Sheltering Dunes (29 page)

Time passed slowly. She kept thinking about Mica, wondering if she was free yet. Wondering if Mica would stay around once Allie let her go. She doubted it. La Mara had found Mica, there was no doubt about that. That morning even she had half expected the knock on her door to be followed by someone shouldering through and demanding to know Mica’s whereabouts. Mica had to know she was no longer safe, and she would do what she’d been doing since she’d escaped. She would disappear again.

Flynn rolled down her window. Maybe the cool afternoon air would soothe the aching wound that burned inside her when she thought about never seeing Mica again. Mica’s spirit, her strength, and her stubbornness filled Flynn with excitement and awe. She loved being around her, loved watching her work, loved talking with her, touching her. They’d only been apart for a few hours and she missed her. Making love with her had been incredible. Passionate, tender, exquisitely pleasurable. She’d loved stroking her and feeling her body yield, hearing her break with pleasure. She’d loved giving herself, unconditionally, and knowing that the woman who touched her wanted her. She’d never had that with Evelyn, not without the pall of regret tarnishing the joy.

Flynn drove through the small New England town along tree-shrouded streets brilliant with fall color. Students walked in groups, laughing and carefree. On a knoll above town she turned into the wide gravel drive and made her way through the enormous scrolled iron gates up to the stone mansion. She left her car in the turn-around and went through the huge carved double wooden doors into the enormous vaulted foyer, her footsteps tapping along the stone until she reached the alcove where the receptionist waited.

“Reverend Edwards,” the sexton exclaimed, rising. His wireless glasses sparkled in the sunlight slanting through the tall narrow window behind him. His meticulously trimmed mustache slanted upward as he smiled in greeting. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Hello, Mr. Burns. I know it’s unexpected, but I’d like to speak to the reverend.”

“Certainly. Certainly. I’ll call him right away. Would you like to wait in the rectory?”

“That would be fine,” Flynn said.

He smiled at her uncertainly and she nodded her thanks before turning away to make the familiar walk through the familiar halls to the rectory adjoining the seminary building. Her brother was waiting for her outside his office. He wore jeans and a plain black shirt and his clerical collar. They looked so similar, except her neck was bare, and she felt the absence even more acutely in his presence.

“Flynn.” Matthew kissed her cheek. “It’s good to see you. And about time.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Flynn saw questions in his eyes, questions that she’d avoided for too long. About Evelyn, and Debbie, and her. “I should have come sooner.”

“You’re here now.” He took her arm as he had so many times when as students they’d strolled and talked for hours. “How are you?”

“I’m afraid I’m lost.”

“Your faith or your path to it?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Let’s see if we can sort that out. Shall we walk outside?” Matthew said. “It’s so beautiful, and you’ve given me the perfect excuse to avoid the budget I’m supposed to be reviewing.”

“I’m sorry to arrive with no warning.”

“Don’t be. I’ve missed you. We all have.”

She doubted Evelyn missed her. But Matthew didn’t know about their relationship. She’d ended it as soon as she’d realized Evelyn was seeing them both, and she saw no reason to tell her brother about the past affair if his wife didn’t. “I’ve missed you too.”

The rolling hills of the seminary grounds were still green, although the maples and oaks were dropping their leaves like swatches of blazing confetti. The fall air was crisp, cooler and sharper than on the Cape. She missed the warm scent of the sea already. “I haven’t lost my faith, but I can’t seem to see past myself to its lessons.”

Her brother smiled. “Maybe you just need to see yourself, and the rest will be clear.”

“I’m afraid I see myself too well.”

“Flynn,” he said gently, stopping to sit on a stone bench overlooking the town, “what happened to Debbie was a terrible, terrible tragedy. We all feel it, and in some ways, we are all responsible. You weren’t the only person who could have changed her mind. You weren’t the only person who might have influenced her, who might have given her support. Yes”—he held up his hand—“I know, you counseled her. That’s an enormous responsibility, no matter what the circumstances, but so much more so when we counsel the young, who sometimes are so isolated and feel so alone.”

“If I’d been giving her what she needed,” Flynn said, “she would have come to me when she thought she had no options. She would have talked to me about what she was going to do.”

“You know that isn’t usually what happens, not when someone has truly made up their mind. They almost never tell us. She wasn’t making a plea for help. She had already made her choice.”

“I can’t accept her choice,” Flynn said, her throat burning with months of unshed tears.

“Of course you can’t. Who could? Maybe the reason you feel so lost is you’ve forgotten that we are given free will, the opportunity to make our own choices, even when our choices are wrong or self-destructive. As hard as it is to accept, Debbie chose her path.”

Flynn looked past her brother to the church and the cross at the top of the belfry, the symbols of their faith. Her belief that every individual had a choice, that nothing in life was completely predetermined, was fundamental to her faith. For if that were not so, there would be no purpose in ministering. Her failure had been in forgetting that ultimately, everyone chose their own path, and all she could do was help them see what those paths might be. She sighed. “Someone told me recently that my arrogance prevented me from seeing others’ reality. How can I minister if all I can see is my own belief?”

“This person who told you that, did she know about Debbie?”

“Yes, she did.”

“She’s hard on you. Why is that?”

Flynn pictured Mica in the back of the police car, imprisoned and alone. Remembered the man in the alley and the knife at Mica’s throat. Goose bumps broke out over her flesh. Mica was in danger and she had known it. Mica wanted her gone, and she had said exactly what she knew would drive Flynn away. “She wanted me out of her life.”

“The two of you—you have an intimate relationship?”

“Yes.” Flynn smiled at an image of an exhausted and sated Mica tumbling into her arms after they’d made love. The tight fist in her chest relaxed. “I’m in love with her.”

“How does she feel about you?”

“I don’t know.” Flynn paused. “No, that’s not true. She’s talked to me, told me things that I know she’s kept hidden from others. I know she cares.”

“Then why did she want to drive you away? Why did she deliberately hurt you?”

“Someone is trying to kill her.”

His expression never changed as he folded his hands in his lap and crossed his ankle over his opposite knee, as if he were settling in for a long, friendly conversation. “I think you better start at the beginning.”

So she did, and the more she told him of Mica, the more she knew what she had to do.

*

When Mica hurried past Mitch on her way to the ice machine with an empty ice bucket, he leaned across the bar and caught her arm. She pivoted and shot him a glare. She hated being handled by anyone. Stabbing pain shot through her. She didn’t mind when Flynn touched her. She liked it. She didn’t want to think about Flynn. She didn’t want to keep watching the door. She’d accomplished what she’d wanted. Flynn was gone. She yanked her arm out of Mitch’s grasp. “What?”

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Mitch said quietly. “And besides that, you’re snarling at me. You’re supposed to think I’m the hottest thing on the planet.”

Mica forced herself to smile, although she thought if anyone looked closely they’d be able to tell she
was
snarling. Mitch did look good, and maybe if she’d been into guys with smoky eyes and sensuous mouths and teasing bulges in their crotches, she’d be smiling at him for real. But when she looked at him, nothing stirred inside her, not the way she’d come alive when she’d looked at Flynn. And now when she thought of Flynn, she just hurt. “I don’t fool around when I’m working.”

“Just pretend to like me a little bit.” Mitch leaned over and caught her hand, tugged her against the bar, and kissed her.

She hadn’t expected it, and because she knew him, she hadn’t been on guard. His mouth was soft and warm and for an instant, she compared the kiss to Flynn’s. When Flynn kissed her, even the very first time, she felt a connection that she didn’t feel now. Flynn’s lips had been electric against hers. For the sake of the show they were supposed to be putting on, she forced herself not to jerk away, but let him slide his mouth over hers for another minute. When the backs of his fingers glanced over the outer curve of her breast, she figured they’d given everyone enough of a look. She bit his lip and he pulled back, laughing.

“Hey,” he complained, loud enough for everyone to know he liked it.

“Save it until later, baby,” she said, also making sure she was heard.

He dropped back on his stool, looking pleased. “I’ve got plenty left for later.”

She snorted and spun away. She took one step and stopped, her heart rocketing into her throat.

Flynn stood at the end of the bar, her mouth set in a tight angry line. Mica was so used to Flynn being calm and cool no matter what was happening, the flare of anger in her eyes was as exciting as it was ominous.

“We might have a problem,” Mica said softly.

Mitch swiveled and followed her gaze. “I take it that’s your girl?”

“Was. Was my girl.”

“I don’t think she agrees with you.”

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.”