53
Sin had chosen the Paradise Inn for two reasons. It was an older motel that sat back off the Overseas Highway, and you could access the rooms without having to navigate the lobby.
She had received a text from Dr. Deborah O’Rourke, about fifteen minutes out from Key Largo. 132 was all it read.
Fifteen minutes later, before she could even knock on the door, Deborah opened it and ushered the walking wounded inside.
Sin hadn’t seen Deb since her assignment in Tumbleboat. Dr. O’Rourke started out being her father’s doctor at the Naval Hospital in Key West during his battle with cancer, and ended up being a good friend.
“Damn,” Deborah said, “I guess the news reports are right after all.”
“What have you heard?” Sin asked as she laid back on the bed.
“Action News is reporting a boat explosion on Miami Beach. They are saying that at least one FBI agent is reported missing and that there might be casualties.” Deborah looked at the three bloodied and bruised bodies on the two beds in front of her. “I am assuming they are talking about you.”
Sin nodded. “I’m really sorry for contacting you the way I did, but we couldn’t go to the hospital. I don’t want anyone to know we’re alive.”
“Not even me?”
Sin raised her head, shocked by the voice she heard. Troy was standing in the doorframe of the bathroom.
Sin looked at Deb who shrugged. “I thought you might need back up.”
“Well, Stubbs,” Sin sat on the bed and held out her arms, “I guess there is always an exception to every rule.”
Troy walked over, shook the hands of Fletcher and Garcia, and then wrapped his arms around Sin, applying a delicate kiss to her lips. “It’s good to know I’m an exception.”
“Make out later,” Deborah said, “I need to fix you three up, or at least patch you up. Christ, I hope I brought enough antibiotics.
“Sin, you first. Get in the bathroom and take a hot shower. When you’re done, let me know. Stay undressed so I can assess your injuries.”
“This pain might be worth it after all,” Garcia moaned.
Deborah rolled her eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Or anything else, for that matter,” Fletcher laughed.
Two hours later, Sin and her team were stitched up, shot up with antibiotics, and discussing their next move.
“Sin, can I talk to you for a moment, in private?” Troy said.
Sin eyed Fletcher and Garcia. Her gaze settled on Deborah’s laptop. “I won’t be long. I want you read the file Evelyn gave us from the Department of Defense and see if any of their information is pertinent to our case. Then start tracing the address that Ashley gave Evelyn and find out everything you can about the place.”
Sin and Troy walked out of the room and into the night.
“Troy, this isn’t the time to talk about relationships, if that’s what you want to discuss.”
“When is the right time? When I’m talking to your gravestone? Because that’s what I see happening if you continue doing what you’re doing.”
Sin stopped walking and turned to face Troy. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand why I feel a need to take the cases I do, but I do expect you to respect me for what I do.”
“I do respect you, Sin. Damn it, I love you. I just want you to be alive long enough to love me back.”
Sin leaned in and kissed Troy on the mouth. “I do love you. That’s why I understood why you had a need to go back to Tumbleboat. It’s who you are. This,” Sin held her arms out wide, “is who I am. Maybe I will change one day and want to settle down, but not right now.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Sit by the phone and wait for you to call and say that you’re in town; or worse, wait for a call from Frank or Fletcher saying that you were killed?” Troy dropped his head, shook it, and kicked a stone with the toe of his boot. “I don’t think I can do that. I can’t live my life that way.”
Sin smiled sadly and kissed his cheek tenderly. “Go home, Chief Stubbs. Go home to Tumbleboat.”
Troy shook his head and walked toward the front of the motel without saying another word. A moment later, Sin watched his cruiser peel out of the parking lot.
Sin barely breathed as she watched Troy drive into the night, knowing that he was also driving away from her for the last time. “I love you,” she whispered. “Goodbye.”
She stood in the parking lot feeling sorry for herself, wondering if she had made the right decision, when Carmelita’s words flashed through her consciousness.
You are the Pearl Angel of Death. The righter of wrongs.
Sin cleared her throat and wiped a stray tear. “Damn right, Madre.”
With a renewed sense of spirit, she went back into the room to chisel out her next move.
Receiving Evelyn’s new phone number, Sin asked her to contact the Stoklers’ attorney. She hoped Ashley might have called him and given him more information than she had the FBI.
They got lucky. Ashley had been in touch and mentioned that she found Joel’s address in a bunch of old papers, Sea View Apartments on Bird Road. With the help of Deborah’s laptop, Fletch and Garcia were able to pull up the address.
There was nothing to do now but rest and wait until daybreak.
In the morning, Deborah said her goodbyes to everyone, made Sin promise to come visit as soon as the case was over, and told Sin that she would go talk to Carmelita and Maria so they wouldn’t freak when they heard the news that their beloved family member was dead.
54
Sin and her men were back in Miami by eight that morning. Their first stop was to meet with Evelyn after she’d grabbed their gear
