Page 1 of Sinner
One
Flint Fydler kepthis head down, hat low and bag close to his body as he walked into the lobby of Biolum Industries, late for the second time that week. He swiped his ID at the turnstile and pushed through. It wasn’t as though he was hiding something. He just knew what came next. Every damn time.
A black uniformed security guard sized him up. The dude must bench twice his weight, and his neck was as thick as Flint’s thigh. A revolver was strapped under his right arm. A Taser hung from his belt. With a wary flicker behind the guard’s eyes, and a twitchy trigger finger, Flint knew if he sneezed the wrong way, the man would take him down. Ex-Marine. Had to be. Just like his buddies upstairs in front of the Project room.
The guard stopped Flint with a sturdy palm to his chest. Flint glared at the intrusion and bit his lip to halt the scathing comment on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t sure what the big guy had against him. Could be his Dodgers baseball cap, his level five clearance, or maybe the fact that Flint had a beard when the brute couldn’t grow a ‘stache.
Like every other morning, Flint swallowed his words. He knew when to pick his battles, and this wasn’t one.
“You,” growled the guard. “Spot bag scan.”
“Dude, really?” Flint slipped his satchel off his shoulder and put it on the conveyor. “You see me every day.”
The man grunted, opened Flint’s bag and checked inside.
Just what he needed after the morning he’d had. First, the flat on the way to work, then the bald spare, and finally the state of his anemic bank account making the purchase of a new tire impossible. He ended up jogging to work when he’d already been on a ten-mile run. His quads were killing him.
“Fucktard,” Flint mumbled.
“What did you say?” the guard asked.
“I said custard. Watch out for the custard.” Flint pointed to the small tub of pudding in his bag.
“Right.” The guard lifted a dubious eyebrow and then shoved the bag down a conveyor track to the X-ray machine where an attendant watched from a seat on the other side.
Flint winced as his bag rattled. “Careful. I got priceless tech in there.”
“Don’t care. Move to the side, and wait for the scan results.”
Flint shook his head defiantly. “I created that scanner. If I wanted to, I could beat it. You know that, right?”
The dude narrowed his eyes. “Spot bomb scan. Lift your arms up.”
“I don’t have time for this. JesusfuckingChrist.”
He heard a feminine gasp behind him and whirled to face everything wrong with the world. Slick black hair in a ponytail. Luscious lips, a rosy little nose, and, fuck it, big brown eyes that belonged on Miss America Latina. A stunning contradiction because any woman whose hips filled out pantsthatway had no business being a nun. Her crisp white shirt was supposed to be modest, but her breasts pushed at the woolen vest, drawing it tight. A modern nun and walking sin, Sister Mary Margaret made his heart go bump and his words fail, because every time he saw her, ah jeez… off limits.
Flint’s neck itched as Sister Mary stared back, big doe-eyes blinking. Caught. She caught him. Heat flamed his cheeks, and that just made him shittier. But the Sister and he went way back. Two years of charged banter, unfulfilled sexual tension, and love-hate bickering. She could take whatever he dished out.
“The fuck you staring at?” he said with a smile twitching his lip.
The little minx blinked at Flint, feigning innocence for their spectators. As if she didn’t gasp to play into her stereotype. She fluttered her lashes. “Who, me?”
“You heard me.”
“Hey,” the guard snapped at Flint. “Respect.”
Flint almost snapped back, but was held captive by the Sister’s eyebrow lifting—gearing up.
Come on,Flint thought.Show me some of that fiery Latino spirit.It was just the thing he needed to brighten his morning.
She folded her arms under her breasts, pushing them up. A hip cocked and then she gave him a scathing once over. Flint could smell the coconut in her hair. He was about to get a preachy tongue lashing, he knew it. He loved it. He wanted it. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed.
He heard a shuffle as she stepped closer. She whispered near his ear, hot breath tickling his skin, “I’m not sure what I’m staring at. They haven’t labeled it yet.”
Flint’s gaze snapped open. Their cheeks were inches apart. She smiled, full lips stretching to light up her face. A husky laugh and a flirty wink escaped her.
Instant hard-on.
Fuck he was going to hell, and he wanted more. But pushing her was dancing with danger. He had his demons, and she had her vows.
“Apologies for the disrespect, ma’am,” the guard said, breaking their moment. “You go on through.”
“Thank you,” Sister Mary replied and pulled aside from Flint, her smirk still there. “Peace be with you. Both of you.”
The two men watched her walk away, hips swaying.
Something whispered at Flint’s feet and he looked down. A white envelope had landed on his boot. Must have fallen from her pocket. He bent to retrieve it, collected his bag from the conveyor and jogged to catch up with her as she entered the elevator bound for his floor.
