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 small talk. Her white short-sleeved shirt was tucked into tapered black jeans that emphasized her narrow waist and curvaceous hips. A tattoo, indistinct from so far away, adorned her right upper arm. Her hair was down, the heavy black waves blowing in the harbor breeze. Flynn’s mouth went dry. Mica was all kinds of sexy.

Mica looked over, her lips pursing as her smile disappeared. Flynn nodded and Mica set the tray on one of the empty tables and threaded her way between the chairs over to Flynn. “What gives?”

Flynn smiled. “I was hoping for breakfast?”

“That’s what we do here.” Mica crossed her arms. The top two buttons of her shirt were undone, and her bronze skin glistened. Her jeans were cut so low the arch of each hipbone slanted beneath the waistband, bold curves inviting the caress of hands.

Flynn almost told Mica she looked amazing, but caught herself just in time. Mica had made it very clear that she didn’t trust compliments. Flynn couldn’t ask her how she was feeling, even though she wanted to know. Mica didn’t like to reveal personal information and didn’t like being asked. Short of commenting on the weather, Flynn couldn’t think of anything else to say except the truth. “I was thinking about you this morning and I ended up here.”

“Yeah, right. Your breakfast order?”

“Poached eggs, wheat toast, chicken sausage.”

“Got it. You want juice?”

“Orange would be good.”

“Be a few minutes.”

“That’s okay. I don’t start my shift until nine.”

Mica turned away and Flynn settled back in her chair to watch the boats. She had nothing on her mind, and the pressure she always felt to be doing, moving, was strangely absent. Strange but not unpleasant. She was waiting for Mica, nothing else, and that was okay.

*

While Mica waited for her orders to come up, she leaned against a post in the main section of the restaurant and watched Flynn. She’d pushed her chair back from the small table, extended her legs underneath, and tilted her head against the back of the chair. Couldn’t be a very comfortable position, but she looked good all the same. She must’ve been out running. Her navy blue T-shirt with the paramedic emblem on the chest had a dark diamond-shaped pattern down the center of her chest. Sweat. Her hair lay in damp tendrils on her neck. Her bare arms, still holding a summer tan, were sleek and lined with prominent veins coursing over her wrists and the tops of her hands. She looked strong. She looked damn good.

“Orders up,” the fry cook called and Mica went to fill her tray. She served everyone else before Flynn, and by the time she reached her, it looked like Flynn was asleep.

She almost didn’t want to disturb her. The tightness around Flynn’s eyes and mouth, that she hadn’t realized was there until now, had disappeared. Her face had relaxed, and she looked…younger. She was always hot-looking, but now she was just beautiful.

“Hey,” Mica murmured close to Flynn’s ear, “wake up, your breakfast is ready.”

Flynn shot upright, her eyes scanning rapidly. “What?”

“Yo,” Mica said. “Take it easy.”

Flynn scrubbed her face. “Sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

“Late-night action?” Mica grinned.

“Not exactly. I just didn’t sleep much.”

Mica almost said she hadn’t either. She rarely slept a night through—waking up, heart racing, wondering if every sound in the hall was someone on their way to her door. No way was she sharing that, but she almost wanted to. Flynn had a way of catching her off guard, simply because Flynn was never on guard herself. If Mica didn’t know better, she’d think Flynn always told the truth. But that couldn’t possibly be, because no one ever did. She slid the plate onto the table in front of Flynn and set down her orange juice. She placed a cup of coffee next to it. “Thought you could use this.”

Flynn grasped the mug, raised it up, and breathed deeply. “You are so right. Thanks.”

“Well,” Mica said, remembering how they’d sat over sandwiches the night Flynn walked her home, not talking much, just watching foot traffic on Commercial and occasionally commenting on the sports channel. She’d almost forgotten La Mara, and right now, she wished she could pull out the chair opposite Flynn and sit down. Maybe ask her what her day would be like. How she’d ended up in this town. Why she wasn’t wearing a collar. She couldn’t remember the last time she wanted to know anything about anyone in her life. What was even scarier, she almost…almost…wanted to tell Flynn about hers. She backed away from the table. “Enjoy it.”

“I will.” Flynn turned in her chair. “Mica?”

Mica hesitated. “Yeah?”

“You working tonight?”

“Every night, remember?”

“So maybe I’ll see you.”

Mica shrugged, ignoring the quick jump of her pulse. “Whatever.”

Flynn smiled. “Yeah, whatever sounds good.”

Shaking her head, Mica beat a retreat. She didn’t understand Flynn at all, and that couldn’t be a good thing. Could it?

*

Philadelphia

Detective Dellon Mitchell leaned down and kissed her girlfriend on the mouth. “See you later, babe.”

Sandy Sullivan rolled over and grabbed Dell’s wrist, yanking her down. She shoved the covers aside, exposing her warm nude body, and kept pulling until Dell tumbled on top of her.

“Hey,” Dell said, laughing. “I’m geared up here, babe.”

“Yeah?” Sandy slid her hand up the inside of Dell’s thigh and cupped her crotch. “I’m not feeling the love, baby.”

Dell reached under her black T-shirt, pulled her holster from the waistband of her jeans, and dropped it onto the bedside table by feel. Sliding her thigh between Sandy’s, she covered Sandy’s smaller body easily and kissed her hard, slipping her tongue into Sandy’s mouth, tasting her heat and the leftover remnants of the peppermint toothpaste she’d used at bedtime. “Not that kind of gear.”

“No problem.” Sandy wrapped her legs around Dell’s hips and squirmed underneath her. “You always feel good, no matter what kind of gear you’re packing.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so.” Dell nibbled on Sandy’s lower lip, thinking if Sandy kept it up she’d have to change her pants, because one of them was gonna leave a wet spot somewhere. But what the hell, she had plenty of jeans. Sandy arched her back and stretched under her like a cat. A big, tempting cat.

“Mmm,” Sandy murmured, “isn’t it too early to be going to work?”

Dell kissed Sandy’s nose. “For rookie patrol officers, maybe, but not for us big bad detectives.”

“Oh, kiss my ass too.” Sandy shoved at Dell’s chest, but Dell didn’t budge. Instead, she nuzzled Sandy’s neck and bit lightly at the soft, fragrant skin above her collarbone. Sandy was still soft in all the right places, but the police academy training had given her muscles where she didn’t used to have them. Dell had always loved how girly Sandy could be while she was smiling sweetly and busting your balls. She was still girly, still as sexy as she had been the first time Dell had seen her in a micro miniskirt and a skimpy top that barely covered her breasts, and what was even better now—Sandy was all hers. Dell sucked at the spot she’d just bitten.

Sandy slapped Dell on the shoulder. “Cut that out. I can’t go to work with a hickey. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Hey, babe, everyone knows you’re mine. So they all know what a stud you’re married t—” Dell laughed harder when Sandy punched her in the arm. Damn it, that was going to leave a bruise. “Ow. Hey!”

Sandy grabbed a handful of Dell’s hair and tugged her head back. Sandy’s eyes were a brilliant blazing blue, her blond hair still short and spiky. Everything about her was hot, hot, hot. “You better not be talking about your studly activities around the squad. It’s enough I have to live down the fact I’m a hooker—”

“Were a hooker.” Dell kissed Sandy again, slower and softer. “Were, baby, and you’ve always been a lot more than that.”

Sandy had just finished the police academy, and though she never complained, she’d had a hard time with some of her classmates who didn’t think she belonged there. Dell would’ve kicked some ass over the subtle harassment, but she knew that wouldn’t help Sandy’s case. Sandy wouldn’t want her to get in the middle, either, but Sandy never wanted anyone to stand up for her. Sandy was too used to going it alone after years on the street, and as much as Dell wanted to protect her, she respected Sandy too much to smother her. But she wouldn’t stand by and let anyone hurt her either. So maybe she had mentioned here or there that Sandy had a rabbi. That just maybe that rabbi was Detective Lieutenant Rebecca Frye. Everyone knew, from a wet-behind-the-ears rookie to a seasoned detective, that if you had Frye behind you, you’d earned it, and then some. Because Rebecca Frye didn’t give an inch for anyone. So when word had gotten around that Frye had sponsored Sandy’s admission to the academy, the grumbling stopped. And then Sandy had taken care of the rest. She’d proven herself in the field and in the classroom.