Radclyffe - Sheltering Dunes

“Yes ma’am.” Allie jogged between the desks and plunked her butt down on Bri’s desk. “Do you always have to be such a horse’s ass?”

Bri shuffled papers on her desk, not looking up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You damn well do. You’re upset because you think something happened that you don’t know about. And you’re probably jealous that I was talking to Reese—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Bri protested. “I’m not jealous of Reese.”

“Me then?”

Bri grinned and quickly smothered it. “Jesus, no. I haven’t lusted after you for…a long time.”

“I’m broken-hearted.”

“You’re full of it too.” Bri glanced toward Reese’s office, but she’d closed the door. “So what’s going on? If you were doing surveillance, it must be something good.”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” Allie told Bri about her suspicions about Mica, and her phone call to Reese. “There’s nothing solid at this point. So you didn’t miss anything.”

“I don’t know, Al. I’d go with your gut. You need some help running down the computer traces?”

“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.”