A Necessary Sin (The Sin Trilogy, #1)(4)

Harry and I sit in my living room with the soft sound of Violin Concerto in D Major playing in the background as we comb through years of records. The final arrangements we’re making aren’t for Harry’s death. They’re for Thane Breckenridge’s. The files scattered before us concern him and his criminal organization known as The Fellowship.

We thought I’d get a few years of FBI undercover experience before I walked directly into the lion’s den but Harry’s illness is forcing my hand prematurely. We planned for four years of experience. Instead, I got seventeen months. We’re forced to finalize the plan because he insists I do this while he’s still alive—and lucid. He says he can’t die in peace unless he knows I’ve put all this behind me.

We’ve had eyes on them for years. I’ve memorized everything in these files about the Breckenridge gang and the people within his circle. It’s all in my mental vault, etched on my heart for good measure.

Lounging on my sofa with feet propped on the coffee table, I chew my pencil as I look through the worn file and mull over my options. I already know how I want to do this but my plan has Harry and me butting heads.

Thane’s son, Sinclair Breckenridge. He’s presently finishing his traineeship with the law firm, Hendry-Irvine, so he may be groomed to replace Rodrick Lester, the present attorney for the brotherhood. The older Breckenridge son is a twenty-six-year-old Caucasian male with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Height is six-two, weight approximately one hundred eighty-five pounds. He’s very attractive, highly intelligent, and studious—hence, Thane’s decision to make him the organization’s next criminal defender.

Harry doesn’t like the idea of me infiltrating the brotherhood through the son. He’s afraid Sinclair will have a strong attraction for me. In other words, he fears I’ll allow the lines to blur because he’s handsome and charming.

A snowball in hell has a better chance than me allowing myself to develop anything less than hatred for a Breckenridge.

The younger son, Mitch, is a no-go. At twenty-two, he’s too immature and not in an optimal position within The Fellowship. “I’ve looked at this from a lot of different angles and I still believe the older son is my best way in.”

Harry shakes his head while scouring a section of the file in his hand. “And the most dangerous,” he counters, never looking in my direction. “These aren’t the kind of people to welcome a stranger into their fold. You have to penetrate lower on the totem pole and gradually move your way up to not rouse suspicion. It’s far too dangerous to start at the top.”

Beginning at the bottom takes time, a luxury we don’t have. Harry’s cancer has already proven to be a hungry little bastard. “Going straight to Sinclair Breckenridge will save weeks, possibly months.”

“I shouldn’t have to remind you that the long road is safest with these people. The more they know you, the better they trust you. Shortcuts get you killed.”

Harry’s oncologist says he has six, maybe up to eight months left. After my experience with Julia, we can probably only expect three of those to be good.

There’s not a single minute to be wasted but I won’t argue or remind him why our timetable is short. I’ll concede for now and then do what I must when the time comes. “You’re right.” I thumb through the papers and find the profile for Sinclair’s friend, Leith Duncan. “What do you think of worming in through his friend, the bar owner?”

“Remind me again who he is.”

“One of Sinclair’s best friends, owner of the bar where they all drink. He’s the son of a somewhat insignificant—a grunt responsible for carrying out tribute.”

“You’re determined to get to Thane through his boy.” He’s reading me like a book. He knows I may start at Leith Duncan but it’ll be short-lived when I move on to the son. “That doesn’t have anything to do with his pretty face, does it?”

He knows I’ve never been a sucker for a pretty boy. “Don’t make me hit a sick, old man.”

He laughs while stretching to reach for the profile. “I know you won’t toy with this Leith for long but let me take another look at him.”

I give him a minute to review the file before making my suggestion. “With the exception of Thane and Abram, the brotherhood members frequent this bar on a regular basis. I’d be in contact with all of them at one point or another so that broadens my options. They all like pretty girls in short kilts to serve their drinks.” I hold up the surveillance photo of the bar. “I’d look pretty good in the Duncan Whisky Bar uniform.”

“I’m not crazy about ruthless men ogling you in that tiny skirt.”

“It’s a kilt.”

“It’s a nearly nonexistent scrap of plaid. I’d rather you didn’t walk around wearing it for all of The Fellowship members to see.” He sighs. “But I guess it’s a solid idea.” He peers at me over his reading glasses. “Although we both know I’m aware of what you’re going to do.” He means me skipping through the chain of command and going straight for Sinclair.

“You know I’m careful.” Being an undercover agent was the perfect job for me. I was very good at it. But I should’ve been. I’d been trained for it since I was twelve.

“I can’t help it. You’re my daughter. It’s my job to protect you.”