The phone went dead.
Troy dropped his head and groaned. “He’s not leaving.”
“I know. That’s exactly what I want. When I met him at Spanky’s, I put a tracer under his back bumper. We’ll be able to follow his moves. Let’s see where he goes. It’s the only way we’ll know for sure if he’s connected with the kidnapping.”
Troy smirked. “You really are a ball buster.”
She winked as she saddled her bike. “You wouldn’t want me any other way, Stubbs.”
Before Troy could answer, her phone rang again.
“Is it—?”
“No,” she interjected. “It’s Frank.”
“Good luck with that,” Troy said as he leaned in and kissed Sin on the lips.
Without thinking, she kissed back, with more passion than she realized until it was too late. Once she did, she broke the kiss. “I better return Frank’s call.”
Troy nodded. “Stay safe.”
She watched Troy walk towards his truck while Carmelita’s words about not letting life pass her by reverberated in her mind. Before she had a chance to hit redial, Frank called again. She grunted and tapped the talk button. “I was just about to call you. I need your assistance.”
“Not as much as I need yours. Do you know how many irate phone calls I’ve received from President Lancaster since yesterday?”
Sin flipped through her missed call log. “Fourteen. If I were to hazard a guess.”
“Damn it, Sin. Call him back. He’s going crazy not knowing what’s going on.”
“As soon as I have something concrete.”
“Now.”
She raked her fingers through her hair. “Okay.”
“Thank you.”
Holding the phone to her ear, she could almost feel Frank relax on the other end.
“Now,” he said, “what do you need from me?”
“Tiffany located Savio. I need you to search his phone records.”
“No offense, but why don’t you trace the number yourself? Your capabilities are probably just as good as the Bureau’s.”
“Better,” she responded, “but I’ll be tied up for the next few hours, and I need the info as fast as possible.”
She could hear Frank sigh. “What’s the number?”
She rattled off the phone number.
“Got it. I’ll have my best analyst get right on it. Now, call Lancaster.”
“I will.”
“And answer your phone.”
“Goodbye, Frank.”
Sin was about to pocket her phone when she thought about what Frank had said and how she would feel if it was her loved one that was missing. Maybe he’s right, she thought. Maybe I do have some pent-up aggression. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and dialed Lancaster. He picked up before the first ring was ever completed.
“O’Malley. It’s about damn time you returned my calls.”
“I apologize, sir,” she said, but to be honest every minute I spend talking to you or anyone else, that’s one less minute I have to find your daughter and bring her home safe.”
She could hear him exhale audibly on the other end. “Just tell me what you know . . . and don’t sugarcoat it. I’m a big boy.”
“I have a lot of leads but nothing is definite at this point.” She hesitated to think before continuing. “How about I make a deal with you. “I’ll call you every night and update you on Becca’s whereabouts, and,” she emphasized as Lancaster grumbled, “I promise to call you immediately if there is a breakthrough in the case.”
“Fine,” Lancaster grumbled. Sin was about to end the call when Lancaster added, his words stunted, “Agent O’Malley, find my daughter. She’s all I have left.”
Not knowing what to say, Sin pocketed her phone, jumped on the starter lever, and peeled out of the parking lot.
17
Ten minutes later, Sin rolled up to the hookah bar. She parked out front next to the race-style bikes and twisted the throttle. Hard.
The sound of her Pan-head acted as her introduction and all eyes turned toward her as she took a seat at the bar. A muscular bartender came over and wiped the bar in front of her, his eyes never glancing away from her jacket. “What can I get you?” he said, his Jamaican accent front and center. “We have the purest kava in all the Keys, sure to mellow you out.”
“I’m not in the mood for mellow,” she said. “How about a tequila shooter and long-neck Bud chaser.”
The bartender laughed, his gold teeth glistening off the lights. “My type of girl.”
Getting her drinks, Sin held up the shot glass as if saluting the bartender before tossing it back. She slammed the glass on the bar and picked up her beer, engaging in small talk with the man. It didn’t take but a few minutes before a group of guys gathered around. A couple of them took the seats on her left and right, and a few others bunched up around her.
One, with enough gold around his neck to sink him to the bottom of the Atlantic, stood to Sin’s right and ran his fingers down the arm of her jacket. He read the words sewn into the back, tracing each letter with a sure hand. “Outlaws, Wears Beach, NH.” He slid between her and the guy sitting on the stool to her right. “You’re a long way from home, Suzy. Wearing another gang’s colors down here could get you hurt.” He picked up her beer and guzzled. “I wouldn’t want to see a fine thing like you hurt.” The guys around them laughed at his words. “How about I take your jacket for safe keeping.”
She grabbed her beer back as he tried to slide the jacket off her shoulders. She shrugged it back on, never making eye contact. “Relax, island boy,” she said, emphasizing the word boy, “I’m just down here having a little fun.”
“In that case,” his words more clipped than before, “I suggest you choose a different bar.” He tried to grab her beer again, but she jerked it away from him. “Your kind are not welcome here.”
“My kind?” she said, her pitch rising. “By the sound of your voice, I’d
