Radclyffe - Sheltering Dunes

“If I’m not here, then I don’t have to worry about that, do I?”

“Probably not,” Allie said. “You can disappear again, for a while. But you know they’re going to look for you. And who do you think they’re going to ask first?”

Heat scorched through Mica’s chest. There was a reason she didn’t get close to people. Caring about people made you vulnerable, because they could be used against you. She’d spent years under Hector’s thumb, under his goddamn hot, sweaty, cruel body to keep herself and her family alive. He’d promised that her little sister would not get passed around when she came of age and La Mara recruited her, and he’d sworn that her little brother would not have to kill or risk being killed by MS-13. She’d sacrificed more than her pride and her body and her conscience to assure he kept his word. She’d shut herself off from caring about anyone. When you didn’t care, you couldn’t be hurt.

And now there was Flynn. Flynn, who refused to be frightened when she should be. Flynn, who thought her faith and her crazy-ass ideas of right and wrong were enough to make a difference. And maybe they were. Maybe they were for most people, but not for her. Not in her world. Faith, trust, love, and loyalty weren’t part of her world. Letting Flynn get to her had made her forget the lessons she carried in her scars, inside and out. She was probably going to pay in blood for that mistake, but Flynn didn’t have to.

“Let’s go,” Mica said, gesturing to the SUV.

Allie quickly covered her surprise with a brisk nod and opened the back door. “Bri—you drive.”

Mica was almost inside when Flynn called, “Wait. I’m coming.”

Mica slid into the back as Flynn crossed the street.

Allie blocked the door. “I’m sorry, Flynn, but you can’t come.”

Flynn leaned around Allie and peered into the backseat. “Mica? Are you all right?”

Mica ignored her and stared at the back of Parker’s head. Flynn didn’t move even when the cop told her to. Flynn never gave up. And she’d just get herself in deeper if Mica didn’t find a way to shut her out. She had to drive Flynn off. She thought of Flynn’s story of the girl she couldn’t save. Flynn had been wrong to feel guilty, to feel responsible, but she’d probably never believe it. Flynn only knew how to care.

Mica turned on the seat and looked out at Flynn. “You think you know what’s best for people, when you don’t really see them at all. You think the collar you’re still wearing, even if you pretend not to be, gives you the right to interfere in other people’s lives. Your arrogance blinds you. I don’t want to be the next one to get killed.” She grabbed the door and pulled it closed. The heavy thud echoed the heaviness in her heart at the flash of pain and sorrow in Flynn’s eyes.

Flynn jerked back from the SUV, pain lancing through her chest. The next one to get killed. Your arrogance…Your arrogance…

“Sorry about that,” Allie said.

“No,” Flynn said. “She’s right.”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Allie said, “but I know she’s wrong.” She gripped Flynn’s arm. “Look, I need to go. And you need to let her go, Flynn.”

“Take care of her, Allie.”

“Damn you,” Allie muttered. “Damn you for asking that.” She stalked around the front of the vehicle. “I will if I can.”

Flynn stood in the street as the SUV rolled away.

You need to let her go, Flynn.

Allie was right. Mica didn’t trust her. Mica didn’t want her. She had made the same mistake with Mica she’d made with Debbie—she’d fooled herself into believing her reality was theirs. Her blindness had cost Debbie her life. Mica was right. They were all right. She needed to let her go.

Chapter Twenty-six

The sheriff’s department was a lot cozier than the lockups Mica was accustomed to. When they brought her through a side door into a short hallway, she smelled pizza and cleaning solution. Not the usual piss and vomit stench that always seemed to hover in the Philly station. The windowless interrogation room, what they called the interview room, was just like the others she’d been in. Gunmetal gray table bolted to the floor in the center of a bare-walled room, plain metal chairs, big O-rings welded to the table for handcuffs. She wasn’t wearing handcuffs, but she might as well have been. When Allie’d said, “Have a seat. I’ll be back in a minute,” and walked out, the snap of the lock slamming shut on the interrogation room door was as sharp as the clang of the steel bars on a jail cell driving home. There was no door handle on the inside. No way out.

Mica glanced up at the surveillance camera in the corner, smiled, and sat back in her chair. Folding her arms over her chest, she stretched out her legs and tilted her head back against the hard metal chair. The ceiling had water stains on it that looked kind of like clouds if she squinted. She tried to let her mind go blank, but she kept seeing Flynn’s face—the hurt and sad acceptance. Like Flynn believed what she had said. Mica flinched inside at the idea of hurting Flynn, who had to be one of the only people in her life who’d stood up for her. Stood by her. But she’d had to hurt her to keep her safe. All the same, she hated herself a little for putting that wounded look in Flynn’s eyes.

Maybe someday, if she got out of this alive, she’d say she was sorry. Right now she had to get her head in the game and try to piece together what they might have on her. Unlike so many of the other La Mara crew, male and female alike, she hadn’t wanted to make her name by pulling some big job, or to gain a reputation by being arrested and doing the time without giving anyone up. As Hector’s old lady, she didn’t have to participate in anything she didn’t want to—unless Hector wanted her with him. Then she couldn’t avoid getting pulled into his action.

Thinking back to what they could put on her, she only came up with the night she’d been with Hector after some of his crew had hijacked a truckload of electronics on an exit ramp off the New Jersey Turnpike. She hadn’t been in on the heist and didn’t know many of the details, only that he’d gone out in the Hummer to oversee the transfer and had picked her up on the way back. He always wanted sex after he’d made a big score. Liked to recount the events while she blew him and, if she didn’t get him off right away, while he fucked her. Of course, he wanted sex most of the time—when he was feeling good, when he was feeling frustrated, when he was angry, when he needed to demonstrate his authority. He especially liked having sex with his crew around, so they could watch him dominate her.

That night the police had pulled them over right after he’d picked her up, and took them in for questioning. She didn’t know anything except what she’d overheard when Hector was deploying his lieutenants, and that hadn’t been much. Hector didn’t talk about his business with her, and when he tried, she changed the subject. She didn’t want to know. She wasn’t naïve, she knew what he did. She knew evil when in its presence, but she was smart enough to know that what she knew could one day get her killed or put her in jail. She hadn’t told the cops anything and after twelve hours, they’d let her go.

Now she balanced on the razor’s edge between death and being put away. If Hector found out she was talking to the law, or even suspected she had, he would kill her. If she didn’t go back to him, he would kill her. And if she talked about what he’d done and the knowledge implicated her, she could go to jail. If she tried for a plea bargain, Hector would kill her before she ever had a chance to testify against him. The only way out was to deny everything. If she didn’t cooperate, if she gave them nothing and could keep running until she disappeared, she might live. She’d be living in the shadows, a shadow herself, and might not have much of a life, but breathing was always better than not. Maybe.