Radclyffe - Sheltering Dunes

*

She’d only ever been swimming once, when she was five, and her mother and her mother’s then-boyfriend took her and her brother and her baby sister to the beach in Atlantic City. The sand was too hot and too stony and hurt her feet. The ocean was so big, the waves so high, she’d been afraid to go into the water. Her mother’s boyfriend had carried her on his shoulders, and she’d felt safe until he’d swung her down and into the water, laughing, telling her she’d like it. The salty water flooded her nose and her throat. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see, and the world became a frightening place. She’d reached out for someone to save her and she’d found only more blackness. She couldn’t hear, couldn’t move her arms and legs, couldn’t break free of the crushing weight of the waves. Like now. She reached out for something to hold on to, and warm, strong fingers closed around hers, calming her, anchoring her. She held on tight and the fear swept away with the tide.

*

Pulse racing, Flynn searched for any sign that Mica was aware. She’d felt Mica’s fingers twitch, she was certain of it. Tory had explained that the bullet had lacerated the left pulmonary artery and Mica had nearly exsanguinated. Even the blood Allie had given her right there on the floor of Mica’s apartment hadn’t been enough to keep her blood pressure in a safe range. The surgery to repair her artery had gone well, the surgeon had said, obviously pleased with himself. The bullet had passed through her body from front to back and, other than that one lethal laceration, had done no significant damage. Now that the tear in the artery was repaired, he had said, she should recover very quickly. If the rest of her recovered, that is. If the blood loss and the hypotension hadn’t caused irreversible brain damage. The initial EEG had been inconclusive, according to Tory. There was brain activity, but disorganized and erratic. The abnormal function could have been due to any number of things—the stress, the anesthesia, the shock to her system. Or it might mean that Mica was gone. Flynn should prepare herself for that, Tory had said.

Flynn told them they were wrong. Mica would never give up so easily. Tory had nodded and said from what she knew of Mica, she agreed. Tory had said Mica needed to know Flynn believed in her too.

“I’m here, baby,” Flynn said quietly. “You’re safe. Just concentrate on getting better. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

*

Somewhere in the center of her chest, a fire burned. Every breath scorched her lungs, and she wanted to flee from the pain. She’d been running forever, it seemed. First from the life she seemed destined to inherit, then from Hector, then from the men Hector sent. She was tired of running. So very tired. She didn’t fear the water as much as she had when she was small. She could let the cool comfort engulf her, carry her away, put out the fire. If she just let go, stopped fighting. Went under.

Mica struggled against the seductive undertow that pulled her farther and farther from shore. Without fire, there was no heat, without heat, there was no life. She knew how to fight for what she wanted. She knew how to fight for what she needed. She remembered soft lips, strong hands, the protective curve of a warm body holding her, keeping her safe. There was the fire. There was the passion. She held on to her anchor and swam against the currents. Swam toward the flame.

*

“Mica,” Flynn said urgently. “Mica, I’m here, baby. Everything is all right.”

Mica’s eyelids fluttered. Flynn leaned over and brushed her fingers through Mica’s hair. “It’s all right. You’re in the hospital. You have a breathing tube in and you can’t talk. I’m right here, everything is all right.”

Mica started to thrash, and all the bells and whistles and alarms started blaring.

“You’re in the hospital, Mica,” Flynn said steadily, calmly. “You are all right. I promise, I’m right here.”

Mica’s eyes flew open and her gaze fixed on Flynn. Flynn’s breath caught, fearing to hope. Recognition flared in Mica’s eyes, and Flynn smiled.

“Hello, baby. Welcome back.”

Chapter Thirty-four

Tory, weary from only a few hours’ sleep for the past several nights, arrived home from her daily trip to the hospital in Hyannis a little before seven p.m. Her spirits lightened at the sight of Reese’s SUV in the drive. She parked and hurried inside. Reese, still in uniform, sprawled on the sofa. Reggie played with Jedi on the floor amidst a mountain of plastic blocks.

“Hi.” Tory kissed Reese and curled up next to her.

Reese wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “How are things?”

“No big changes, which is good at this stage. Any news?”

“I talked to Rebecca Frye this afternoon,” Reese said. “Alvarez is looking at hard time in a maximum-security federal prison, and he’s starting to see the big picture. Hector and the other La Mara leaders are going to view him as a liability, and that does not say good things about his life expectancy.”

“I thought one of La Mara’s honor badges was to do time without giving anyone up.”

“That’s true,” Reese said, “but that mostly pertains to low-level members who don’t know enough to be a threat to the leaders if they talk. If someone like Alvarez, who knows a lot about the organization, cuts a deal to shorten his time or to get moved out of the general prison population, he could take down some important gang members.”

“Wouldn’t it make the La Mara members uneasy if one of them was arrested and then ended up being killed in prison?”

Reese rubbed Tory’s back. “As long as nothing ties Hector or any of La Mara’s leaders to the execution, a death in prison is just business as usual. Rival gang members square off against each other all the time. Being shivved in the shower is a routine occurrence.”

“So he’s got to think cutting a deal now is his best option.” Tory edged closer on the sofa and wrapped her arm around Reese’s middle. “If he doesn’t talk, he’ll never be able to prove that he hasn’t, and the threat to the organization will be there as long as he’s in prison.”

“Which is going to be a damn long time,” Reese said grimly. “Remember, he shot Mica and put Smith in the hospital.”

“I talked to the neurosurgeons today,” Tory said. “Smith’s edema is subsiding and they don’t think there’ll be any need for surgery. He may be out of work for a while, but he’s going to be fine.”

“That’s one message I’ll be happy to take to his wife,” Reese said.

“Do you think they’ll be able to shut Hector down?” Tory unbuttoned the middle button on Reese’s shirt and slid her hand inside.

“Put his crew out of business completely? Doubtful. But while the local gang is reorganizing and the leadership is chaotic, Rebecca’s team will have a better chance of putting someone undercover.”

“It really is a long-term plan, isn’t it?”

Reese covered Tory’s hand and pressed Tory’s fingers to her abdomen. “It’s a lot like a war. You know the endgame, but not how long it will take to get there or how many battles you have to wage before the last one.”

“What about Mica?”

“That’s going to be up to her,” Reese said. “There are not going to be any easy choices, if and when she’s ready to make them.”

“She’s showing signs of improvement. Her scans are clear. She’s got youth on her side.”

“Good,” Reese said. “She deserves a shot at freedom.”

“How about you, Sheriff? Are you going to be able to take a break soon? You’ve been in the office or filling in on patrol for the better part of a week.”

“Soon. I’ve recruited some officers from up-Cape for temporary duty.”