Radclyffe - Sheltering Dunes

Mica stared. She was so used to being physically dominated, the small gesture calmed her, but she wouldn’t be fooled by kindness. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I know something’s wrong. You wouldn’t have run out of the clinic this morning otherwise.”

“I already told you.” Mica pulled her defenses back around her. With every second that passed and no one came for her, the panic subsided. “I don’t have any money, I didn’t want to go there in the first place. It’s as simple as that.”

Flynn nodded. “Okay.”

Mica narrowed her eyes. “Just like that?”

“Why not?”

Maybe because you don’t look stupid, and you should know everybody lies? Mica put her hands on her hips. “What planet do you come from?”

Flynn smiled. “New Hampshire?”

Mica laughed. “Maybe that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Never mind. I have to get back to work.”

“I thought you worked at Shoreline.”

“I do. In the morning. I work here at night.” Mica headed back to the bar and Flynn followed. The brunette who had joined Flynn earlier was still sitting at the bar, watching them. Mica hated being watched. She stopped and glared at Flynn. “What do you want now?”

“Another beer?”

Flynn smiled, and man, she was beautiful when she did. Even in the partial light, her eyes were unbelievably blue. Deep and dark and really sexy. Mica remembered watching her that morning, leaning over the man on the table in the room across the hall. Flynn’s face had been so intense, as if what she was doing was the only thing that mattered in the world. As if that man was the only person who mattered. The way she’d touched him had been so gentle, but so powerful. Mica heard the words again— Our Father who art in heaven— remembered them from long ago, the sound echoing in the silent vastness of the church. Words that she learned meant nothing, maybe even worse than nothing. Lies, about tenderness and love and salvation. Watching Flynn with that dying man made her wonder for one fractured second if there wasn’t some tiny flicker of good that still flared somewhere in the world. She snorted at her own stupidity. Start thinking that way and you’d end up under someone’s boot. Or worse.

“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.