Sheltering Dunes (Provincetown Tales Book 7)

by Radclyffe

  “Who are you, exactly?”

  “My name is Flynn.”

  “Yeah, I remember you telling me. But that’s not what I meant. I saw you this morning, with the guy across the hall.” Mica scowled. “What are you?”

  Flynn’s jaw tightened. “I’m a priest.”

  “Yeah? You can be one? When you’re a woman, I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how come you’re riding around on an ambulance?”

  “That’s a long story.”

  “Huh. A priest with secrets?”

  “Something like that,” Flynn said.

  “So you ought to know questions can be dangerous.”

  “Silence can be worse.”

  “Sounds like a line.”

  “It’s not a line. I don’t want anything from you.”

  Mica stopped, searched Flynn’s face. “That’s bull. Everyone wants something.”

  “Do you?”

  Mica thought about the long walk home. About the man in the alley. About Hector’s long reach. Maybe being alone wasn’t so smart—at least tonight. If the crazy priest or whatever she really was wanted to stick around, having someone to walk her home might be a good idea. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to have another beer, and then maybe I’ll let you walk me home.”

  Flynn hesitated, then nodded. “I can do that.”

  Flynn’s gaze never moved from Mica’s eyes, but Mica felt as if a hand swept over her body, caressing her. That was nuts, but her nipples tightened and her pussy clenched all the same. Flynn might be harder to string along than the girls she’d learned to play for the money they’d spend on her while trying to get into her pants, but she knew how to keep her secrets safe. She was good at that.

  Chapter Seven

  Flynn settled back onto the bar stool and pushed her half-finished beer away. The dark brew looked flat and empty.

  “Want another one?” Allie asked.

  “No. I think I’m done for the night.”

  “Some kind of problem there?” Allie asked quietly, tilting her chin slightly toward Mica, who was sliding glasses onto narrow racks above the far end of the bar.

  “No,” Flynn said, “no problem.” It seemed like she was saying that to a lot of people where Mica was concerned. A niggling sensation in the back of her mind warned her she was making a mistake, but she pushed the kernel of foreboding away. She didn’t know anything about Mica—good or bad. All she knew was Mica was running from something—ghosts, maybe, and there was no crime in that. She should know. Her own ghosts were only a few footsteps behind her.

  “She’s cute,” Allie observed.

  Flynn grinned. Allie was one of those gorgeous women who exuded sex, drew other women’s attention like a magnet, and lustily appreciated the sexual allure of females. Apparently being in a relationship didn’t squelch her natural instincts, and no reason that it should. “She is.”

  “Why does she look familiar?”

  Flynn hesitated. She didn’t want to hurt Mica, and as fun and casual as Allie seemed in her off-duty hours, there was much more to her than her sexy, playgirl side. She was a smart and serious cop. On the other hand, Flynn had no reason to protect Mica. As far as she knew, Mica didn’t need protection and the urge to offer it was only her own issues at work. “She’s the girl on the bicycle who was hit by that van this morning.”

  “Right,” Allie said, her gaze following Mica as she worked. “I really thought she was hurt. I’m glad to see she’s all right.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “I should tell her we’ve got her bike at the station. It’s pretty banged up. I don’t think she’s going to be able to ride it until she gets a new wheel and the frame straightened out.”

  “She’s lucky,” Flynn said, thinking how easily the broken and twisted frame could have been Mica’s body. The image, one she’d seen over and over again on calls, brought a wave of acid rolling through her stomach. She didn’t want to think of Mica as one of those victims. As any kind of victim. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to get it back.”

  “I’ll go tell her.”

  Allie sauntered the length of the bar, and Flynn watched Mica as Allie approached. Her shoulders tightened, she put down the glass she’d been holding, and she flicked a rapid glance at the door behind her. She was ready to run if she had to. The evidence was unmistakable if you knew what to look for. And if Flynn could see it, so could Allie.

  Flynn couldn’t hear the conversation, but when Allie turned away and headed back, a fleeting look of relief passed over Mica’s face. Mica glanced down the bar, and when she saw Flynn watching, her expression became stony and her eyes defiant. Daring Flynn to read her. Maybe daring Flynn to care.

  She shouldn’t care. She should know better. Mica was nothing like Debbie. Debbie had been lost, desperately seeking solid ground, searching for direction, and Flynn had been there to guide her. That’s what she’d thought she was doing—giving support and guidance. Exactly as she had been led to believe was her mission. Somewhere she’d failed to hear the true story behind Debbie’s fears. Failed to recognize the terror that plagued her. Failed Debbie. And now, was she simply seeking redemption with a woman who didn’t need saving and who would never give her absolution?

  “You know her very well?” Allie leaned against the bar, her thigh just touching Flynn’s, her body blocking Flynn’s view of Mica.

  “Not really,” Flynn said, easing away from the contact. At the end of the bar, Mica continued to work.

  “Huh. Looked like you did—when you were talking earlier.”

  “Just met her this morning.”

  “Okay. Well, have you decided to play ball for the fund-raiser?” Allie asked.

  Happy for the reprieve, Flynn turned partway on the stool and focused on Allie. Her eyes were beautiful, and sharply appraising. Flynn wondered what she saw. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

  “Good. I’m captaining the red team. I could use a good running back.”

  “That’s what Dave said. What makes you think I can run?”

  Allie grinned. “Baby, you’re built for it.”

  Flynn laughed. She loved that Allie could always make her laugh. “So you say. I’ll be proud to wear the red, Captain.”

  Ali squeezed Flynn’s shoulder. “Good. I’m going to head home. Ash is supposed to call.”

  “Tell her I said hi,” Flynn said, finding it hurt less to say this time.

  Allie smiled. “Thanks. I will.”

  Flynn turned back to the bar and Mica stepped in front of her.

  “Girlfriend?” Mica asked, a note of disdain in her voice.

  “No. Friend.”

  “I thought priests weren’t supposed to lie?”

  “I’m not. She’s got a girlfriend.”

  “You’re pretty good at sliding around a question, aren’t you.” Mica grabbed a wet rag and started wiping down the bar. “Since when did having one girlfriend mean you can’t have another one?”

  “Doesn’t work that way for me,” Flynn said, having no idea why she was explaining. “I went out with Allie a few times, but she was still in love with someone else. That someone else showed up.”

  Mica stopped, the white terrycloth balled in her fist. “You still have a thing for her.”

  Flynn stopped herself before she could give the automatic response. A lie would destroy whatever chance she had of ever gaining Mica’s trust. “I think I still have a thing for what might have been. We didn’t go out that long—never got to the point of having anything serious.”

  “Is there a time limit or something?” Mica snorted. “Sometimes things happen fast. Somebody gets their hooks into you and you can’t shake loose.”

  “You sound like you know.” Flynn didn’t like the idea, which made no sense at all.

  Mica shrugged. “No. Not me.” She started rubbing out the water rings on the bar again. “Besides, we were talking about you.”

  “I’m n
ot hung up, but I still have some feelings.”

  “Yeah. I can see how that would happen.” Mica grinned, a wholly natural and captivating grin. “She’s really hot.”

  Flynn laughed. “Yeah, you got that right.”

  Mica paused, leaned toward Flynn. “But then, so are you.”

  Flynn’s thighs tightened and a drumbeat started in the pit of her stomach. “That’s some line.”

  “It’s not a line,” Mica said, leaning over a little more. Her gaze did a slow crawl down Flynn’s body. “I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

  Flynn ignored the voice warning her to be careful. “I’ll be waiting.”

  *

  Outside Atlantic City, NJ

  Hector climbed out of the rear of the Hummer and waited while his lieutenants piled out of all four doors and surrounded him, shielding him from any potential ambush. He slid his hand under his oversized Eagles jersey and felt for the Glock in his right front pocket. He brushed his fingers past the cold steel and onto his cock, taking courage from the dual symbols of his power. “Stay tight. Be ready.”

  “Yo,” came a series of gruff replies. They moved forward as a phalanx toward the three men in suits and overcoats standing next to the idling limousine. The big guy in the front, Leo, watched them approach impassively. His white-blond hair was cut close to his scalp, making his massive head and neck appear even larger. His shoulders strained the seams of the expensive cashmere coat and his thighs bulged beneath his blended wool trousers. He dressed like a businessman but he looked like a thug. Hector wasn’t intimidated by the clothes. A bullet would pierce silk as easy as polyester.

  “You bring the product?” Leo asked.

  “In the car.” Hector hunched his shoulder toward the limo. “You have the goods?”

  “Two cases. AK-47s.”

  “Twenty kilos,” Hector said, “prime Colombian white.”

  “Good.”

  “What about the girls?” Hector asked.

  Leo’s granite jaw became even stonier. “Not part of the bargain.”

  “Remy said we’d get three.”

  “Remy doesn’t make deals.”

  Hector cupped his crotch, squeezed his balls, and brushed his hand over the Glock in his pants. “No girls, no coke.”

  “No coke, no guns.”

  Hector shrugged. “We can get guns from the Bloods.”

  “Not like these.”

  Hector shrugged again and made like he was turning away.

  “Two,” Leo said. “But they been used already.”

  “Done.” Virgins were nice, but after the first time, they were just like all the others anyhow. The girls the Russians supplied were worth compromising on that score—always well-trained, usually healthy, and obedient.

  “Someone will drop them off tomorrow night.”

  Hector signaled to Carmen. “Make the exchange.” He backed away, keeping his eye on the muscle who flanked Leo. When he was far enough away to feel comfortable, he turned his back and walked back to the Hummer. He climbed into the rear and wiped sweat from his face.

  Carmen hopped in five minutes later. “All taken care of, boss.”

  “Any word on Mia?”

  “Ramirez got a cousin of hers to talk. She says Mia headed north. On the train, maybe.”

  “Where north?”

  Carmen shook his head. “She still won’t say, and Ramirez was persuasive. Could be she doesn’t know.”

  “Get her cell. Mia would’ve called her. We’ll find someone who can trace the calls.”

  “What you going to do when you find her?”

  “Nothing,” Hector said, rubbing his palm over his dick. He was getting hard thinking about Mia and the lesson he’d need to teach her. “Just want my homegirl back home.”

  *

  Reese’s cell phone rang and she snatched it off the bedside table. Rolling out of bed, she padded naked out into the hall. “Conlon.”

  “I’m sorry to wake you up, Sheriff,” Allie said, “but I didn’t think I ought to wait till tomorrow…”

  “No problem.” Reese eased the bedroom door closed. From the amount of moonlight slanting through the skylight in the hall, she figured it was still early. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d fallen asleep so early or so deeply. “What have you got?”

  “Remember you called me this morning to ask me about the girl who was hit by the van?”

  “The one who left the clinic before Tory finished her evaluation. Yeah, I remember.”

  “I ran her ID this afternoon, and I just checked back tonight because I was waiting on a few things. The computer system hasn’t been—”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m trying to get more money in the budget to replace the whole system.” Ever since Nelson Parker had gone out on medical leave, she’d taken over as acting sheriff and, come election time, figured it would be permanent. She liked everything about the job except the politics. “You find something?”

  “No,” Allie said. “That’s just the thing. I didn’t find anything at all.”

  “So she’s clean.”

  “No, I mean I didn’t find anything on her in the system. No credit cards, no driver’s license, no previous addresses, no Social Security number.”

  Reese walked into the baby’s room out of habit. The crib was empty, and for a fraction of a second, her guts seized. Then she remembered. Reggie was with her grandmothers. Reggie was fine. Tory was asleep across the hall. Her family was safe. Her stomach settled. “So she’s either off the grid, or she’s not who she wants us to think she is.”

  “That’s my take on it.”

  “There’s no law against flying under the radar. Of course, if she’s working, she ought to be paying taxes.”

  “She’s working, all right. I just saw her in the Piper.” Allie drew in a deep breath that made Reese think she wasn’t happy about what she was going to say. “You think we should bring her in?”

  “We don’t have any real reason to do that.” Reese walked into the guest room where she kept extra clothes so she could dress in the middle of the night without waking Tory. She opened the closet door and pulled a khaki uniform shirt off the hanger. “I can meet you at the station and we can talk about it.”

  “Oh hell, no. I don’t want to drag you out tonight. I just have this feeling—”

  “Tremont,” Reese said, “if you’ve got a feeling, don’t ignore it. You’ve got good instincts.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Reese smiled. “We need to do a lot more digging before we draw any conclusions.”

  “I can widen the computer searches.”

  “Absolutely, that’s a place to start. We ought to send her picture around and see if that pops anything for us.” Reese shrugged into the shirt but left it unbuttoned. “I’ll come in early tomorrow morning and we can get started. Good enough?”

  “I, uh, thought maybe I’d just keep an eye on her tonight.”

  “A stakeout? What else is going on that makes you think there’s something there?”

  “I talked to her tonight. She looked like she was a second away from running.”

  “Again,” Reese said softly. The girl was clearly afraid of the authorities. That could mean anything—she could be a victim just as easily as she could be a problem. “If she goes straight home, I want you to do the same. I don’t want you running any kind of surveillance by yourself. If you have the slightest suspicion of anything off, I want you to call me. I’ll be your backup.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Allie snapped, and Reese could almost see the salute.

  “Well done, Tremont.” Reese started back to the bedroom. “Remember, you even get a twinge that something is off, I want a call.”

  “You got it, Sheriff.”

  Reese disconnected and slipped back into the bedroom, making her way to the bed in the dark.

  “You have to go?” Tory asked.

  Reese sat on the side of the bed and set the phone on the bedside table. “No. That was Allie, c
alling about the girl you had in your clinic this morning. She doesn’t seem to have any verifiable identity.”

  Tory slid her hand under Reese’s shirt and rubbed her back. “What do you think that means?”

  “Almost anything.” Reese shrugged out of the shirt, tossed it onto a nearby chair, and got back under the covers. She pulled Tory into her arms and kissed her. “Sorry I woke you.”

  “That’s okay. I think just to be extra sure, we should try that helping-hand thing again.”

  Reese chuckled. “Does just thinking about getting pregnant make you horny?”

  “Darling, you make me horny.” Tory pulled Reese on top of her. “You’re not tired, are you?”

  “Not even a little. I’m all yours.”

  “Of course you are. And right now, I have work for you.”

  Reese kissed her. Allie would call if she needed her. Right now, Tory was all that mattered.

  Chapter Eight

  Flynn finished her Diet Coke and turned the empty glass between her hands, watching the last of the ice melt. Mica had signaled she was finishing up and would be ready to leave soon. Mica worked quickly and efficiently, clearing glasses and empty bottles from tables around the room, emptying ashtrays on the open deck that extended over the beach, restocking the bar. She didn’t seem to notice the appreciative glances from the women, mostly singles now, occupying stools at the bar or leaning on the deck in casual poses, appraising their chances of company for the night. Flynn didn’t want to be one of the women staring at Mica, tossing out a flirtatious remark as she passed, hoping to draw her attention. She tried not to watch her, but Mica was the most attractive woman in the room—her tight faded jeans hugged her curvaceous butt, and her sleeveless T-shirt with a washed-out Harley-Davidson logo stretched tightly across her full breasts showed off her lithe, muscular arms. When she bent over, the shirt slid up her back and a bit of ink showed above the waistband of her hip-huggers. The tat was big, and with a twinge in her belly that ought to have been a warning but just felt good, Flynn wondered how low it went. In a word, Mica was built, and combined with the strong, broad planes of her face, her luminous dark eyes, and full lips, that spelled downright gorgeous. Who wouldn’t want to look at her?