Sheltering Dunes

by Radclyffe

  “I’m afraid I’m lost.”

  “Your faith or your path to it?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Let’s see if we can sort that out. Shall we walk outside?” Matthew said. “It’s so beautiful, and you’ve given me the perfect excuse to avoid the budget I’m supposed to be reviewing.”

  “I’m sorry to arrive with no warning.”

  “Don’t be. I’ve missed you. We all have.”

  She doubted Evelyn missed her. But Matthew didn’t know about their relationship. She’d ended it as soon as she’d realized Evelyn was seeing them both, and she saw no reason to tell her brother about the past affair if his wife didn’t. “I’ve missed you too.”

  The rolling hills of the seminary grounds were still green, although the maples and oaks were dropping their leaves like swatches of blazing confetti. The fall air was crisp, cooler and sharper than on the Cape. She missed the warm scent of the sea already. “I haven’t lost my faith, but I can’t seem to see past myself to its lessons.”

  Her brother smiled. “Maybe you just need to see yourself, and the rest will be clear.”

  “I’m afraid I see myself too well.”

  “Flynn,” he said gently, stopping to sit on a stone bench overlooking the town, “what happened to Debbie was a terrible, terrible tragedy. We all feel it, and in some ways, we are all responsible. You weren’t the only person who could have changed her mind. You weren’t the only person who might have influenced her, who might have given her support. Yes”—he held up his hand—“I know, you counseled her. That’s an enormous responsibility, no matter what the circumstances, but so much more so when we counsel the young, who sometimes are so isolated and feel so alone.”

  “If I’d been giving her what she needed,” Flynn said, “she would have come to me when she thought she had no options. She would have talked to me about what she was going to do.”

  “You know that isn’t usually what happens, not when someone has truly made up their mind. They almost never tell us. She wasn’t making a plea for help. She had already made her choice.”

  “I can’t accept her choice,” Flynn said, her throat burning with months of unshed tears.

  “Of course you can’t. Who could? Maybe the reason you feel so lost is you’ve forgotten that we are given free will, the opportunity to make our own choices, even when our choices are wrong or self-destructive. As hard as it is to accept, Debbie chose her path.”

  Flynn looked past her brother to the church and the cross at the top of the belfry, the symbols of their faith. Her belief that every individual had a choice, that nothing in life was completely predetermined, was fundamental to her faith. For if that were not so, there would be no purpose in ministering. Her failure had been in forgetting that ultimately, everyone chose their own path, and all she could do was help them see what those paths might be. She sighed. “Someone told me recently that my arrogance prevented me from seeing others’ reality. How can I minister if all I can see is my own belief?”

  “This person who told you that, did she know about Debbie?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “She’s hard on you. Why is that?”

  Flynn pictured Mica in the back of the police car, imprisoned and alone. Remembered the man in the alley and the knife at Mica’s throat. Goose bumps broke out over her flesh. Mica was in danger and she had known it. Mica wanted her gone, and she had said exactly what she knew would drive Flynn away. “She wanted me out of her life.”

  “The two of you—you have an intimate relationship?”

  “Yes.” Flynn smiled at an image of an exhausted and sated Mica tumbling into her arms after they’d made love. The tight fist in her chest relaxed. “I’m in love with her.”

  “How does she feel about you?”

  “I don’t know.” Flynn paused. “No, that’s not true. She’s talked to me, told me things that I know she’s kept hidden from others. I know she cares.”

  “Then why did she want to drive you away? Why did she deliberately hurt you?”

  “Someone is trying to kill her.”

  His expression never changed as he folded his hands in his lap and crossed his ankle over his opposite knee, as if he were settling in for a long, friendly conversation. “I think you better start at the beginning.”

  So she did, and the more she told him of Mica, the more she knew what she had to do.

  *

  When Mica hurried past Mitch on her way to the ice machine with an empty ice bucket, he leaned across the bar and caught her arm. She pivoted and shot him a glare. She hated being handled by anyone. Stabbing pain shot through her. She didn’t mind when Flynn touched her. She liked it. She didn’t want to think about Flynn. She didn’t want to keep watching the door. She’d accomplished what she’d wanted. Flynn was gone. She yanked her arm out of Mitch’s grasp. “What?”

  “You’ve been ignoring me,” Mitch said quietly. “And besides that, you’re snarling at me. You’re supposed to think I’m the hottest thing on the planet.”

  Mica forced herself to smile, although she thought if anyone looked closely they’d be able to tell she was snarling. Mitch did look good, and maybe if she’d been into guys with smoky eyes and sensuous mouths and teasing bulges in their crotches, she’d be smiling at him for real. But when she looked at him, nothing stirred inside her, not the way she’d come alive when she’d looked at Flynn. And now when she thought of Flynn, she just hurt. “I don’t fool around when I’m working.”

  “Just pretend to like me a little bit.” Mitch leaned over and caught her hand, tugged her against the bar, and kissed her.

  She hadn’t expected it, and because she knew him, she hadn’t been on guard. His mouth was soft and warm and for an instant, she compared the kiss to Flynn’s. When Flynn kissed her, even the very first time, she felt a connection that she didn’t feel now. Flynn’s lips had been electric against hers. For the sake of the show they were supposed to be putting on, she forced herself not to jerk away, but let him slide his mouth over hers for another minute. When the backs of his fingers glanced over the outer curve of her breast, she figured they’d given everyone enough of a look. She bit his lip and he pulled back, laughing.

  “Hey,” he complained, loud enough for everyone to know he liked it.

  “Save it until later, baby,” she said, also making sure she was heard.

  He dropped back on his stool, looking pleased. “I’ve got plenty left for later.”

  She snorted and spun away. She took one step and stopped, her heart rocketing into her throat.

  Flynn stood at the end of the bar, her mouth set in a tight angry line. Mica was so used to Flynn being calm and cool no matter what was happening, the flare of anger in her eyes was as exciting as it was ominous.

  “We might have a problem,” Mica said softly.

  Mitch swiveled and followed her gaze. “I take it that’s your girl?”

  “Was. Was my girl.”

  “I don’t think she agrees with you.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Flynn’s skin flashed hot and cold in dizzying waves. She didn’t know the guy who was manhandling Mica, and she didn’t care who he was. All she wanted was for him to stop touching her. When Mica kissed him, there was something off in the way she held her body, in the way she kept her hands away from him, even though his were all over her. Mica didn’t want to kiss him, and Flynn didn’t want her to either. When they broke apart and Mica turned from the stranger, the expression on her face was not one of pleasure. Maybe anyone else who happened to be watching would have thought so, but Flynn knew better. She knew what Mica looked like when she wanted to be touched, when she wanted to be kissed. Right now, Mica’s mouth was smiling, but her eyes were hard with suppressed wrath.

  Flynn strode toward the dark-haired stranger, who watched her warily without the slightest hint of uneasiness. He was cocky. He didn’t look like one of Hector’s guys, but then how would she know? Anyone could be one of Hect
or’s guys. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. She’d had enough. Time to put a stop to this.

  Mica came around the bar so quickly, Flynn had barely made it halfway before Mica blocked her way.

  “Flynn,” Mica said, intercepting her, “you need to get out of here.”

  “Who is that?” Flynn didn’t recognize her own voice. Low and cold and hard. She wasn’t sure she recognized herself. The day had been too long and filled with too many hard memories and too much pain. Too much sorrow. Her existence, her core, was built on forgiveness, on the belief that any wrong could be set right, any soul redeemed, but she didn’t feel forgiving right now. She didn’t care about understanding. She hurt inside and she had no clue as to how to erase the pain.

  Mica grasped her arm, bare skin to bare skin, and the heat of Mica’s flesh washed through her. A wave of hope followed, as if redemption were at hand. Flynn looked down at Mica’s fingers curled around her forearm, smaller and more fragile seeming than her own, but strong. Mica was trembling, only she was so good at hiding her fear Flynn doubted anyone else would know.

  “Who is he?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mica said, her voice tight and urgent. “You need to go.”

  “No.”

  Mica’s grip tightened, and she dragged Flynn away from the bar into the shadows next to the ice machine. She pushed Flynn against the wall and planted both palms against Flynn’s shoulders, pinning her there. “You listen to me,” Mica said, fury riding every word. “If I’d wanted you here, I would have asked you to come. You’re going to get your stupid self killed, and if that happens, you’re going to kill me. You understand? If you care at all about me, you’ll go away.”

  Flynn grasped Mica’s wrists and raised both hands to her mouth. She kissed Mica’s palms and folded Mica’s hands inside her own. “I’m not leaving you. I love you.”

  Mica went as still as a statue, her eyes widening. “Oh my God, Flynn. No. You’re crazy.”

  “I’m not.” Flynn smiled as calm suffused her. The terrible unrest and uncertainty that had been eating away at her dissolved. “I’m totally sane. I love you. And I don’t want that guy touching you.”

  Mica leaned against her, fitting into all the waiting places in Flynn’s soul. “He’s a cop. I’m not in any danger, but you are. Please. I don’t want you hurt.”

  “Why was he kissing you?”

  Mica growled and shook her head as if Flynn’s head were made of stone. “Are you not hearing me? It doesn’t matter. It’s not real.”

  “What are you doing with him, then? Are you waiting for them to come? Is that it?” Flynn cupped Mica’s chin and searched her eyes. Mica didn’t lie to her, and the truth was plain to see. “I’m not letting you do this.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Mica said.

  “Mica—”

  “Damn it!” As if she’d totally lost patience, Mica plastered her mouth to Flynn’s.

  Flynn’s anger fractured like mist in the sunlight. Mica’s kiss was the softest, warmest, most exciting sensation Flynn had ever known. She wrapped her arms around Mica’s waist and pulled her in tight. She needed Mica everywhere, over her and inside her—filling her up. She opened her mouth and drew Mica’s kiss inside, making a silent plea for her to stay.

  Mica pulled back first. “Now I want you to pretend you’re really pissed off at me and storm out of here. And stay out of sight until this is over.”

  “What will you be doing?”

  “Acting normally, if you’d ever let me. Mitch will—”

  “Mitch—that’s his name?”

  “Will you forget about him?” Mica hissed.

  “Do you promise you won’t disappear?”

  Mica tugged at her lower lip with her teeth. She wouldn’t lie and she didn’t answer.

  “If you don’t promise me,” Flynn said reasonably, thinking it only fair to be open about her intentions, “I’m going to plant my ass on one of those bar stools and stay here until you leave. Mitch or no Mitch.”

  “All right, all right, I promise. I’ll call you. Now go away.”

  Flynn feathered her fingers through Mica’s hair and kissed her, softly, imprinting her spicy taste and the tangy scent of her. She cupped her face. “I don’t know if I can pretend to be angry at you.”

  “Think about Mitch kissing me again—more than once. Does that work for you?”

  “I swear,” Flynn said dangerously, “if he does that again while I’m watching, I’m going to—”

  Mica smiled. “Baby, I love it when you’re jealous, but you’re no match for him. And he’s no competition for you.” Mica backed away and said, loudly, “I’m over your attitude, Flynn. I’ll date anybody I want.”

  “Then I’m done. I don’t share.” Flynn spun around and strode directly to the door and didn’t slow until she was outside. If she looked back even once, she wasn’t going to be able to leave her. Mica was playing a dangerous game, and the police were taking advantage of her need to be free, even if it was Mica’s choice. Mica’s choice. Wasn’t that what she and Matthew had talked about just that afternoon? The only true freedom was the freedom to choose, and she had to accept that. Accept that she could make a difference, but ultimately, she was not responsible for the choices of others, even those she loved.

  Her heart ached. Letting Mica do what she had to do was so hard. So hard when she had so much to lose. If they hurt Mica, if she lost her, she wouldn’t survive, no matter how strong her faith. She slowed when she reached the street, uncertain of where to go. Home? Her apartment was only a set of empty rooms and the bed where Mica had helped her find the way back to herself. The memories of Mica in her arms would drive her crazy. There was only one place she could go. She started walking.

  *

  Reese bounced Reggie on her knee, trying to avoid the fallout as Reggie practiced eating SpaghettiO’s with a spoon. When Reggie tired of trying to get the slippery circles into her mouth with the utensil, she helped the process along with both hands. The scatter landed on Reese’s shirtfront and the leg of her pants. With her free hand, Reese forked the salad her mother had made into her mouth.

  “You could put her in the high chair,” Jean said.

  “I know,” Reese said to her mother’s partner, “but I don’t see her at dinnertime all that much, and I like holding her.” She dodged a flying tomato-covered ring and grinned as it landed somewhere behind her on the floor.

  “She’s getting better at it,” Kate observed.

  “I think that’s a statement only a grandmother could make,” Reese said, laughing. Her cell phone rang and she put down her fork to dig it out of her pocket. “Conlon.”

  “Reese?” Tory said.

  “Hi, baby. I’m over at—”

  “I’ve got a Hispanic male in my clinic with an obvious stab wound in his shoulder. He says it happened—”

  “Who else is there with you?” Reese signaled her mother to take the baby. Kate scooped Reggie up and carried her around to the other side of the table, watching Reese anxiously.

  “Nita is here, and Randy. We’ve got a full house, Reese.”

  “Okay. You don’t want to alert him that anything is wrong.” Reese grabbed her keys and hurried to the hall closet where she’d left her gun belt and weapon. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Less. Four minutes, Tor.”

  “All right—I’ll get the patients out—”

  “No.” Reese raced down the narrow irregular stone walkway from her mother’s small harborside bungalow to the street. “Just tell him you’re going to get some supplies together. That you’ll be right back. Act calmly. If you see Nita, tell her to lock herself in the treatment room with whatever patient she’s seeing. Then you do the same in your office.”

  “What about all the patients in the waiting area?”

  “You have to leave them there. If you try to get them outside, you’re going to alert him that something is wrong. They’ll be in more danger then.” She yanked open the door of her SUV. “He oug
ht to be pretty comfortable with a few minutes’ wait, and I’ll be there soon. What room is he in?”

  “Two.”

  “All right, I’ll come in the back.” She started the engine and pulled out.

  “He’ll probably be calmer if I stay in there with him. Just carry on as normal.”

  “No,” Reese said. “Tory, don’t go back in there.”

  “Darling, I’ve got twenty people in my waiting room. I can’t risk him getting spooked and taking them hostage. I’ll be fine. Just come and pick him up.”

  “Damn it, Tory—” Reese swerved around a double-parked car, turned onto a one-way heading the wrong way toward Bradford, and stomped on the gas. The line went dead. She hit speed dial for the station.

  “Sheriff’s depar—”

  “This is Conlon. I need backup at Tory’s clinic. No lights, no siren, and no one goes in without my say-so. Have them block the parking lot and set up a perimeter three blocks in every direction.” She swung onto a street paralleling the rear of Tory’s clinic. “Suspect is inside the building, possibly armed, definitely dangerous. I’m going in. No one enters until I radio all clear. Put a unit on the back door. Have you got this?”

  Gladys Martin said calmly, “Yes, Sheriff. One unit on the parking lot, another at the back door, and a three-block perimeter. Calling now.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Be careful, Sheriff.”

  Reese disconnected and careened to the curb. The dashboard clock read a minute to go on her estimate. She parked, jumped out, and cut through several backyards to approach the rear of the clinic through the small stand of trees that ringed the building. Everything looked quiet. She drew her weapon, eased inside through the back door, and slipped down the hallway that bisected the treatment area. Closed doors on either side led to the equipment room and small pharmacy. Tory’s office door was open. The treatment room doors were both shut. Nita was probably still in room one with her patient. Carefully, quietly, Reese sidled along the wall to treatment room two. The door was slightly ajar. Smart, Tory. Very smart. She put her shoulder against the wall and toed the door open another inch so she could see inside.