Radclyffe - Sheltering Dunes

Mica stared. One of them? Why—because she worked in a restaurant and slept with one of the townies? Because she was queer, like them?

“I’m not one of you. I’ll never be one of you.”

“Are you one of them still?”

Mica thought about the tattoo on her back, about the scars on her body, about the memories she’d never get rid of. She thought about Hector’s fists lashing out and his cock driving inside her.

“No, I’m not one of them either. I don’t belong anywhere.”

“Maybe you do, and you just don’t know it yet.”

“And you think you’re going to help me figure that out?”

Flynn took Mica’s face in her hands and gently kissed her. “Maybe. Maybe you’ll help me figure it out too.”

Mica rested her cheek on Flynn’s shoulder. “I don’t see how. I’m not even sure I can help myself.”

“Call in sick,” Flynn said. “Then come back to bed and tell me the rest.”

“The guy last night in the alley,” Mica said quietly. “He’s probably just a scout. If I stick around here and anyone else comes, they won’t be as friendly.”

Flynn suppressed a shudder as ice crystallized in her blood. She wasn’t afraid for herself, not physically. But she was terrified of not being able to help Mica. “Why? Tell me why.”

“You have to understand what you’re getting into. If you get caught in the middle of this, you could get hurt. Do you get that?”

“I understand. I’m not afraid.”

Mica gripped a handful of Flynn’s shirt. “You should be. You should be fucking terrified. You should let me go right now.”

“No.”

Mica closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against Flynn’s chest. “Why not?”

This was the answer she couldn’t get wrong. Flynn stroked Mica’s hair and clasped her loosely around the waist. She wouldn’t hold her if she didn’t want to stay, but she wanted Mica to know beyond doubt that she cared. “Because I love the way you laugh. And I love the way you kiss. And I love how strong you are. You’re strong in ways I’ve never been, but you make me feel I could be. I don’t want you to go because I need you to stay.”

Mica tilted her head back and studied Flynn’s face. She brushed her fingertips over Flynn’s mouth and kissed her. “Just for a little while.”

“All right,” Flynn said softly, taking her hand, “a little while.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Allie grabbed the phone on the first ring, slipped out of bed, and padded naked into the living room so as not to wake Ash. “Tremont.”

“Got a call to route through to you,” Smith said.

“What’s it about? I just finally got to bed.”

“I know, sorry, but I figured you’d want this. You’ve been running all those checks and something must have popped up somewhere. Got a detective down in Philly wants to talk to the lead investigator, and the file says that’s you.”

Allie’s heart jumped. Finally, something. “Great. Can you connect us?”

“Hold on…” A click and a buzzing came over the line. “Go ahead.”

“This is Officer Allie Tremont.”

“Detective Lieutenant Rebecca Frye of the Philadelphia PD.”

“How can I help you, Lieutenant?” Allie hoped she didn’t sound nervous. Ordinarily she wasn’t intimidated by brass, but detective lieutenants didn’t make callbacks for nothing. All of a sudden, she wasn’t certain what she wanted to hear. If Mica was in trouble, then she wanted to know. She wanted to prevent another episode like last night. On the other hand, if Mica was trouble, Flynn was going to get hurt. She’d seen the way Flynn had looked at Mica. Flynn was already hooked whether she knew it or not. Mica had been harder for Allie to read. When she’d looked into the rearview mirror and seen Mica with her head on Flynn’s shoulder, she’d been surprised. She hadn’t expected that kind of vulnerability from the tough street kid Mica obviously was. Now she found herself hoping she wasn’t going to hear something that would end up hurting either of them.

“I might be able to help you,” the cool, deep voice on the other end of the line said.

“How is that?”

“You sent out a missing persons bulletin—Hispanic female, mid-twenties, using the name Mica Butler.”

Allie squeezed the phone so hard the edges made ridge-like indents in her palm. She really was on to something, and she somehow doubted a detective lieutenant was calling back about a missing person. “That’s right.”

“What has she done?”

“Nothing that I’m aware of. She was involved in a vehicular incident, and then last night, an assault.”

“Butler assaulted someone?”

Allie searched for some clue in the detective’s voice but could find nothing. She was aware she was providing more information than she was getting, but then again, she was the one asking. “No. She and another woman were assaulted while walking home from the bar where Butler works. Could be random, but I have the feeling Butler was the target.”

“What makes you think that?”

“No attempt was made to sexually assault either woman, robbery didn’t seem to be the motive, and it didn’t have the earmarkings of a hate crime. It appeared the assailant specifically wanted Butler.”

“An abduction?”

Allie took a stab in the dark. “Or maybe a retrieval. A jealous husband maybe.”

“Do you have a computer handy?”

“I’m at home, but my personal computer is available.”

“Let me have your e-mail address and I’ll send you a file. You can tell me if your girl is our girl.”

Allie strode to the small alcove she used as an office and opened her mail program. She gave the detective her e-mail address. “May I ask what your interest in this is?”

“The file’s on its way,” Frye said. “If your girl and our girl are one and the same, you’ve got the girlfriend of the leader of the mid-Atlantic division—Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware—of MS-13 up there.”

Allie’s pulse skyrocketed. She knew it. She knew something was off. “Is she wanted for anything?”

“At this point, she’s a person of interest. She might be on the run. We’re not sure.”

“Wait a minute, it’s coming through.” Allie clicked on the file and a grainy photo appeared. The girl in the image was Mica. She let her breath out and her stomach turned over. She was happy to have been right, but felt no joy in being vindicated. Whatever was going on couldn’t be good for either Mica or Flynn. “That’s her.”

“Her name is Mia Gonzales,” Frye said. “She’s twenty-three and has been in La Mara since she was fifteen.”

“Any arrests?” Allie asked. God, what was she going to tell Flynn?

“Surprisingly, no. Our intelligence is patchy, but reports are she’s smart and tough and has managed to avoid routine sweeps.”

“Maybe she’s clean.”

“Maybe. Tell me about the assault.”

Allie filled her in. “We don’t have much of anything to go on at this point.”

“I take it your population is fairly transient—tourist town?”

“The year-round population is small and we know everyone. There’s no established gang activity locally, but we’ve had our share of problems during the height of the season with drugs moving through and even some small-time arms deals.”

“I remember there was an offshore shootout a few years back. That was drug related, wasn’t it?”

“I wasn’t here then, but the acting chief was. Reese Conlon.”

“You’ve got a situation on your hands that could get nasty, Officer. We need to know what she’s doing there.”

“I can talk to her.”

“You could,” the detective said. “I’d like to speak to your chief first. Got a problem with that?”