Sheltering Dunes

Chapter Twenty-eight

Flynn’s skin flashed hot and cold in dizzying waves. She didn’t know the guy who was manhandling Mica, and she didn’t care who he was. All she wanted was for him to stop touching her. When Mica kissed him, there was something off in the way she held her body, in the way she kept her hands away from him, even though his were all over her. Mica didn’t want to kiss him, and Flynn didn’t want her to either. When they broke apart and Mica turned from the stranger, the expression on her face was not one of pleasure. Maybe anyone else who happened to be watching would have thought so, but Flynn knew better. She knew what Mica looked like when she wanted to be touched, when she wanted to be kissed. Right now, Mica’s mouth was smiling, but her eyes were hard with suppressed wrath.

Flynn strode toward the dark-haired stranger, who watched her warily without the slightest hint of uneasiness. He was cocky. He didn’t look like one of Hector’s guys, but then how would she know? Anyone could be one of Hector’s guys. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. She’d had enough. Time to put a stop to this.

Mica came around the bar so quickly, Flynn had barely made it halfway before Mica blocked her way.

“Flynn,” Mica said, intercepting her, “you need to get out of here.”

“Who is that?” Flynn didn’t recognize her own voice. Low and cold and hard. She wasn’t sure she recognized herself. The day had been too long and filled with too many hard memories and too much pain. Too much sorrow. Her existence, her core, was built on forgiveness, on the belief that any wrong could be set right, any soul redeemed, but she didn’t feel forgiving right now. She didn’t care about understanding. She hurt inside and she had no clue as to how to erase the pain.

Mica grasped her arm, bare skin to bare skin, and the heat of Mica’s flesh washed through her. A wave of hope followed, as if redemption were at hand. Flynn looked down at Mica’s fingers curled around her forearm, smaller and more fragile seeming than her own, but strong. Mica was trembling, only she was so good at hiding her fear Flynn doubted anyone else would know.

“Who is he?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mica said, her voice tight and urgent. “You need to go.”

“No.”

Mica’s grip tightened, and she dragged Flynn away from the bar into the shadows next to the ice machine. She pushed Flynn against the wall and planted both palms against Flynn’s shoulders, pinning her there. “You listen to me,” Mica said, fury riding every word. “If I’d wanted you here, I would have asked you to come. You’re going to get your stupid self killed, and if that happens, you’re going to kill me. You understand? If you care at all about me, you’ll go away.”

Flynn grasped Mica’s wrists and raised both hands to her mouth. She kissed Mica’s palms and folded Mica’s hands inside her own. “I’m not leaving you. I love you.”

Mica went as still as a statue, her eyes widening. “Oh my God, Flynn. No. You’re crazy.”

“I’m not.” Flynn smiled as calm suffused her. The terrible unrest and uncertainty that had been eating away at her dissolved. “I’m totally sane. I love you. And I don’t want that guy touching you.”

Mica leaned against her, fitting into all the waiting places in Flynn’s soul. “He’s a cop. I’m not in any danger, but you are. Please. I don’t want you hurt.”

“Why was he kissing you?”

Mica growled and shook her head as if Flynn’s head were made of stone. “Are you not hearing me? It doesn’t matter. It’s not real.”

“What are you doing with him, then? Are you waiting for them to come? Is that it?” Flynn cupped Mica’s chin and searched her eyes. Mica didn’t lie to her, and the truth was plain to see. “I’m not letting you do this.”

“Keep your voice down,” Mica said.

“Mica—”

“Damn it!” As if she’d totally lost patience, Mica plastered her mouth to Flynn’s.

Flynn’s anger fractured like mist in the sunlight. Mica’s kiss was the softest, warmest, most exciting sensation Flynn had ever known. She wrapped her arms around Mica’s waist and pulled her in tight. She needed Mica everywhere, over her and inside her—filling her up. She opened her mouth and drew Mica’s kiss inside, making a silent plea for her to stay.

Mica pulled back first. “Now I want you to pretend you’re really pissed off at me and storm out of here. And stay out of sight until this is over.”

“What will you be doing?”

“Acting normally, if you’d ever let me. Mitch will—”

“Mitch—that’s his name?”

“Will you forget about him?” Mica hissed.

“Do you promise you won’t disappear?”

Mica tugged at her lower lip with her teeth. She wouldn’t lie and she didn’t answer.

“If you don’t promise me,” Flynn said reasonably, thinking it only fair to be open about her intentions, “I’m going to plant my ass on one of those bar stools and stay here until you leave. Mitch or no Mitch.”

“All right, all right, I promise. I’ll call you. Now go away.”

Flynn feathered her fingers through Mica’s hair and kissed her, softly, imprinting her spicy taste and the tangy scent of her. She cupped her face. “I don’t know if I can pretend to be angry at you.”

“Think about Mitch kissing me again—more than once. Does that work for you?”

“I swear,” Flynn said dangerously, “if he does that again while I’m watching, I’m going to—”

Mica smiled. “Baby, I love it when you’re jealous, but you’re no match for him. And he’s no competition for you.” Mica backed away and said, loudly, “I’m over your attitude, Flynn. I’ll date anybody I want.”

“Then I’m done. I don’t share.” Flynn spun around and strode directly to the door and didn’t slow until she was outside. If she looked back even once, she wasn’t going to be able to leave her. Mica was playing a dangerous game, and the police were taking advantage of her need to be free, even if it was Mica’s choice. Mica’s choice. Wasn’t that what she and Matthew had talked about just that afternoon? The only true freedom was the freedom to choose, and she had to accept that. Accept that she could make a difference, but ultimately, she was not responsible for the choices of others, even those she loved.

Her heart ached. Letting Mica do what she had to do was so hard. So hard when she had so much to lose. If they hurt Mica, if she lost her, she wouldn’t survive, no matter how strong her faith. She slowed when she reached the street, uncertain of where to go. Home? Her apartment was only a set of empty rooms and the bed where Mica had helped her find the way back to herself. The memories of Mica in her arms would drive her crazy. There was only one place she could go. She started walking.

*

Reese bounced Reggie on her knee, trying to avoid the fallout as Reggie practiced eating SpaghettiO’s with a spoon. When Reggie tired of trying to get the slippery circles into her mouth with the utensil, she helped the process along with both hands. The scatter landed on Reese’s shirtfront and the leg of her pants. With her free hand, Reese forked the salad her mother had made into her mouth.

“You could put her in the high chair,” Jean said.

“I know,” Reese said to her mother’s partner, “but I don’t see her at dinnertime all that much, and I like holding her.” She dodged a flying tomato-covered ring and grinned as it landed somewhere behind her on the floor.

“She’s getting better at it,” Kate observed.

“I think that’s a statement only a grandmother could make,” Reese said, laughing. Her cell phone rang and she put down her fork to dig it out of her pocket. “Conlon.”

“Reese?” Tory said.

“Hi, baby. I’m over at—”

“I’ve got a Hispanic male in my clinic with an obvious stab wound in his shoulder. He says it happened—”

“Who else is there with you?” Reese signaled her mother to take the baby. Kate scooped Reggie up and carried her around to the other side of the table, watching Reese anxiously.

“Nita is here, and Randy. We’ve got a full house, Reese.”

“Okay. You don’t want to alert him that anything is wrong.” Reese grabbed her keys and hurried to the hall closet where she’d left her gun belt and weapon. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Less. Four minutes, Tor.”

“All right—I’ll get the patients out—”

“No.” Reese raced down the narrow irregular stone walkway from her mother’s small harborside bungalow to the street. “Just tell him you’re going to get some supplies together. That you’ll be right back. Act calmly. If you see Nita, tell her to lock herself in the treatment room with whatever patient she’s seeing. Then you do the same in your office.”

“What about all the patients in the waiting area?”

“You have to leave them there. If you try to get them outside, you’re going to alert him that something is wrong. They’ll be in more danger then.” She yanked open the door of her SUV. “He ought to be pretty comfortable with a few minutes’ wait, and I’ll be there soon. What room is he in?”

“Two.”

“All right, I’ll come in the back.” She started the engine and pulled out.

“He’ll probably be calmer if I stay in there with him. Just carry on as normal.”

“No,” Reese said. “Tory, don’t go back in there.”

“Darling, I’ve got twenty people in my waiting room. I can’t risk him getting spooked and taking them hostage. I’ll be fine. Just come and pick him up.”

“Damn it, Tory—” Reese swerved around a double-parked car, turned onto a one-way heading the wrong way toward Bradford, and stomped on the gas. The line went dead. She hit speed dial for the station.

“Sheriff’s depar—”

“This is Conlon. I need backup at Tory’s clinic. No lights, no siren, and no one goes in without my say-so. Have them block the parking lot and set up a perimeter three blocks in every direction.” She swung onto a street paralleling the rear of Tory’s clinic. “Suspect is inside the building, possibly armed, definitely dangerous. I’m going in. No one enters until I radio all clear. Put a unit on the back door. Have you got this?”

Gladys Martin said calmly, “Yes, Sheriff. One unit on the parking lot, another at the back door, and a three-block perimeter. Calling now.”

“Thanks.”

“Be careful, Sheriff.”

Reese disconnected and careened to the curb. The dashboard clock read a minute to go on her estimate. She parked, jumped out, and cut through several backyards to approach the rear of the clinic through the small stand of trees that ringed the building. Everything looked quiet. She drew her weapon, eased inside through the back door, and slipped down the hallway that bisected the treatment area. Closed doors on either side led to the equipment room and small pharmacy. Tory’s office door was open. The treatment room doors were both shut. Nita was probably still in room one with her patient. Carefully, quietly, Reese sidled along the wall to treatment room two. The door was slightly ajar. Smart, Tory. Very smart. She put her shoulder against the wall and toed the door open another inch so she could see inside.

A youngish male sat on the treatment table, shirtless, his left shoulder partially visible. A two-inch laceration surrounded by beefy red tissue oozed pus. Tory stood a few feet away at the end of the treatment table, arranging instruments on a stainless steel tray. His black hair was matted to his neck with sweat and his face was tomato-red, as if he had a fever. He gripped the edges of the treatment table, his fingers opening and closing convulsively. He seemed to be jittering. She wondered if he was high on drugs, or just high from fever and stress. She raised her weapon, pushed the door the rest of the way open with her foot, and slid into the room.

“Police. Down on the floor. Do it now. On the floor, hands over your head. Do it now.” He glanced at her wild-eyed, jumped down from the table, and pivoted toward Tory. Tory jumped back, her eyes registering her fear.

“Take another step,” Reese said clearly and calmly, “and I’ll drop you where you stand.”

“I got no weapon,” he said, but he wasn’t getting down on the floor. He was facing Tory, partially blocking her from Reese’s view.

“I don’t care. Get down on the floor or you’re dead.”

He hesitated, but he must have heard in her voice that she wasn’t bluffing. He dropped to his knees, then went face-down and spread his hands out over his head.

“Hands out to your sides. Now.” Reese crossed to him, knelt with her knee on his near shoulder, holstered her weapon, and quickly cuffed him. Once she had him secured, she radioed for backup. “Code four here.”

“This is Adam Charlie one,” Bri answered. “We’re at the back door.”

“Clear the building.”

“Ten-four, Sheriff.”

“I’m going to check on the rest of the patients,” Tory said.

“Not yet,” Reese snapped. At Tory’s questioning look, she tamped down the adrenaline surge that kept her temper burning hot. Tory was fine. Safe. “Wait until Bri clears the place. In case he’s not alone.”

“All right.” Tory hesitated as if she were about to say something else but left the room and the question unasked. Her eyes held worry she couldn’t hide. Reese thought she knew why, but there was nothing she could do about Tory’s concern. She wasn’t sorry. She’d do what she had to do. She wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her family. Ever.