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       The Next Sin, p.1
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         Part #2 of The Sin Trilogy series by Georgia Cates
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The Next Sin


  The Next Sin

  The Sin Trilogy: Book II

  Georgia Cates

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Acknowledgments

  Excerpt: Beauty from Pain

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About the Author

  Other books by Georgia

  Published by Georgia Cates Books, LLC

  Copyright © 2015 Georgia Cates

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Sign-up to join the monthly newsletter for Georgia Cates. You will get the latest news, first-look at teasers, and giveaways just for subscribers.

  Editing Services provided by Jennifer Sommersby Young

  Interior Design by Indie Formatting Services

  Photograph by Nera Strand, Black Beach Studios

  ISBN: 978-1-63452-377-6

  To J, F, and M.

  You are my dream come true.

  Chapter One

  Bleu MacAllister

  Southaven, Mississippi

  My favorite violin and piano duet plays as I attempt to work. It’s becoming more difficult to be productive without an office. Trying to do freelance investigation from my bedroom within our rental house? Challenging.

  The song “Time Forgotten” plays. It’s a reminder that neither time nor Sinclair Breckenridge has been forgotten. Three months and more than four thousand miles separate us. It isn’t enough. I think of him all the time. And it’s a fucking problem.

  I push the thoughts of Sin from my head and scroll through the photos from my latest PI job—a clear case of a bitter wife looking to nail her cheating husband’s ass to the wall. My aging computer’s trackpad sticks and races through my collection of incriminating photographs.

  “Dammit!”

  Images of my client’s husband and his lover flutter before me, each picture flashing like a scene from a stop-motion movie I don’t wish to watch for a second time. I tap furiously against the trackpad in an effort to make it cease.

  “Stop. Stop. Stop, you son of a bitch.”

  My laptop finally obeys after a bit of physical abuse, but not before coming to a standstill on the one and only image I have of Sinclair Breckenridge and me together.

  Wow … talk about coincidence. I have thousands of pictures on this computer. What are the odds it would land on this one?

  It’s karma. Or bad juju. I don’t know. Maybe the universe wants to torture me.

  The photo in front of me is a shot of us dancing during my initiation ceremony at Thane and Isobel’s country estate. We’re surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight and Sin is cradling my face with his hands. I remember everything about that moment. He told me I was special and then leaned in to kiss my forehead. He had not told me he loved me but I think he was wrestling with saying those three words. I recognized the look in his eyes because I’d been seeing it in my own reflection for some time.

  I avoid this picture. Looking at it breaks my stupid heart all over again. I should drag it to the trash and delete it for good. I want to but I can’t bring myself to pull the trigger. That seems to be a common problem with me these days.

  I was on the plane home when I discovered the picture on my phone. I wish I hadn’t seen it until I was back on the ground again. The image of us together sent me into a full-blown panic attack midflight. I was forced into the tiny lavatory to talk myself down. I was lucky. The episode wasn’t one of the bad ones but an enclosed area lacking proper ventilation couldn’t be worse when you feel like you’re smothering to death.

  I took thousands of photographs while I was in Edinburgh. I must have at least five hundred of Sin—most of which are candid since he was usually unaware. Those are my favorites. I was always behind the camera—and never in front of it—so none of my pictures are of us together. That’s why I treasure this one. Many thanks to whoever used my phone to capture this moment.

  I touch the screen. I stroke my finger down his face but it feels nothing like the real thing. I close my eyes so I can imagine the way his scruff felt against my skin.

  He rarely grew what I would call a beard. He always kept his facial hair short and scruffy. And I loved it, especially when he would drag his face down the center of my body just to hear me squeal. But the best was when he’d push the crotch of my panties aside and rub his chin up and down between my legs.

  “Holy shit, Bleu. That’s him, isn’t it?” I jerk when I hear Ellison’s voice over my shoulder. “That’s the man you were with in Scotland.”

  I’m so stupid. I can’t believe I’ve allowed her to sneak up and catch me looking at this photograph. I was preoccupied. That’s my only excuse.

  Ellison has interrogated me nonstop about my relationship with Sin. I’ve been vague. She’s on a need-to-know-only basis. That means I haven’t told her shit. But I want to. I need someone to tell me this excruciating pain in my heart is going to ease.

  “Yes.” That’s my Breck. My admission feels like a ton of bricks lifted from my shoulders.

  “Damn. That is one hottie Scottie.”

  “I know.” I sigh as I prop my chin in my hand. I look at the handsome face of the only man in this world besides my father who has been willing to take me the way I am.

  Two men. Both know the darkness I carry inside. But they love me anyway.

  I’ve lost one. I’m losing the other. And it’s killing me.

  “My God, Bleu. Look at the way he’s holding you … like you’re his everything. I don’t know how you walked away from him.”

  You’d be surprised by the things you can do when you’re staring death in the face.

  “My job was over.”

  “You haven’t told me anything about it. Or him. Was it good?”

  I recall the words he used to describe what being together was like for him. “The best ever.”

  “You don’t think you’ll see him again?”

  “No.” I won’t if I want to continue to live.

  I feel Ellison’s supportive hand on my shoulder. “That’s too bad, sis.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Ellison plops down on my bed. “At least now I understand why you’ve been brooding for the last three months. I would mourn the loss of that hottie too. But it’s time to get out and move on. You can’t sit in t
his house and never socialize again.”

  Has she lost touch with reality? “Do I need to remind you that I’ve never socialized? This isn’t new for me.”

  “But you didn’t know what you were missing before. You’ve had a taste of great sex. There’s no turning back.”

  “I don’t want to have sex with anyone else.” No one will ever make me feel the way Sin did. I’m certain it would only be a disappointment so there’s no point trying.

  “I get it. You don’t have to go out and find your next lay tonight but you do have to go out.”

  Says who? “No, I don’t.”

  “Please, Bleu. I’m going to Memphis with some work friends tonight. We’re going to Beale Street.”

  Beale is Memphis’s version of Bourbon Street. I was assigned to patrol it when I was on the force. Nothing but trouble.

  “We’re meeting at Coyote Ugly in a couple hours. You’ll have fun. I promise it’ll help take your mind off your Scottish hottie.”

  I have some serious doubts about that but Ellison has dated a lot. She probably knows the remedy for this pain better than I do.

  “Who’s going?” I don’t really handle people well, specifically silly females. I have no patience for them.

  “Clancy and April.” She’s counting people off on her fingers as she says their names. “Bree, Ashley, and Callie for sure. Maybe more. I never really know until I get there.”

  I don’t like to make small talk with people I’m not acquainted with. I wasn’t blessed with the gift of gab.

  Besides, I have a date. I’m spending the evening with my camera. I have shots to get for a photo contest I plan to enter.

  Ellison must see my hesitation. “I know you don’t love crowds but they’re all cool. Swear.”

  My sister doesn’t understand how painfully awkward going out is for me. “I’d rather have toothpicks driven into my eyeballs.”

  “That can be arranged if you say you won’t go.”

  I guess I can drink whisky until I drown out the lady chitchat. “I’ll go for the Johnnie Walker.”

  “Yes!” Ellison gives the air a fist pump. “Be ready to leave at seven.”

  * * *

  I’m not sure what I was thinking when I agreed to this. I’m southern but not country. There are too many cowboy hats and boots in this place for me.

  I’m not a fan of drunken people dancing on the bar or letting strangers take shots from their bared abdomens. I swear I will beat Ellison’s ass if she tries either.

  Ellison’s new work friends aren’t my kind of people. In their defense, I suppose not many are. At least they’re better than the ones she had at her old job in Memphis.

  I hold up my empty glass when our server comes around and she returns with my third Johnnie Walker of the night. It’s going to take quite a few more of these to achieve an acceptable level of amnesia where Sinclair Breckenridge is concerned.

  “You go, sista.” Ellison holds up her drink. “Here’s to getting wasted and forgetting about …” She shrugs and giggles. “See? I’ve already forgotten what I’m supposed to be forgetting.”

  Her poison for the night is Long Island iced tea so she’s already drunk. I know this by her annoying horselaugh. Classic Ellison.

  Is she referring to the doctor who asked for the threesome with another man? I should go kick his ass for hurting my sister. “Who are you drinking to forget?”

  She shakes her head and purses her lips. “Not going there, Bleu. We’re here for one reason and one reason only—to have a fucking fantastic time so I refuse to talk about that douche rocket.”

  I’ve been so wrapped up in myself lately that I’ve failed to consider the problems my sister has been having. She had a humiliating incident with the ER doctor she was dating, which was really unfortunate since she was already choosing baby names for the four children she planned to have with him. She left her nursing job of more than two years because she was passed over for a promotion, which by all accounts should’ve been hers. She took care of Harry by herself the entire time I was gone. And although I’m back, she’s the nurse. I’m not sure I’ve been all that much help since returning.

  She has a lot resting on her shoulders. I’ve been selfish, too focused on my own hurt to be mindful of Ellison’s troubles.

  “You’re right. I want you to have a good time. But I want to talk about the things going on when you’re ready.”

  Oh God. She has her “I’m gonna clobber you with a drunk hug” look. And she does, nearly sending me off my barstool onto the floor. “I love you, Bleu.”

  Ellison’s an affectionate drunk. She loves everyone. I guess a friendly drunk is always better than a fighting one. I’ve seen my fair share of those while working undercover and it never ends well.

  “O … kay, Elli. Maybe you should slow down with the Long Islands.”

  “Come on, Bleu. This is only my third one.”

  Her speech is slowed but not yet slurred. I’d prefer it didn’t come to that. I’m not in the mood to babysit a drunken Ellison.

  “It’s your third in an hour and a half.”

  “That’s a mighty fine high horse you sit upon. I wonder if you’d give me a ride some time.”

  I’m straightening in my seat and helping my sister do the same when my eyes catch those of a man I haven’t seen in ages.

  “Bleu MacAllister.”

  I push Ellison upright. “Cody Wilson.”

  He grins and those dimples I remember from years ago make an appearance. “Wow. It’s been years.”

  “At least seven or eight.”

  God, I once adored Cody. We met when I was seven, after I came to live with my new family. He was my neighbor, eight houses down the street. We were best buddies until junior high. He was my only friend in the world—until he kissed me. I kicked him in the balls and that was the end of our friendship. I’ve always felt badly about doing that to him.

  I didn’t dislike being kissed by Cody. In fact, I liked it very much after I had some time to think about it, but I was caught off guard in the moment. Harry had been training me for several months and I guess I had a snap reaction. It’s unfortunate his balls were the ones to pay.

  What is he doing back in Memphis? “The last I heard from Dad, you were in the Air Force stationed somewhere on the other side of the world.”

  “I was but I got out a few years ago and moved back. My mom’s health hasn’t been great for a while now.”

  That’s right. Mrs. Wilson is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. She didn’t have a clue who I was the last time I saw her.

  “I’m a pilot for Delta now.”

  Weird. Knowing he flies planes just made him a little more attractive. “Nice.”

  “What about you?”

  “I was a police officer for a couple of years and then a special agent. I left the Bureau to go freelance.” Not the whole truth.

  “What does freelance involve?”

  More naked asses than I’d like. “I get hired to obtain the proof of cheating husbands and wives. My clients are mostly people in the midst of nasty divorces.”

  He lifts a brow. “Sounds interesting.”

  Interesting is not how I’d describe it. “More like disturbing. I feel like I’m mostly shooting really bad porn with middle-aged people during their midlife crises.”

  He laughs.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t put such unsavory images in your head.”

  “You don’t sound fulfilled by catching cheaters in action. Have you considered going back to police work or the FBI?”

  If only I could.

  “I was following in Dad’s footsteps but it turns out it wasn’t for me.” Lie.

  I was awesome at being an officer and an agent. I think it’s a job that could’ve made me happy for a long time but I ruined my career when I chose to pursue Thane. I’d be screwed if the FBI investigated me and discovered my connection to The Fellowship.

  “I’ve considered opening a professional pho
tography studio.” I’d prefer babies and brides over naked, cheating asses any day.

  “You always had a camera around your neck. Or a violin in your hands. Do you still play?”

  “Every day.” It’s the only thing that brings me comfort, as though it bridges the gap between Sin and me. I sometimes imagine he’s with me and we’re playing Canon in D Major together.

  I know. Totally nuts.

  “I play bass with a band. It’s just for fun but we have a gig here tonight. We go on in forty minutes. I’d love for you to stick around.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You play guitar.” I can’t believe I forgot that. I always thought he looked hot strumming that thing.

  “Our fiddler had to cancel on us at the last minute.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Very, and even more so considering we’re in Coyote Ugly. This crowd always expects to hear ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia.’”

  “Yeah, that’s a super one.”

  “And not possible without a fiddler.”

  “Definitely not,” I agree.

  A grin spreads across Cody’s face. “You still know it?”

  “Hell, yeah.” It’s the only country song I know.

  “What a coincidence.” He shrugs and points toward the door. “I happen to have Digby’s violin in my truck.”

  “Oh God, no.” I’ve never performed publicly except for recitals as a kid, and those were involuntary.

  “I don’t play for other people.” I use my violin as private therapy.

  “You’d be surprised by how much fun it is.”

  He’s crazy if he thinks I’d go on stage without practicing. “We’d need to rehearse.”

  “We have forty minutes.”

  “Really? You expect me to practice with you for less than an hour and then join your band on stage to perform in front of all these people?”

  “Why not? You’re a fantastic fiddler. You have the song memorized forward and back.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Probably. Have a few more whiskies and you’ll forget your nerves.”

 
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