by Radclyffe
*
Flynn was drifting, struggling to stay awake as the Percocet kicked in, when someone knocked on the treatment room door and walked in. Hoping Mica had returned, she shifted painfully onto her right side and opened her eyes. “Hi, Reese.”
Reese pulled over a stool and sat down next to the treatment table, putting them on the same level. “Doing okay?”
“Not too bad,” Flynn said. “Any word on the guy?”
“I was just talking to Bri. She and a couple of the other officers have been canvassing the neighbors and patrolling the general area. Nothing so far.”
“He either took off in a car or he’s inside somewhere.”
“More than likely, but we’ll keep looking. Can you give me a description?”
Flashes of those few minutes in the alley ran through Flynn’s mind. Mica’s shout for her to run, the torrent of blows, the helpless frustration. A wellspring of fury clouded her already cloudy mind. “Give me a second.”
“I’m sorry to have to do this now,” Reese said.
“No. It’s okay. It just happened really fast.”
“Take it one thing at a time. Let’s start with what was going on before you reached that alley. Where were you?”
“Walking east along Commercial. On our way to Mica’s.” Flynn smiled at the memory of them rushing down the street, arms around each other, and why they were in such a hurry. She’d been happy and lighthearted, excited to be with Mica, to be connected to her. She’d been thinking about being even closer. “We were half a block from Mica’s when it happened.”
“Do you remember where he came from? What direction?”
Flynn tensed, reliving the shock of the first blow in the middle of her back. “Someone hit me from behind, pushed me down the alley, away from Mica.”
“So he came up behind you? Any indication he might have been following you?”
“I don’t know, maybe. I guess he could’ve been standing in the doorway of one of the buildings when we passed. I remember—” She remembered Mica looking over her shoulder, more than once. As if she was looking for something or someone behind them.
“What?” Reese asked.
“Nothing.”
“Mica didn’t give any indication she was nervous or frightened?”
Flynn’s head began to pound. A cascade of flashing lights shot through her eyes, and a thousand needles pierced her brain. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure. I’m a little fuzzy right now.”
“I understand,” Reese said patiently. “Just give me your impressions. I’ll sort things out from there.”
“I think Mica looked back a couple times. I can’t be sure.”
“Okay. She didn’t say anything? Didn’t warn you in any way?”
“No. We were kind of wrapped up in each other. At least I was. Not paying much attention to anything else.”
“The two of you, you’re involved?”
“I’m not sure.” Flynn flushed. “It was a date. A casual one.”
“Uh-huh, okay. So someone came up behind you, shoved you into the alley. Then what?”
Flynn gripped the side of the stretcher, curling her fingers around the cool steel. Surprise, pain, fear, and anger flooded through her in succession. Mica’s sharp cry of pain, the sight of the attacker’s arm wrapped around Mica’s throat, lifting her off the ground, pulling her away. Pulling her into the dark. “He was medium height, heavyset. Maybe three or four inches taller than Mica. There wasn’t much light. No beard, close-cut hair. Big arms. No jacket.”
“White? Black?”
“Not black. I remember his forearm was bare. There was a mark—some kind of tattoo on his forearm—right forearm.”
“Do you remember what it was?”
“No. I only saw it for a second, but it was big, maybe five inches high.”
“Did you hear his voice?”
“Yes. He had an accent. Spanish, I think.” Flynn’s breathing was ragged and she was starting to get light-headed. She settled herself, fighting off the disorienting effect of the drugs and the icy fear of memory. “I’m sorry I don’t have more for you.”
“That’s all right, you did really well.” Reese leaned forward and rested one hand on the stretcher next to Flynn’s. She didn’t touch her, but her presence filled the space. “What can you tell me about Mica?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Flynn said almost automatically. Everything always came back to Mica and unanswered questions. And always, her pressing need to protect Mica from everyone, even the people she trusted.
“The usual things people talk about when they first meet—where she’s from, what she’s doing here. Is she married, seeing anyone, hooked up with friends in the area?”
“Shouldn’t she be telling you this?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure she will.” Reese held Flynn’s gaze. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you anything.”
“I can understand that you don’t want to. That keeping her confidence is important to you. But one of you could have been killed back there. If there’s any chance it’s going to happen again, I need to know what’s going on.”
“I don’t know the answer to your questions,” Flynn said.
“If you did, would you tell me?”
“I don’t know.” Flynn struggled to explain what she couldn’t even explain to herself. “You’ll have to find out from her what you need to know.”
“All right. Try to get some sleep.” Reese rose. “When we’re done talking to Mica, I’ll have Allie give you both a ride home.”
“Thanks.”
Reese paused on the way to the door. “By the way. Is this her priest protecting her or her girlfriend?”
“I’m not her confessor.” Flynn took a long breath. “I don’t think I’m her girlfriend either, but I’d like to be.”
“Word of advice, then—love sometimes makes it hard to see the whole picture, especially when all you see is her. You can get into trouble that way.”
“Yeah,” Flynn said. “I know.”
*
“Your ID says your name is Mica Butler.” Allie motioned to a chair in the small conference room down the hall from the treatment rooms. Mica glanced at the chair and then the door they’d come through, and Allie braced herself to grab her if she tried to run. She looked like she might. “Do you want a soda or something?”
“No,” Mica said.
“You might as well sit down. This is going to take a few minutes.” Allie pulled out a chair at the small round wooden table and set her hat on the top. She leaned back and waited. It was two a.m. She had all night.
Mica yanked out a chair across from Allie’s and flopped into it.
“You want to tell me what happened tonight?” Allie asked.
“We got jumped. He took off when we didn’t lay down for it.”
“You know him?”
“Nope.”
“Know why he went for you?”
“Nope,” Mica said.
Allie took out her notebook. “Description?”
“It was dark.”
“He almost killed Flynn,” Allie said conversationally and looked up from her notes. Mica’s bored expression faltered. Her eyes sparked and her lips thinned. Bingo.
“I didn’t see him all that well.”
“And you don’t know him,” Allie repeated. Come on, give me something.
“I already said no.”
“Butler.” Allie changed tacks, hoping to catch Mica off guard. “Something tells me that’s not your real last name.”
“I already told you, I don’t know who the guy is. I don’t have anything else to say.”
“Where are you from?”
“New York City.”
“Where did you go to school?”
Mica crossed her arms. “A bunch of places. I quit before I graduated. Can’t remember them all.”
“And you came all the way here to what, work for minimum wage in a bar?”
Allie got up, pushed change into the coffee machine, and waited while steaming liquid the color of muddy water filled a paper cup. She added Splenda from a shelf next to the vending machine and sat back down. She blew on the top, sipped, and wondered why coffee machines couldn’t make decent coffee. Ever. “No bars in New York City?”
“Is there some law against me working in a bar?”
“Nope.” Allie placed the coffee cup down in front of her. “No law against it at all. There is a law against lying to me, though, and I’m pretty sure you’re lying.”
Mica stared at some point past Allie’s shoulder. The message was clear. She wasn’t talking and she knew she didn’t have to.
“Whoever this guy was, he’s still around. He’ll probably be back.”
Mica’s jaw tightened. She was beautiful, even pissed off and wanting a fight.
“Did you cut him?” Allie asked.
“Yeah, I cut him.”
“Stuck him or cut him?”
Mica glanced at Allie with amused respect. “Stuck him, but not as hard as I wished I had. He blocked most of it, caught a shoulder, I think.”
“Left shoulder? Right shoulder?”
“Left.”
“How’d you get the knife away from him?”
“Asshole held it to my throat, put it right up where I could get it.”
“Pretty risky. He could have gotten you first.”
Mica shrugged. “He wasn’t trying to kill me.”
“What was he trying to do?” Mica’s face went blank, and Allie took that as a sign she was headed in the right direction. “He wasn’t interested in raping you. Men who want to rape women don’t jump couples. So if he didn’t want to kill you, what does that leave us?”
“You’re the cop.”
Allie smiled. “That I am. I’m glad you’ve got that in focus.”
“Look, I don’t know the dude. It was dark, and he was behind me. Couldn’t see him. I got nothing that will help you.”
“You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” Allie said. “You know what he wants, don’t you?”
“Got no idea.”
“Yet you know he wasn’t trying to kill you. Makes me think he wants you. Why would he want you?”
“No idea.”
“Let’s say I believe you,” Allie said, although she let disbelief seep into her tone. “Let’s say you’re right. This guy comes out of nowhere and goes after you for no good reason. You were lucky to get away. You got a piece of him. Good for you.”
Mica narrowed her eyes, looking for the trap.
“Too bad Flynn got in the middle. Maybe next time she won’t be so lucky. Maybe he won’t just beat her, maybe next time he’ll cut her throat quickly.”
“Maybe there won’t be a next time,” Mica said sharply.
She looked like she wanted to dive over the table and get her hands on Allie’s throat. Good.
“You better hope there isn’t,” Allie said. “Because if he comes after you again and Flynn ends up getting hurt, I’m not letting you walk away.”
Mica pushed her chair up and stood. “You got nothing. Except maybe the hots for Flynn.”
Mica walked out the door and Allie let her go. Mica was partially right. She had nothing, only the same suspicions she’d started with. But she had one thing she hadn’t had before—certainty that this wasn’t the end of trouble for Mica. And now that Flynn was mixed up in it, she wasn’t backing off until she found out exactly what was going on. As to having the hots for Flynn, Mica was wrong. But then, Mica was jealous.
Allie smiled. She could use that.
Chapter Eighteen
Allie pulled open the front door of the cruiser parked in front of the clinic. “You’ll probably be more comfortable sitting in the front, Flynn.”
Flynn took in the backseat—no inside handles, steel mesh and impenetrable plastic between the rear compartment and the front—a cramped prison cell on wheels. Her ribs ached, but the Percocet had helped dull the stabbing pain that accompanied every breath. She could move a little more easily now too. No matter how much it hurt to squeeze into that tight space, she wasn’t going to let Mica ride in there alone. “Thanks. I’ll be fine in the back.”
Allie frowned at her across the roof of the cruiser. The security lights flooded a crescent of the parking lot with harsh light, giving Allie’s sensuous features a dangerous edge. Allie glanced from Flynn to Mica, shook her head, and reached inside the cruiser to pop the rear locks. Flynn pulled the door open with her left hand and, seeing Mica hesitate, got in first. Mica finally inched in beside her and pulled the door closed.
When Allie started the cruiser, the locks snapped down. Allie’s silhouette was visible through the impregnable barrier, but they were effectively isolated.
Flynn had never been conscious of being a prisoner before, and she quickly discovered she didn’t like it. The space was claustrophobic, and just knowing that she couldn’t get out if she wanted to brought acid roiling in her stomach. Beside her, Mica sat staring straight ahead, her hands clenched on her thighs. Flynn slid toward her, wincing as the movement tugged at her damaged ribs.
“You should have sat in the front,” Mica muttered.
“Yeah, probably.” Flynn rested her fingertips on Mica’s thigh. Mica’s slender muscles were rigid. “This is pretty awful back here.”
Mica snorted, her mouth lifting into a smile Flynn guessed held no humor.
“At least nobody’s puked back here. Tonight anyhow,” Mica said.
“Geez, I hope not.”
“You can tell her to take me to my place.”
“Is that what you want?”
Slowly, Mica turned on the seat until she faced Flynn, their bodies very close. Her breath gave off the sweet tinge of alcohol and peppermint.
“You’re pretty busted up. I don’t think you’d be much good tonight.”
“Maybe so.” Flynn kept her fingers on Mica’s thigh and stroked slowly up and down. “Got any more mints?”
Mica sighed, fished a small plastic container out of her front pocket, and shook two into Flynn’s hand.
Flynn popped them into her mouth and chewed. “I still want you to come home with me.”
“Why?”
“It’s been an exceptionally crappy night, but it started out really well. Walking home with you was one of the best evenings I’ve ever had. I don’t want that part to end.”
After shooting a quick glance at the front seat, Mica cupped Flynn’s jaw and kissed her. “Didn’t anybody ever teach you not to say exactly what’s on your mind?”
Flynn slid both hands to Mica’s waist and leaned in to her until her ribs protested and she had to stop. She rested her forehead against Mica’s. “I’ve sort of been trained to tell the truth, you know? Tough habit to break.”
Mica snorted. “Not every priest tells the truth.”
“Not everyone does. You’re right.”
“Sometimes telling the truth can get you hurt.”
“Did someone hurt you?”
“We’re not talking about me.”
“Not right now.”
Mica wrapped her fingers around Flynn’s upper arms and caressed her. “You’re pretty scary the way you never give up.”
“I didn’t think you scared easily.”
“Not usually. If I could figure you out better, I’d be good.”
“Nothing to figure out,” Flynn said mildly. “I like you. I like everything about you. Plus I think you’re beautiful, and I love the way you kiss. Maybe you could do that again.”
Mica pressed her palm gently against Flynn’s side and Flynn winced. “Like I said. You’re not going to be up to doing much tonight.”
“More than you think.”
Mica kissed her again, easing her tongue between Flynn’s lips, teasing her with quick darting caresses and the slow slide of her full warm lips. She kept going, probing and stroking and playing until Flynn moaned. Mica eased back and grinned. “Guess we’ll find out.”
/> Flynn nodded, the heavy pall of pain and frustration lifting from her shoulders. “I guess we will.”
When Flynn settled back, she caught a reflection of Allie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, watching them. Intent, bright, unhappy. Mica shifted closer and Flynn stroked her hair. “Tired?”
Mica nodded silently, rested her head on Flynn’s shoulder, and wrapped one arm gently around her waist.
“We’ll figure this out in the morning,” Flynn said.
“Sure,” Mica whispered, not sounding very convincing.
From the front seat, Allie’s muffled voice announced, “We’re here, Flynn.”
“Thanks,” Flynn said as the locks popped up. She tried not to rush to get the door open.
The dome light came on, and Allie shifted around to look back at them. “Where do you need to go, Mica?”
Mica shot a glance at Flynn. Flynn pushed the door open, eased one leg out, and gripped Mica’s hand. “She’s not going anywhere. She’s staying with me.”
“Do you think that’s smart?” Allie asked. “Neither of you is in very good shape, and if you run into any kind of trouble—”
“We’re fine,” Flynn said gently. “But thanks.”
“Yeah, right,” Allie muttered as Flynn closed the door.
The cruiser slowly pulled away, and Flynn slid her arm around Mica’s waist. “Ready?”
Mica regarded her steadily. “Are you?”
“This is the part where you’ll have to trust me.” Flynn held her breath. She was talking about a lot more than the two of them maybe sleeping together, and Mica knew it too. This was where Mica would walk away, or take a chance. Flynn’s heart thudded in her chest, and with every passing second a cold hard stone grew in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t talk her way into Mica’s life. She couldn’t talk away Mica’s problems. But she could listen to them. And if Mica gave her a chance, she could prove she was worth the risk by staying. No matter what Mica told her.
“I don’t want the night to end either.” Mica took Flynn’s hand.
