Free Skin Deep by Mark Del Franco Page B

point of information, not an invitation for more conversation about it. And it wouldn’t be the last death, she completed in her head. They both knew it. If you made a career on a SWAT team in D.C., the odds were you would become a statistic. Sinclair jutted his chin toward some files on her desk. “I thought you might want to look at those.”
    “Thanks.” She flipped open the folder. Team reports from the raid. She glanced at Sinclair. She wondered if he was being nice or if he was the squad’s designated good cop to soften her up. Foyle’s report was on top. She read it as Gianni rambled on the phone—to a woman by the annoying cutesy tone in his voice.
    To quote Foyle, his report had nothing she didn’t already know or surmise. After she and Sanchez had charged the rear hallway, Foyle remained behind. He sent Sinclair and Gianni ahead as backup for Laura and Sanchez. As Foyle waited for his own backup, he became pinned in the cross fire. When his backup arrived, he entered the rear hall alone and met Gianni and Sinclair returning from the computer lab. They searched the workroom, looking for Laura and Sanchez when they couldn’t raise them on radio. Sinclair reached them first. He checked Laura’s vitals.
    She closed her eyes. She remembered Sinclair standing over her in the sweatshop. He looked concerned and professional in the memory, no panic at the sight of two people possibly dead. His face was just a brief flash with no emotional resonance attached to it so she couldn’t determine if he had been concerned or putting on an act for whoever else was in the room. Her memory clouded.
    The next few reports were from other teams. She gave them a cursory review, trying not to rush. She felt Sinclair’s eyes on her and didn’t want him to think she had any particular concern about their team. She found his report and Gianni’s on the bottom, which confirmed her suspicion that he was waiting to see if she would shuffle through the stack to reach them before the others.
    Sinclair reported that he and Gianni had overshot the room where she and Sanchez were. They followed the mission plan by heading to the lab, not realizing she and Sanchez had had to break from the plan to follow the Inverni. They joined forces with a side-entry team to take out the lab. An unknown group of shooters came up behind them. Sinclair and Gianni became separated. Sinclair left the lab and pressed deeper into the building after the shooters. When he heard Laura’s mayday, he returned to the back hall and entered the workroom with Gianni and Foyle. He spotted Laura and Sanchez and called in the medics.
    Gianni’s report was short and to the point. His time line matched Sinclair’s up to the lab, where they became separated. He was assisting the other team in securing what was left of the lab when he heard the mayday. He met Foyle and Sinclair at the door, and they entered the workroom. He maintained position at the entry while Foyle and Sinclair secured the room.
    She gathered the reports and tapped them on the desk to neaten the pile. She caught Sinclair’s eye and nodded. “Thanks.”
    He shrugged. “You already said that.”
    “No, I mean for finding me.”
    He gave her a curious look, as if surprised she would be grateful that he’d done his job. She was, in a way. Just because it was his job, didn’t mean he had to do it right—or well. “Sure. You’re welcome,” he said.
    “I’m sorry about Sanchez,” she said.
    Sinclair frowned and pulled his chair to his desk. “Yeah.”
    She kept her face neutral. Anger and annoyance hovered around Sinclair, but no substantive grief. When a family member or friend died, a sense of grief became a distinct part of someone’s essence for a time. Anger was often part of it as well, but it was unusual to feel no grief at all. Odd reaction to the death of a teammate.
    She gestured at the reports. “Can I take these for the night?”
    His eyes shifted to the closed door to Foyle’s