pulled a cigarette from her backpack, and lit up.
“It’s against the law to smoke indoors, not to mention on federal property,” Jack said, never turning to look at her.
Sin blew the smoke in his direction. “If you don’t like it, quit.”
“Not on your life,” Jack mumbled. “So, the case,” he said, turning to face her, “care to fill us in?”
Sin stubbed out the cigarette and handed the three of them duplicate files containing the information she’d compiled.
They spent the next two hours going over both the data and her gut feelings.
Jack closed his file and looked at Gonzales. “I know you were instructed at the academy to follow the facts and keep emotion out of the equation. Well, I’m here to tell you that there is always an exception to every rule.” He glanced at Sin. “You’re looking at the exception. No one I have ever come across has better instincts than Agent O’Malley.”
Sin was speechless. Jack’s words weren’t expected, especially considering their past.
“What does your instinct tell you, Sin?”
Sin thought about correcting how Jack had addressed her, but she didn’t. Cut him some slack, Sin. Maybe Frank was right. Maybe he has changed.
Standing, Sin went to the whiteboard and circled Stokler. “It’s way too early to think anything,” she said, “but the Stokler name has come up twice in the early stages, and the vic does have a resemblance to Miranda Stokler’s art, so we would be remiss if we didn’t follow up on it. Ashley’s bother, George, runs another Stokler Gallery in Coral Gables. That’s our next step.”
A knock on the door interrupted her train of thought.
“The Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office is here with the evidence collected from the victim’s apartment and car,” an agent said. “Where would you like them to put it?”
“Have them bring it in here,” Sin answered. “Alejandro will organize it while Jack and I go question George Stokler. Evelyn, I hate to ask, but can you keep an ear to the hotline? We might get lucky with one of the calls.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Evelyn responded. “I’m not as spry as I used to be, so staying inside and out of the humidity sounds perfect.”
17
Sin reluctantly agreed to drive down to Coral Gables with Jack. It didn’t take long for him to bring up the past.
“I tried to find you after you left.”
“I didn’t leave, Jack, I was forced out.” She turned to face him, drawing one leg up under the other. “You were the catalyst that forced me out, or don’t you remember?”
“You left me no choice, Sin. I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” she huffed. “Do you really want to go down this road? Because if you do, I won’t stop half way.”
“I think it’s important, don’t you? Hell, we were in love at one point, or don’t you remember?”
“I remember everything. I remember when we found a butchered twelve-year-old girl. I remember the two of us digging and clawing under every rock until we found the piece of shit that trafficked her and hundreds like her. I remember—” The pitch of Sin’s voice
