Sheltering Dunes (Provincetown Tales Book 7)

by Radclyffe

  “No, but thanks. At the rate they’re coming in, I’m not going to get overwhelmed.”

  “So you want to swing through town, see what’s cooking? We got a few minutes before roll call.”

  “I guess you’ll be riding with Carter again,” Allie said quietly.

  “Now who’s jealous?”

  “You wish.” Allie grabbed her uniform hat and settled it over her brow. “Come on. Let’s see what’s shakin’.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Flynn ran along the harbor’s edge, skirting along the crescent shoreline that extended from Long Point through the center of town to the East End. The tide was on its way out, and the moist sand left in its wake was dark and firm beneath her feet. Her footsteps filled with water almost as soon as she made them, obliterating her path within a few seconds, as if she had never been there at all.

  The still air smelled of seaweed and brine. The sun blazed brightly but the intense heat of summer was tempered by the first breath of fall. Beneath a crystal-blue sky dotted with billowing white clouds, the harbor glinted like a steel-gray mirror. Higher up the beach, early risers walked barefoot, carrying their shoes in one hand and coffee cups in the other; gulls circled and swooped, looking for scraps; and dog owners tossed balls and sticks out into the water where sleek canine heads broke the surface like schools of porpoises in pursuit. The day was as beautiful as any she’d ever seen. As she ran, the shroud of a sleepless night fell away and she breathed deeply, the excitement of a new day, ripe with possibility, buoying her. Mornings were her favorite time—when the defeats and disappointments of the day before had been distanced by the dark, and dawn promised another chance.

  Slowing, she checked the big black clock with gold hands on the tower at Town Hall. Seven fifteen. She angled up the beach, sinking into the soft dry sand with every step. The muscles in her calves ached pleasantly, and a light sheen of sweat coated her bare arms and the triangle of skin where the vee of her T-shirt exposed her chest. When she reached the street, she thumped her running shoes against the edge of the wooden sidewalk to shake loose the clumps of moist sand, giving herself another few seconds to change her mind. When she couldn’t delay without examining exactly why she was hesitating, she strode down Commercial toward the West End where Mica worked. She’d been thinking about seeing Mica again ever since she’d left her standing outside her rooming house earlier in the week. When she’d gotten up that morning, she’d told herself she was going for a run, but in the back of her mind, her destination had always been the Shoreline.

  The restaurant fronted the harbor, and once inside, she skirted the tables in the main room and found a deuce near the railing on the open-air deck that extended over the beach. While she was perusing the menu, Mica appeared carrying a huge round tray laden with plates to a table occupied by a party of six—two women, one Caucasian and the other African American, and four children. Mica was as fast and efficient serving food as she had been working the bar, but today, she smiled at the kids and appeared to be making small talk. Her white short-sleeved shirt was tucked into tapered black jeans that emphasized her narrow waist and curvaceous hips. A tattoo, indistinct from so far away, adorned her right upper arm. Her hair was down, the heavy black waves blowing in the harbor breeze. Flynn’s mouth went dry. Mica was all kinds of sexy.

  Mica looked over, her lips pursing as her smile disappeared. Flynn nodded and Mica set the tray on one of the empty tables and threaded her way between the chairs over to Flynn. “What gives?”

  Flynn smiled. “I was hoping for breakfast?”

  “That’s what we do here.” Mica crossed her arms. The top two buttons of her shirt were undone, and her bronze skin glistened. Her jeans were cut so low the arch of each hipbone slanted beneath the waistband, bold curves inviting the caress of hands.

  Flynn almost told Mica she looked amazing, but caught herself just in time. Mica had made it very clear that she didn’t trust compliments. Flynn couldn’t ask her how she was feeling, even though she wanted to know. Mica didn’t like to reveal personal information and didn’t like being asked. Short of commenting on the weather, Flynn couldn’t think of anything else to say except the truth. “I was thinking about you this morning and I ended up here.”

  “Yeah, right. Your breakfast order?”

  “Poached eggs, wheat toast, chicken sausage.”

  “Got it. You want juice?”

  “Orange would be good.”

  “Be a few minutes.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t start my shift until nine.”

  Mica turned away and Flynn settled back in her chair to watch the boats. She had nothing on her mind, and the pressure she always felt to be doing, moving, was strangely absent. Strange but not unpleasant. She was waiting for Mica, nothing else, and that was okay.

  *

  While Mica waited for her orders to come up, she leaned against a post in the main section of the restaurant and watched Flynn. She’d pushed her chair back from the small table, extended her legs underneath, and tilted her head against the back of the chair. Couldn’t be a very comfortable position, but she looked good all the same. She must’ve been out running. Her navy blue T-shirt with the paramedic emblem on the chest had a dark diamond-shaped pattern down the center of her chest. Sweat. Her hair lay in damp tendrils on her neck. Her bare arms, still holding a summer tan, were sleek and lined with prominent veins coursing over her wrists and the tops of her hands. She looked strong. She looked damn good.

  “Orders up,” the fry cook called and Mica went to fill her tray. She served everyone else before Flynn, and by the time she reached her, it looked like Flynn was asleep.

  She almost didn’t want to disturb her. The tightness around Flynn’s eyes and mouth, that she hadn’t realized was there until now, had disappeared. Her face had relaxed, and she looked…younger. She was always hot-looking, but now she was just beautiful.

  “Hey,” Mica murmured close to Flynn’s ear, “wake up, your breakfast is ready.”

  Flynn shot upright, her eyes scanning rapidly. “What?”

  “Yo,” Mica said. “Take it easy.”

  Flynn scrubbed her face. “Sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

  “Late-night action?” Mica grinned.

  “Not exactly. I just didn’t sleep much.”

  Mica almost said she hadn’t either. She rarely slept a night through—waking up, heart racing, wondering if every sound in the hall was someone on their way to her door. No way was she sharing that, but she almost wanted to. Flynn had a way of catching her off guard, simply because Flynn was never on guard herself. If Mica didn’t know better, she’d think Flynn always told the truth. But that couldn’t possibly be, because no one ever did. She slid the plate onto the table in front of Flynn and set down her orange juice. She placed a cup of coffee next to it. “Thought you could use this.”

  Flynn grasped the mug, raised it up, and breathed deeply. “You are so right. Thanks.”

  “Well,” Mica said, remembering how they’d sat over sandwiches the night Flynn walked her home, not talking much, just watching foot traffic on Commercial and occasionally commenting on the sports channel. She’d almost forgotten La Mara, and right now, she wished she could pull out the chair opposite Flynn and sit down. Maybe ask her what her day would be like. How she’d ended up in this town. Why she wasn’t wearing a collar. She couldn’t remember the last time she wanted to know anything about anyone in her life. What was even scarier, she almost…almost…wanted to tell Flynn about hers. She backed away from the table. “Enjoy it.”

  “I will.” Flynn turned in her chair. “Mica?”

  Mica hesitated. “Yeah?”

  “You working tonight?”

  “Every night, remember?”

  “So maybe I’ll see you.”

  Mica shrugged, ignoring the quick jump of her pulse. “Whatever.”

  Flynn smiled. “Yeah, whatever sounds good.”

  Shaking her head, Mica beat a retreat. She didn’t un
derstand Flynn at all, and that couldn’t be a good thing. Could it?

  *

  Philadelphia

  Detective Dellon Mitchell leaned down and kissed her girlfriend on the mouth. “See you later, babe.”

  Sandy Sullivan rolled over and grabbed Dell’s wrist, yanking her down. She shoved the covers aside, exposing her warm nude body, and kept pulling until Dell tumbled on top of her.

  “Hey,” Dell said, laughing. “I’m geared up here, babe.”

  “Yeah?” Sandy slid her hand up the inside of Dell’s thigh and cupped her crotch. “I’m not feeling the love, baby.”

  Dell reached under her black T-shirt, pulled her holster from the waistband of her jeans, and dropped it onto the bedside table by feel. Sliding her thigh between Sandy’s, she covered Sandy’s smaller body easily and kissed her hard, slipping her tongue into Sandy’s mouth, tasting her heat and the leftover remnants of the peppermint toothpaste she’d used at bedtime. “Not that kind of gear.”

  “No problem.” Sandy wrapped her legs around Dell’s hips and squirmed underneath her. “You always feel good, no matter what kind of gear you’re packing.”

  “Well, I’m glad you think so.” Dell nibbled on Sandy’s lower lip, thinking if Sandy kept it up she’d have to change her pants, because one of them was gonna leave a wet spot somewhere. But what the hell, she had plenty of jeans. Sandy arched her back and stretched under her like a cat. A big, tempting cat.

  “Mmm,” Sandy murmured, “isn’t it too early to be going to work?”

  Dell kissed Sandy’s nose. “For rookie patrol officers, maybe, but not for us big bad detectives.”

  “Oh, kiss my ass too.” Sandy shoved at Dell’s chest, but Dell didn’t budge. Instead, she nuzzled Sandy’s neck and bit lightly at the soft, fragrant skin above her collarbone. Sandy was still soft in all the right places, but the police academy training had given her muscles where she didn’t used to have them. Dell had always loved how girly Sandy could be while she was smiling sweetly and busting your balls. She was still girly, still as sexy as she had been the first time Dell had seen her in a micro miniskirt and a skimpy top that barely covered her breasts, and what was even better now—Sandy was all hers. Dell sucked at the spot she’d just bitten.

  Sandy slapped Dell on the shoulder. “Cut that out. I can’t go to work with a hickey. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Hey, babe, everyone knows you’re mine. So they all know what a stud you’re married t—” Dell laughed harder when Sandy punched her in the arm. Damn it, that was going to leave a bruise. “Ow. Hey!”

  Sandy grabbed a handful of Dell’s hair and tugged her head back. Sandy’s eyes were a brilliant blazing blue, her blond hair still short and spiky. Everything about her was hot, hot, hot. “You better not be talking about your studly activities around the squad. It’s enough I have to live down the fact I’m a hooker—”

  “Were a hooker.” Dell kissed Sandy again, slower and softer. “Were, baby, and you’ve always been a lot more than that.”

  Sandy had just finished the police academy, and though she never complained, she’d had a hard time with some of her classmates who didn’t think she belonged there. Dell would’ve kicked some ass over the subtle harassment, but she knew that wouldn’t help Sandy’s case. Sandy wouldn’t want her to get in the middle, either, but Sandy never wanted anyone to stand up for her. Sandy was too used to going it alone after years on the street, and as much as Dell wanted to protect her, she respected Sandy too much to smother her. But she wouldn’t stand by and let anyone hurt her either. So maybe she had mentioned here or there that Sandy had a rabbi. That just maybe that rabbi was Detective Lieutenant Rebecca Frye. Everyone knew, from a wet-behind-the-ears rookie to a seasoned detective, that if you had Frye behind you, you’d earned it, and then some. Because Rebecca Frye didn’t give an inch for anyone. So when word had gotten around that Frye had sponsored Sandy’s admission to the academy, the grumbling stopped. And then Sandy had taken care of the rest. She’d proven herself in the field and in the classroom.

  “You finished at the top of your class, babe,” Dell said. “You earned respect.”

  “I know.” Sandy eased out from under Dell until they were lying face-to-face on the pillow, arms and legs entwined. She stroked Dell’s cheek. “Most of the time it doesn’t bother me. But I don’t want people thinking less of you because of me.”

  Dell sucked in a breath and leaned her forehead against Sandy’s. Could her girlfriend be any crazier? Didn’t Sandy know by now she was the best thing to ever come into her life? “You know that’s a load of crap, right? Because I get so many points for having a blazing girlfriend like you, my rep is untouchable. Believe me, I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Rookie,” Sandy said, still calling Dell by the nickname she’d used since the first time she’d seen her. “You’ll say anything to get in my pants.”

  “True.” Dell kissed the tip of Sandy’s chin and pulled her closer until their breasts and bellies and thighs melded. “But I love you like crazy too. I’d be so screwed without you.”

  “Not happening,” Sandy whispered.

  There’d been a time when Sandy would’ve looked away, disbelieving her. Or worse, walked away. A time when Sandy hadn’t believed anyone could love her. Hadn’t believed anyone could want her for more than a quick fuck in a dark alley. Even now, sometimes, Dell could see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, when the memories came back too hard. But most of the time, Dell succeeded in making Sandy believe how special she was, and how much she needed her. If it took her a hundred years, she was going to make sure Sandy believed all the way through how special she was. Besides, telling Sandy she loved her made her feel good too.

  “You’re it for me, babe.”

  “You’re awfully smooth, you know.” Sandy tucked her head in the bend of Dell’s shoulder and rubbed her bare breasts over Dell’s chest. “I don’t suppose you have time to fuck me, do you?”

  Sandy’s breath was fire against Dell’s throat, and her clit shot up hard. “Oh man, that’s it. I wish I could, babe, but the Loo called for an early briefing this morning, and you know I can’t be late.”

  “Sometimes I wish you were just a regular detective and not on Frye’s super-duper elite HPC squad. Then you could blow off the schedule once in a while like everybody else I see is doing down at Police Plaza.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Yeah. You wouldn’t fit in down there any better than I do. If you weren’t working high-profile crimes, you’d be so miserable I’d probably never get laid.” Sandy grinned. “So what will you be doing all day while I’m riding around in a patrol car with my training officer, being lectured to and treated like I don’t have two brain cells to rub together?”

  Dell stifled a laugh. Being a trainee sucked, but everyone had to do it, and part of the TO’s job was to bust on the trainees to make sure they didn’t get themselves or someone else killed the first time they went out on their own. Still, it was tough on the ego, and for someone as independent as Sandy, even harder. “After the briefing? The same thing I’ve been doing for the last six months—working the streets, talking up the CIs, trying to find a way back into Zamora’s operation. Ever since we took down their Eastern European pipeline, everything has gone dead quiet. We can’t get a handle on anything—girls, dope, guns. The lieutenant thinks there’s been a power shift, maybe with the Colombians or Salvadorans moving in. But if anybody knows, they’re not talking.”

  “Something will break,” Sandy said. “The streets never stay quiet for long.”

  Slowly running her fingers down Sandy’s back, Dell settled back for another minute of peace. Sandy was right. Something would pop, soon, and when it did, things would get real hot, real fast. She couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Twelve

  Philadelphia

  “Fuck!” Hector rolled off the girl whimpering underneath him and pulled the cell phone from the back pocket
of his pants. His jeans were halfway down his thighs, and he grabbed the bitch’s hand and wrapped it around his still-hard dick. He pressed the phone to his ear. “Yeah, what?”

  “We got a lead off the cousin’s cell log,” Carmen said.

  “Tell me you know where she is.” Hector squeezed the girl’s hand around his cock and dragged her fist up and down, showing her how he liked it.

  “Not yet, but we got a good idea of where she was headed.”

  “Where?” Hector pushed up in bed, slapped the girl’s hand off his softening cock, and shoved his junk into his jeans. Some girls you just couldn’t teach. They acted like they’d never seen a stiff cock before. He made a mental note to hand this bitch off to one of his lieutenants. She was a lousy fuck.

  “Somewhere in Massachusetts.”

  “What the fuck is she doing there? You sure?”

  “She called her cousin a few times right after she took off. First time was New York City—maybe she took a bus or something. Then a couple more times, once in Connecticut and another time in Massachusetts. The last time pretty close to Cape Cod.”

  “What the fuck is out there?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been anywhere except to Jersey City on a run.”

  “You got a town name or something?”

  “Not yet—our guy at the phone company can tell general area, you know like area codes or some shit like that—but with cell phones, not cities necessarily.”

  “How does that help us?”

  Carmen grunted. “We know where to look, we reached out to a few friends up there. She can’t hide forever. She’s got no money, no friends, no family. We ask around, we’ll find her.”

  “We need to get to her before she does something stupid and the cops pick her up. Besides, rules are rules.” The MS-13 had one fundamental rule, and everyone knew it—once in, you never left. Not unless you were dead. If you tried, you would be dead.