Sheltering Dunes

Chapter Nineteen

Philadelphia

Sloan punched in a number on speed dial with one hand and alternated scrolling between the three monitors in front of her and tapping keys with the other hand. She hummed a passable version of Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” Her blood pumped furiously—the thrill of the hunt infusing her with excitement nothing except being with Michael could ever match. Detective Lieutenant Rebecca Frye answered on the second ring.

“Frye.”

“Hey,” Sloan said, “got something you might be interested in.”

“At a quarter after four in the morning?”

Sloan glanced at the time readout in the lower corner of the closest monitor. The last time she’d looked had been when Dell had left a little after midnight. “Sorry. I was chasing some data…”

“Right. Is Michael out of town again?”

“Yeah, she’s the keynote at a think-tank summit on cloud communication integration.” Sloan laughed. “How’d you know?”

“Because every time she goes away, you don’t move out of that chair until she calls and tells you to go to bed.”

“Oh. She did. I was going, and then, well. You know.”

Frye laughed. “What do you have?”

“I set up keyword tags to send alerts if any query anywhere cross-references to our open cases.”

“How you’re pulling from other databases is one of the things I don’t need to know, right?” Frye sounded wide-awake.

“Technically it’s just data sorting—the capture programs, well, they might be a little…specialized.”

“Right. Like I said…I don’t know how you came by the info. And?”

“Someone in Massachusetts is asking about the identity of a young Hispanic female with ties to La Mara.”

“Gotta be thousands of them,” Frye said.

“Yeah, you’re right, but the various factions have pretty well-defined territories. So if we assume East Coast, that narrows it down. And if they’re having trouble identifying her, it means she’s either not in the system anywhere at all—and you know how unlikely that is—or she’s trying to hide her identity. So why would she do that?”

“I can think of plenty of reasons. Top of the list being she’s wanted for something somewhere. What else got you interested?”

“Hector’s main squeeze has been noticeably absent on video surveillance for quite a while.”

“Whose surveillance would that be?”

“The Gang Control Unit has been watching Hector and crew for over a year, trying to build a RICO case. They’ve got three or four surveillance units and a wiretap going. Most of the conversations they pull are in code and pretty useless, but every now and then they’ll get a good shot of three or four lieutenants and Hector holding a meet somewhere.”

“And we have access to the Criminal Intelligence Unit video surveillance tapes how?”

Sloan smiled and tilted her head back, staring at the shadowy patterns in the pressed-tin loft ceiling overhead. Intricate patterns like the information highways she traveled in cyberspace, intertwining in ways that made no sense until suddenly the perfection of the design snapped into view. “Let’s just say they left the file cabinet drawer open for anyone passing by to look.”

“You hacked their computers.”

“That’s such a harsh word.”

“Okay, I’m not asking,” Frye said. “That thread you’re pulling is a little bit stronger now. We’re missing a girl, someone else has one they can’t identify. What did she do?”

“Don’t know. Right now it’s a missing persons inquiry.” Sloan sat forward, switched programs on one computer, and pulled up a reasonably good shot of Hector, two other men, and a young woman climbing into a Hummer. The girl was pretty—dark curly shoulder-length hair; emphatic features; strong, full-bodied build.

“Where?”

“Provincetown.”

“That sure is a far cry from the Badlands. What’s her name?”

“Mia Gonzales. I know it’s a long shot, Frye, but the description fits her. Right age, right distinguishing characteristics.”

“Ink?”

“That we don’t have.”

“What’s your theory?”

“If it’s her, she’s either doing work for Hector up there—muling maybe—or she’s running.”

Rebecca sighed. “If she skipped out on MS-13, they’ll chase her until they find her. And they won’t care about leaving a trail of bodies.”

“I know. But if it’s her, and we get to her first—we’ve been looking for some way into 13 for a long time. She could be our key.”

“Do we have anything on her?”

Sloan tapped keys and another database opened. “I’m looking. Hector is pretty damn arrogant—he takes credit for just about everything that goes down in the region, but no one has any evidence to make anything stick. If she’s his girl, she’s got to know what he’s into. Makes her an accessory at the least.”

“Worth working it.” Rebecca sounded as if she was getting up. Her muffled voice said, “It’s okay. I’m not leaving yet.”

Sloan realized she’d probably woken Frye’s wife with her phone call. “Sorry about the hour.”

“Forget it. I’m up now, and Catherine is used to nighttime calls. I’m going for a run, then I’ll reach out to the Massachusetts people when the sun comes up. Text me the name and number of whoever’s in charge up there.”

“Good enough.”

“And, Sloan?”

“Yeah?”

“Go to bed.”

“Sure thing.” Sloan disconnected, swiveled to face another bank of monitors, and called up another program.

*

Provincetown

Mica felt as if she was walking through a dark room with her hands out in front of her, trying to identify familiar objects that were no longer where they used to be. She wasn’t a virgin. She knew what sex was. She’d thought, before the first time Flynn kissed her, she’d known what desire was. She’d been so wrong. The shape and texture of the landscape she’d thought she understood and knew how to travel had changed. She couldn’t recognize the landmarks, couldn’t find the guideposts. She was lost.

Her skin burned, her breasts ached, and she was so wet her own body was a foreign country. The pressure between her thighs was unbearable. Unbearable and scarily exciting. She had no idea what she was doing, she only knew she couldn’t stop. Flynn lay beneath her, soft and strong and warm. Part of her mind was aware Flynn was hurt, and she kept her weight on her forearms and thighs, but everywhere their bodies touched, Flynn’s heat seared through her protective layers and scorched her to the bone.

Mica had never experienced desire so exquisite, or as disorienting, as the brilliant surprise of Flynn’s caress. Her touch, gentle and sure, was as mysterious as it was reassuring. Mica knew what it was to be seen as a possession, to be touched with disregard, to be used without consideration. She’d never known the aching tenderness Flynn’s fingertips painted over her skin.

“We gotta stop,” Mica murmured. “Your side.”

“I’m okay.” Flynn skimmed her tongue over Mica’s lower lip. “You have a beautiful mouth. I think I could be happy kissing you forever.”

Mica’s hips surged. The look in Flynn’s stormy blue eyes melted every wall she’d ever built to keep herself from breaking. Flynn was already too close, already had too much power. “You’re gonna hurt when your brain starts working again.”

“If you want to stop, we’ll stop.” Flynn licked Mica’s throat from the hollow between her collarbones to the sensitive spot under her jaw. “But my brain is working fine and it’s saying I want you. I want your mouth again. Kiss me. Just one more time.”

Mica couldn’t say no. She couldn’t bear to see the light in Flynn’s eyes disappear. She wanted to make her burn the way she burned. Flynn’s desire for her made her want to cry. The sweetness of Flynn’s touch was as sharp as a perfect blade, piercing without pain to her core. “One,” she whispered. “You get one more.”

Flynn wrapped Mica’s thick hair around her wrist and slowly drew her head down until their mouths were a breath apart. “Make it a long one.”

Mica brushed her mouth back and forth over Flynn’s and teased her tongue over the silky inner surface of Flynn’s lower lip. Flynn sucked lightly on her tongue and her clit pulsed rapidly. She couldn’t stop at one, she was drunk on the headiness of Flynn’s taste. She slipped her tongue inside and played in the recesses of Flynn’s mouth, stroking and probing, her kisses becoming harder, more demanding. She wanted her. She wanted her in places she couldn’t touch. Groaning, Mica straddled Flynn’s thigh and rocked her hips. Her breasts brushed Flynn’s and her nipples tingled. Never like this before. Never.

The sounds Flynn made in the back of her throat stabbed through Mica like sweet agony. She couldn’t get enough of Flynn’s mouth, couldn’t get deep enough inside her. She wanted to crawl inside Flynn’s skin, but hers felt as if it were going to burst open any second.

Mica yanked her head back. “I can’t breathe. Dios. I’m going to explode.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll slow down.” Flynn caressed her cheek, the light strokes calming Mica’s racing heart. “Better? You good now?”

Mica caught her breath, but her hips pumped of their own accord. She was naked except for the T-shirt and so wet. Every time her clitoris slid against Flynn’s hard thigh she wanted to come. She was so close her stomach cramped. She stared at her fingers, gripping Flynn’s forearms until her knuckles were white. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Flynn’s hands glided up and down her back, soothing one second, exciting her to the point of screaming the next. “What are you sorry for?”

“Holding you too hard.” Mica’s sex tightened and she gasped. “Bruising you.”

“You feel wonderful. You’re not hurting me.”

Mica fought back a whimper and tugged her lower lip between her teeth. Spots danced before her eyes. Her throat tightened. She was on the edge of coming, and if she did, if she did…panic swelled in her chest. She’d never felt so vulnerable, so out of control. “I don’t know…Flynn. Help me.”

Flynn’s eyes darkened and her hands tightened on Mica’s ass. “Mica. Have you ever—”

“Not like this. Not like this. I can’t…” But oh, she wanted to. Wanted to so much.

“You don’t have to.” Flynn grasped her shoulders. “Mica, stop. Just…lie down beside me. Everything is perfect, just as it is. We don’t need to do anything else. We don’t—”

“No. Don’t go.” Mica kissed her again, needing to taste her, needing to breathe her in, anything to give her something to hold on to. She was flying away. Losing herself. She was terrified, amazed. Flynn tasted so good. Flynn’s arms tightened around her waist and Mica rocked against Flynn’s pelvis. Flynn’s fingers came into her hair, holding her, massaging her. Everywhere she burned. The tension in her loins grew harder, brighter, and she felt herself expanding. Electric shocks radiated from someplace deep inside her—down her legs, along her spine. She moaned into Flynn’s neck. “Feels so good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Flynn whispered, trailing her mouth down Mica’s throat. She pushed Mica’s T-shirt up and kissed her breast.

Mica whimpered, the heat of Flynn’s mouth setting her aflame. Her clitoris tightened into a hard knot. “More, do more.”

Flynn pulled Mica’s nipple into her mouth and Mica felt herself coil inside the way she did before she came. She cupped Flynn’s neck, holding Flynn’s face to her breast, watched Flynn’s eyes glaze with desire. As long as she could see Flynn, see her desire, she wasn’t afraid. She pressed her clit hard into Flynn’s leg and her control unraveled. “Make me come.”

Flynn sucked her nipple, biting lightly.

“Harder.” Mica twisted her fingers in Flynn’s hair, rode Flynn’s thigh faster, soaked her leg. Panting, she pushed her breast harder against Flynn’s mouth. Her vision tunneled until all she saw was Flynn’s face. Through a haze of unbearable need, she clung to Flynn’s fierce bright gaze. Burning for her. Mica’s ass clenched. “I’m so so close.”

Mica cried out, pleasure tearing through her. Her arms turned to jelly and she sagged against Flynn, quivering, racked with pleasure. She’d never come so hard before. She shuddered and another orgasm rippled through her. She moaned and clung to Flynn. “What’s happening to me?”

Flynn cradled Mica’s face in the curve of her neck and kissed her throat. “You’re all right. Mica, you’re all right. I promise.”

Mica closed her eyes. For just one minute, she wanted to believe.