don’t know about. And you’re probably jealous that I was talking to Reese—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Bri protested. “I’m not jealous of Reese.”
“Me then?”
Bri grinned and quickly smothered it. “Jesus, no. I haven’t lusted after you for…a long time.”
“I’m broken-hearted.”
“You’re full of it too.” Bri glanced toward Reese’s office, but she’d closed the door. “So what’s going on? If you were doing surveillance, it must be something good.”
“Maybe, I don’t know.” Allie told Bri about her suspicions about Mica, and her phone call to Reese. “There’s nothing solid at this point. So you didn’t miss anything.”
“I don’t know, Al. I’d go with your gut. You need some help running down the computer traces?”
“No, but thanks. At the rate they’re coming in, I’m not going to get overwhelmed.”
“So you want to swing through town, see what’s cooking? We got a few minutes before roll call.”
“I guess you’ll be riding with Carter again,” Allie said quietly.
“Now who’s jealous?”
“You wish.” Allie grabbed her uniform hat and settled it over her brow. “Come on. Let’s see what’s shakin’.”
Chapter Eleven
Flynn ran along the harbor’s edge, skirting along the crescent shoreline that extended from Long Point through the center of town to the East End. The tide was on its way out, and the moist sand left in its wake was dark and firm beneath her feet. Her footsteps filled with water almost as soon as she made them, obliterating her path within a few seconds, as if she had never been there at all.
The still air smelled of seaweed and brine. The sun blazed brightly but the intense heat of summer was tempered by the first breath of fall. Beneath a crystal-blue sky dotted with billowing white clouds, the harbor glinted like a steel-gray mirror. Higher up the beach, early risers walked barefoot, carrying their shoes in one hand and coffee cups in the other; gulls circled and swooped, looking for scraps; and dog owners tossed balls and sticks out into the water where sleek canine heads broke the surface like schools of porpoises in pursuit. The day was as beautiful as any she’d ever seen. As she ran, the shroud of a sleepless night fell away and she breathed deeply, the excitement of a new day, ripe with possibility, buoying her. Mornings were her favorite time—when the defeats and disappointments of the day before had been distanced by the dark, and dawn promised another chance.
Slowing, she checked the big black clock with gold hands on the tower at Town Hall. Seven fifteen. She angled up the beach, sinking into the soft dry sand with every step. The muscles in her calves ached pleasantly, and a light sheen of sweat coated her bare arms and the triangle of skin where the vee of her T-shirt exposed her chest. When she reached the street, she thumped her running shoes against the edge of the wooden sidewalk to shake loose the clumps of moist sand, giving herself another few seconds to change her mind. When she couldn’t delay without examining exactly why she was hesitating, she strode down Commercial toward the West End where Mica worked. She’d been thinking about seeing Mica again ever since she’d left her standing outside her rooming house earlier in the week. When she’d gotten up that morning, she’d told herself she was going for a run, but in the back of her mind, her destination had always been the Shoreline.
The restaurant fronted the harbor, and once inside, she skirted the tables in the main room and found a deuce near the railing on the open-air deck that extended over the beach. While she was perusing the menu, Mica appeared carrying a huge round tray laden with plates to a table occupied by a party of six—two women, one Caucasian and the other African American, and four children. Mica was as fast and efficient serving food as she had been working the bar, but today, she smiled at the kids and appeared to be making
“Whoa, whoa,” Bri protested. “I’m not jealous of Reese.”
“Me then?”
Bri grinned and quickly smothered it. “Jesus, no. I haven’t lusted after you for…a long time.”
“I’m broken-hearted.”
“You’re full of it too.” Bri glanced toward Reese’s office, but she’d closed the door. “So what’s going on? If you were doing surveillance, it must be something good.”
“Maybe, I don’t know.” Allie told Bri about her suspicions about Mica, and her phone call to Reese. “There’s nothing solid at this point. So you didn’t miss anything.”
“I don’t know, Al. I’d go with your gut. You need some help running down the computer traces?”
“No, but thanks. At the rate they’re coming in, I’m not going to get overwhelmed.”
“So you want to swing through town, see what’s cooking? We got a few minutes before roll call.”
“I guess you’ll be riding with Carter again,” Allie said quietly.
“Now who’s jealous?”
“You wish.” Allie grabbed her uniform hat and settled it over her brow. “Come on. Let’s see what’s shakin’.”
Chapter Eleven
Flynn ran along the harbor’s edge, skirting along the crescent shoreline that extended from Long Point through the center of town to the East End. The tide was on its way out, and the moist sand left in its wake was dark and firm beneath her feet. Her footsteps filled with water almost as soon as she made them, obliterating her path within a few seconds, as if she had never been there at all.
The still air smelled of seaweed and brine. The sun blazed brightly but the intense heat of summer was tempered by the first breath of fall. Beneath a crystal-blue sky dotted with billowing white clouds, the harbor glinted like a steel-gray mirror. Higher up the beach, early risers walked barefoot, carrying their shoes in one hand and coffee cups in the other; gulls circled and swooped, looking for scraps; and dog owners tossed balls and sticks out into the water where sleek canine heads broke the surface like schools of porpoises in pursuit. The day was as beautiful as any she’d ever seen. As she ran, the shroud of a sleepless night fell away and she breathed deeply, the excitement of a new day, ripe with possibility, buoying her. Mornings were her favorite time—when the defeats and disappointments of the day before had been distanced by the dark, and dawn promised another chance.
Slowing, she checked the big black clock with gold hands on the tower at Town Hall. Seven fifteen. She angled up the beach, sinking into the soft dry sand with every step. The muscles in her calves ached pleasantly, and a light sheen of sweat coated her bare arms and the triangle of skin where the vee of her T-shirt exposed her chest. When she reached the street, she thumped her running shoes against the edge of the wooden sidewalk to shake loose the clumps of moist sand, giving herself another few seconds to change her mind. When she couldn’t delay without examining exactly why she was hesitating, she strode down Commercial toward the West End where Mica worked. She’d been thinking about seeing Mica again ever since she’d left her standing outside her rooming house earlier in the week. When she’d gotten up that morning, she’d told herself she was going for a run, but in the back of her mind, her destination had always been the Shoreline.
The restaurant fronted the harbor, and once inside, she skirted the tables in the main room and found a deuce near the railing on the open-air deck that extended over the beach. While she was perusing the menu, Mica appeared carrying a huge round tray laden with plates to a table occupied by a party of six—two women, one Caucasian and the other African American, and four children. Mica was as fast and efficient serving food as she had been working the bar, but today, she smiled at the kids and appeared to be making
Similar Books
