Erica Sinclair - The Ememy Within (M/F)

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, let's see if Erica was right to talk to Ruiz.

[Jenny_S]

The fluorescent lights of Mr Leslie’s 24/7 supermarket on West 72nd Street hum softly, casting a sterile glow over the aisles. Erica walks at an easy pace, tossing essentials into her cart – almond milk, a pack of blueberries, chicken breast for the kittens.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket.
At first, she hesitates as she sees an unknown number, then answers nonetheless.
“Erica Sinclair.”

A pause. Then a familiar voice, low and certain.
“Let’s do it.”
Sandra Ruiz.

Erica straightens, eyes flicking around instinctively. The store is half-empty - just a few shoppers meandering through the aisles, an elderly man at checkout counting exact change.

“What’s your plan?” Ruiz asks.

“Hold on a second.”

Erica abandons her cart near a shelf of boxed pasta and strides toward the exit. The cool evening air greets her as she steps outside, slipping into the driver’s seat of her car.
She doesn’t waste time. “I’ll call Fallon. Send him a message with one of those screenshots—make it clear that I have something he wants.”

Ruiz exhales, a sound that could be approval or skepticism. “And?”

“I’ll set a time and place to meet. Somewhere public but controlled. Somewhere you can witness everything.” Erica grips the steering wheel, thinking it through as she speaks. “He’ll probably assume I’d try to shake him down for cash, but I don’t care what he thinks. All I want is a confession.”

A beat of silence. Then Ruiz says, “You’ll have to be wired. And you’ll be wearing a vest.”

Erica nods, even though Ruiz can’t see her. A fair precaution. Fallon, backed into a corner, might not go down quietly.

“Perfect,” she says.

“I’ll call in sick tomorrow,” Ruiz tells her. “That way I can set everything up on my end.”

“Meet me at my office. Nine A.M. sharp.” Erica allows herself a small smile. “My assistant makes the best coffee.”

Ruiz snorts softly. “We’ll see about that.” Then the line goes dead.

Erica exhales, tucking her phone away.
She finishes her shopping, drives home, feeds her kittens, and makes herself dinner. The night is quiet. The news cycle has already moved on from Candice Summers. Good.
Nothing is older than yesterday’s headlines.
Tomorrow, everything will change.


~~~


The moment Erica steps into her office suite, Holly Beck, their young receptionist flags her down. “A Detective Ruiz is waiting for you in Conference Room Two.”

Erica checks her Rolex. 8:55 A.M.
She smiles to herself. Ruiz is early. That’s a good sign. “Thank you, Holly.”

The door clicks shut behind Erica as she steps into the conference room. The air inside is warm, laced with the scent of fresh coffee and tension thick enough to be cut with a knife.

Detective Sandra Ruiz sits at the table, a cup of coffee before her, fingers curled around it like it’s an anchor.

Erica shrugs off the slight chill from outside and meets Ruiz’s gaze.
"Good morning, Detective. How’s the coffee?"

Ruiz lifts the cup slightly, her expression unreadable. "As advertised."

But Erica sees it - the way Ruiz’s shoulders are just a little too stiff, the way her fingers tighten around the ceramic cup. She’s nervous.
The unspoken question lingers between them like a third presence in the room.
Are you in or not?

Ruiz doesn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, she reaches for a sports bag resting it on the conference table.
She zips it open.
Inside - a microphone, wires, and a bulletproof vest, one of the less bulky, lightweight kind meant to stop pistol rounds.

Erica exhales slowly. This tells her everything she needs to know.
Ruiz is in.

The weight of the moment settles between them. No hesitation. No second chances.
However, the way Ruiz shifts in her chair also tells Erica that the detective feels a little uneasy. Who wouldn’t?
If – for some reason – Fallon might turn out not to be dirty, and if he realizes that his partner had turned on him, Ruiz might as well look for a new job as a Mall Cop. She’d be done in the NYPD. Nobody trust someone who rats on a fellow officer.

"The Emergency Service Unit is ready, Mrs. Sinclair," Ruiz says, her voice steadier now, like the decision has anchored her. "They suggest meeting Fallon in Battery Park at the Fountain Splash Pad. 12 o’clock."

Erica’s lips twitch into a small, knowing smirk.
"High noon. Very cinematic."
So Ruiz was able to get an ESU team for backup. They are not alone in this.

She unbuttons her black cashmere coat, draping it over the chair before sliding her phone from her pocket.
With practiced ease, she types out a message to Jimmy Fallon and attaches one of the pictures of the ledger detailing Fallon’s debts.

“I have something you want. Fountain Splash Pad, Battery Park. 12 noon.”

She angles the screen toward Ruiz. A silent confirmation is all she needs now.
“Good enough?”
The detective nods approvingly.
Erica presses send.

This is it. The point of no return.
The blood oath between her and Ruiz, unspoken but understood.
They’re in this together.
Ride or die.
No retreat, no surrender.

Erica slips the phone back into her blazer pocket, then leans against the chair, apparently cool and composed.
"Another cup of coffee while we wait, Detective?"

A beat. Then, Ruiz chuckles, a faint smirk breaking through her tension.
"Yeah. Why not."

Time ticks forward, the trap is set.

Despite all her outward coolness, Erica muses what might happen if Fallon doesn’t take the bait, this would be over before it begins. If he does… well, the next few hours would decide everything.


~~~

[LunaDog]

Well, it kind of depends on just how deep Fallon is in the s*it, doesn't it? Sandra Rutz clearly believes he is, as you say if he isn't she is taking a risk regarding her career. But she obviously has questions about her 'partner' in her head. How is this going to go? No doubt you're intending to let us know, in your normal, magnificent style. Don't keep us waiting TOO long!

[Caesar73]

Indeed a good Question @LunaDog: Is Fallon the main cuiprit or is he another pawn in the Game?

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, thank you for the kind compliment. I don't intend to let you wait for long. In fact, we'll press on in a minute or two. Enjoy!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, you never know. But maybe Erica and Detective Ruiz can find out.

[Jenny_S]

Ruiz lays the transmitter out on the sleek conference table, its black casing matte under the overhead lights. The device is small - no larger than half a deck of cards - yet it carries the weight of everything they’re about to do. A silent witness. A tether to the tactical team waiting in the wings.
“The microphone goes under the collar of your blouse, and we’ll run the wires beneath the vest down your back,” Ruiz says, her voice steady, professional. She has done this before, several times. “Since you’ll be wearing your nice coat, Fallon won’t notice a thing.”

Erica nods, rolling her shoulders slightly. "You're the expert."
She lifts her arms, allowing Ruiz to work, the detective's fingers efficient as she clips the wire to the underside of Erica’s silk blouse. The transmitter is lightweight, its presence almost imperceptible. But the vest - that’s different. When Ruiz eases it over her shoulders, Erica feels its weight settle across her torso, a stiff, supposedly bulletproof shell from navel to collarbone, pressing against her ribs, the straps tightening it even more as Ruiz secures them.

“Comfortable?” Ruiz asks, watching Erica’s reaction.

Erica exhales slowly, shifting her posture. The vest restricts movement more than she expected, but discomfort is a minor inconvenience compared to what’s at stake. "Not really, but I'll manage."

Is there a flicker of doubt in the detective’s eyes as if she doesn’t believe that this encounter might end without bloodshed?
Anyhow, it’s too late to pull back now.

Ruiz steps back, her dark eyes scanning Erica’s form, ensuring nothing looks out of place. Satisfied, she gives a single nod. “This is just an extra precaution,” she says in a voice low but firm as she outlines the setup. "We have eyes in the sky. A drone is sweeping the park, an airship is on standby. Snipers are in position. The moment Jimmy...” she corrects herself, jaw tightening, “Fallon admits everything, we’ll move in.”

Erica smooths the front of her coat, adjusting to the feel of the vest beneath it. Her usual confidence is intact, but there’s an undeniable weight to this moment. She’s used to fighting battles in courtrooms, where words are her weapons. But this - this is different: after all, Fallon was supposed to be one of the good guys.

She’s going up against a man she’s certain has already killed once.
There’s no doubt in her mind that Fallon tortured and later murdered Sue Cline and that alone makes him extra dangerous. Unpredictable. She’s faced criminals before, but Fallon isn’t a street-level thug. He’s a seasoned detective. A man who knows the game, knows how to manipulate it. If he so much as suspects a setup, things could go South fast.

“I understand,” Erica says, her voice clipped, controlled.

Ruiz studies her for a moment, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small earpiece. “This is for me,” she says. “It's connected to the recording device. You can’t hear us, but we’ll hear everything you and Fallon say.” She exhales, shifting her weight. “You’re sure about this?”

Erica meets her gaze, her expression unwavering. “Absolutely. A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.”
The tension in the room thickens, the unspoken truth hanging between them.
Erica checks her Rolex. "Time to get going."
The countdown to High Noon has begun.


~~~


The city hums around her, a restless, pulsing beast of steel and motion. Erica grips the steering wheel tighter than usual, her knuckles faintly white as she weaves her black Volvo through the current of Manhattan’s late-morning traffic.
Yellow taxis dart through lanes like impatient wasps, cyclists cut too close, and delivery trucks rumble in slow defiance. She barely registers the honking, the sharp wailing of sirens in the distance.
Her mind is locked on what’s ahead.
She inhales deeply as she changes lanes, forcing herself to loosen her grip, to keep her shoulders relaxed. Calm. Collected. But the undercurrent of tension sits just beneath her skin, electric and undeniable.

As she nears Battery Park, the towering skyline gives way to open air, the scent of the Hudson thick with salt and the faint bite of gasoline from the ferries docking nearby. The sun gleams off the water, silver waves lapping against the shore beyond the railing. Street musicians are setting up near Castle Clinton, their cases open for tips. Tourists cluster near the Staten Island ferry terminal, their voices a patchwork of languages.

She circles the park’s perimeter twice before spotting a parking space along State Street. Pulling in smoothly, she shifts into park, kills the engine, and sits for just a moment.
A deep breath. A slow exhale.

Then, with precise movements, she unbuckles her seatbelt and slides out of the car, the city air hitting her at once. The wind rolls in from the waterfront, tugging at her black cashmere coat, carrying the mingling scents of pretzels from a nearby cart and the brine of the harbor. It’s brisk, sharp against her skin, grounding her.
Today, however, the wind isn’t just cold, it carries whispers from passing strangers, snatches of conversations that make her feel like everyone around her is in on something. Somehow the air feels thick with a metallic tinge - as if the city itself is watching her.


~~~

[SashaMoh]

suspenseful and thrilling as always!

[LunaDog]

suspenseful and thrilling as always!

Couldn't have put it better myself.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @SashaMoh, I do my best to deliver. Thanks a lot for being one of my faithful readers.

[Caesar73]

Very nice building up of Tension! Will Ruiz and Erica be successful?

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, you'll find out if you stay with the story.
There will be another episode later tonight.

[Caesar73]

Dear @Caesar73, you'll find out if you stay with the story.
There will be another episode later tonight.

Looking forward to it, oh Lady of Suspense!

[Jenny_S]

She presses the key fob, locking the Volvo with a muted beep. Then, straightening her coat’s collar, she sets off toward the Fountain Splash Pad.

The walk isn’t long, but every step heightens her awareness. The rhythmic clicking of her heels against the pavement. The rustling of leaves as the wind cuts through the trees. The occasional laughter from joggers and families passing by.
She scans the park subtly, searching.

No sign of Fallon.

No sign of Ruiz’s or the ESU team either.
This feels especially unsettling, even if Erica knows it shouldn’t. A fleeting thought crosses her mind – what if Fallon brings backup, too?
Today, she has to rely on her team. Ruiz promised that the ESU, New York’s Finest’s heavy hitters, will be there.

She forces herself not to check again. Not to turn her head, not to give anything away. Instead, she keeps her pace measured, steady, until she reaches the Fountain Splash Pad - currently dry for the colder months, its usual arcs of water reduced to nothing but faint, dark outlines on the pavement, making the landmark feel like an arena.

She glances at her watch. 11:55 AM.
Five minutes early.

Erica lets go of a breath she hadn’t realized she’s been holding.
Sliding her hands into her coat pockets, she grips the small red notebook tucked inside. The very one Fallon killed Sue Cline for, the thing Sue Cline gave her life to keep it from falling into the rogue detective’s hands.
Now Erica is going to weaponize it, using it as a gamble.
Her fingers tighten around its worn edges as – again - she fights the impulse to glance over her shoulder.
“Calm. Stay calm,” she tells herself. The trick isn’t to suppress fear - it’s to control it.
Her father’s voice echoes in her memory, steady and sure.
"Courage is not the absence of fear, Erica. It means being scared but doing it nonetheless."

She swallows. Checks her watch again.
12:00 PM. High Noon.

Her pulse beats hard in her ears.

A second passes. Then another. A hush in the park, as if the watching city is holding its breath.
The wind shifts. Erica hears footsteps approaching from her right rear, slow and deliberate. Then, a voice - low, casual, but carrying something dark beneath the surface.

"You waiting for someone?"

Her breath stills.

Fallon.
He came.

It’s do or die.


~~~


The wind off the Hudson bites at Erica’s face as she stands in the open space of the Fountain Splash Pad. She barely feels the cold now. In fact, small beads of sweat are running down her back.
The weight of the little red notebook in her coat pocket is all that matters.

Erica doesn’t flinch, her nerves are in check.
Instead, she silently counts to three before turning to face him.

Jimmy Fallon stands a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his brown leather jacket, the collar turned up against the cold. His stance is loose, relaxed, but she’s not fooled. Fallon is a man who would never let his guard down.

"Right on time," Erica says, keeping her voice even.

Fallon smirks, steps a little closer, his boots crunching against the pavement. "You said you have something I want.”

There’s no need to say anything. Slowly, Erica draws the red notebook from her pocket, holding it just enough for him to see.
His entire demeanor shifts. The smirk vanishes. His hands tense in his pockets. His gaze sharpens, locked onto the book like it’s a live grenade.

Erica tilts her head. "This is what you killed Sue Cline over, isn’t it?"

Fallon doesn’t answer. Not right away. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

Erica presses the issue, voice steady, deliberate. "Seventy-five grand in gambling debts according to this little red book. You were drowning, Jimmy. And when Sue Cline found out that Candice Summers was looking into her and her gambling ring, she used that debt as leverage and made you frame Candice. Am I right?"

Still, silence. But she sees it now - the way his hands twitch, the way his nostrils flare slightly. She has seen these signs in Court a thousand times and knows she has him hooked.

"After you had engineered the arrest, you wanted to erase your debts with Sue…" Erica continues, voice softer now, almost sympathetic. "No matter how much you tortured her, she didn’t tell you where she kept her ledger, and when you couldn’t find the book, you silenced her anyway. You didn’t want to risk leaving a loose end."

For a moment, Fallon just stares at her. Then, to her surprise, he chuckles.
"Damn," he mutters. "I really underestimated you."

He exhales, shoulders loosening slightly. "Getting two bricks of coke from the evidence room? Easiest thing in the world. Dropping them in Summers’ trunk? Please. The hard part - the real problem - was getting that damn book." His gaze flicks to it again, dark with regret, or maybe something colder. "There was no way I could cough up that kind of money. I couldn’t allow her to live, red book or no red book. Now give it to me."


~~~