by Sophie Moss
“No,” Sam corrected. “I think he—or someone representing him—came to her.”
Philip stared at the empty Google search on his laptop. “I don’t understand.”
“The preliminary investigation alleges that this guy had ties to local shelters and hospitals, and that he had insiders working in most of the medical communities throughout Houston.”
“You think someone in this hospital, someone who knew Sydney, helped her get the identity from this man?”
“Again, it’s only a lead, but I’m following it. I sent you the link to the article in an email. I’d like you to read it and tell me if you recognize any of the names, if you have any reason to believe that this man could have come into connection with your wife.”
Philip was already pulling up his email, clicking on the link.
“The internet response has been off the charts,” Sam continued. “Women’s rights activists all over the country are speaking out on his behalf. Hailing him as a hero of a modern-day underground railroad for abused women. His trial is certain to be a high profile case with a lot of publicity.”
“How did they catch him?” Philip asked, scanning the article on the screen.
“The writer claims that the most common way for women to be referred to this man—Jacob Cohen—was by a nurse in a hospital after she was brought in from a…” Sam chose his words carefully, “domestic incident. The nurse would wait until the husband was out of the room and then slip them a package containing the documents and a one way ticket to another country. Most of the women never met Cohen. But one of the women who escaped recently came back to her husband. She confessed that a nurse at St. Joseph’s slipped her an envelope when her husband was out of the room.”
“How do we know for sure, if Sydney is one of the women who… used Cohen’s services?”
“The FBI confiscated Cohen’s computer. It’s safe to assume that at least some of the pictures of the women he helped are still on that hard drive.”
“So we wait until the FBI releases its files to the public?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
“For an intelligence agency, the FBI has piss-poor hacker protection.”
Philips hands went still on the desk. “You can hack into the FBI’s intranet?”
“I’ll call you when I have more news.”
“Sam—” Philip stared at his cell as the line went dead.
***
Tara glanced up from the stove when the door swung open. “Where’s Kelsey tonight?”
“She’s at Ashling’s,” Dominic answered, walking over to take her hand and draw her in for a lingering kiss.
“Is she coming back?” Tara asked, running her palms up the strong muscles of his back.
“No.” He wrapped his arms around her, fitting her body to his.
“Is there anyone left out in the bar?”
Dominic shook his head, dipping his mouth back to hers for a longer, deeper taste of her.
When she finally pulled back, she was out of breath. “You’re very good at that, you know.”
He smiled.
She felt her heart skip a beat and she shifted away from him, nerves suddenly dancing up her spine. “I’m not sure how I feel about that—you being such a good kisser.”
“I thought that would be a good thing?”
Tara glanced down at the rhubarb stains on her shirt. She’d tried to make a pie tonight. It hadn’t worked out so well. “I’m just thinking you must have had a lot of practice to get that good.”
“Maybe I was just born talented in that department?”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
Dominic laughed. “You know what they say,” he said, pulling her in for another smoldering kiss and edging back only when every thought in her brain was sufficiently scrambled. “Practice makes perfect.”
Pressing a palm to his chest, Tara shook her head. “I need to finish up in here. And this is not helping.”
He covered her hand with his. “Leave it.”
Tara lifted her eyes to his. She saw the desire in them and she took a step back. “I think I better not.”
“You’re nervous,” he realized.
“I’m not nervous,” she said, brushing flour off the front of her pants. “I’m just not ready to go upstairs with you yet.”
“Then let’s take a walk.”
“A walk?” Tara asked uncertainly. “It’s after eleven.”
“So?”
“Well… I don’t know. Isn’t it kind of late to go for a walk?”
“It’s never too late to go for a walk.” He looked at her strangely. “Are you worried about being alone with me?”
“No,” Tara admitted. “I guess I’m just… Never mind.” She untied her apron and draped it over a hook by the door. “A walk would be nice.”
Taking her hand, Dominic pulled her outside. The spring air cooled her flushed cheeks. The stars twinkled like sequins on a black ball gown overhead. A full moon bathed the village in a silver, ethereal light. The maze of stone walls sparkled like jeweled necklaces draping over the fields.
“How can you live in this place day after day and not just cry from happiness?” Tara asked, tipping her head back to gaze up at the night sky.
“I’m not much of a crier,” he joked.
She smiled, shaking her head. It was so easy to be with him like this. Had she ever felt this way with Philip? Even in the very beginning? No. Because she’d never been truly herself with Philip. She’d always been trying to impress him—to measure up to his ridiculously high standards.
Her gaze drifted to Dominic’s rugged profile, so different from her husband’s polished looks. How had she not known how much she preferred these imperfect angles and wild, unruly curls?
“Tell me,” Dominic said, leading her up the path to the cliffs. “What you were thinking a minute ago when I asked you to come out for a walk?”
“I was just surprised, I guess.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Tara gazed out at the ribbon of moonlight reflecting over the surface of the water. “I’ve always thought taking a walk was more of a solitary thing.”
“A solitary thing?”
“Yes,” Tara said, listening to the waves beat their silent drum-beat over the shoreline below. “A time to be alone. To think.”
“I can see that.”
“So I was just… caught off guard.”
Dominic waited a beat and then turned to face her. “I thought you said you grew up hiking with your father in Oregon? Doesn’t that generally involve a lot of walking?”
Tara swallowed. “Yes.”
“Didn’t you ever talk while you were walking?”
“Yes,” she said, gazing up in those eyes and hating—hating—that she had to lie to him. “But that was different.”
“How?”
“Well,” Tara struggled for an answer. “He was my dad.”
“And…?”
“And… you’re not.”
“Yes.” Dominic’s lips curved. “I’m grateful for that. But you’ve never taken a walk with anyone but your dad before?”
“I’ve never taken a walk with any man other than my father before.”
“Never?”
Tara shook her head. “I’m not used to men I’m dating asking me to go for a walk. When it’s late,” she added. “And when their daughter is at a friend’s house.”
Dominic stopped walking and looked hard at Tara. “You said you didn’t want to go upstairs.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what? Did you think I’d try to talk you into it?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you want me to?”
“No. I’m just… surprised.”
“That what? That I still wanted to hang out with you? Tara, I’m not seventeen anymore.”
Tara flushed bright red. This had suddenly gotten very embarrassing. “I think I’m out of practice with this.
I don’t know what to say.”
“Out of practice with what?”
“Dating.”
Dominic’s lips curved slowly. “Are we on a date?”
“Aren’t we?”
“If we are,” he said, brushing his fingers over the back of her neck. “Then there hasn’t been nearly enough kissing.” He silenced her surprised laughter by closing his warm mouth over hers and taking his time with the build-up. When he caught her full lower lip in his teeth and a small primal sound escaped from somewhere deep in her throat, he pulled back smiling. “Walks are excellent places to practice kissing.”
Okay, Tara thought. She might be a little off balance now, but at least he thought they were back on even footing. She let out a breath. “Here’s what I don’t understand,” she said as they started to walk again. “You’ve obviously kissed a lot of women. But there aren’t that many women on this island.”
“Are you implying I’ve kissed some of the men?”
“No!”
He laughed, hooking his strong arm around her shoulders and tugging her into his hard body. His lips murmured against her ear suggestively, “But I have always had a soft spot for the summer help.”
Tara shook her head. What would Philip have done if she’d accidentally accused him of kissing a man? She shuddered even thinking about it.
“Are you cold?” Dominic asked suddenly, wrapping his other arm around her and rubbing her arms to warm them.
“No.” She forced the unwelcome thought from her mind and smiled up at him. “I’m fine. But seriously,” she said as they started to walk again. “Did you ever date anybody on the island?”
He lifted a brow. “Are you asking about anyone in particular?”
“Did you ever date Caitlin?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“Did you ever kiss Caitlin?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” Tara glanced up at his even expression. “What happened?”
“She broke my nose.”
“What?” Tara choked out a laugh.
Dominic nodded, tipping a finger to the slight crook at the end of his nose. “It was a dare. Donal, Liam, and I swiped a bottle of tequila from the pub one night and after drinking the entire thing between us, they dared me to do it.” He smiled. “I pretty much did anything anybody dared me to do in those days, so I did it.”
“And…?”
“Despite the fact that I was fifteen, and obviously drunk out of my mind, it was surprisingly awkward. Before, during and especially after, when she broke my nose.”
Tara’s lips twitched. She couldn’t help it. “I can’t believe she broke your nose.”
Dominic’s eyes twinkled as they caught hers. “Try explaining that to your grandmother.”
She laughed, wondering suddenly what Kelsey’s mother had done to him to make him so mistrustful of her when she first arrived. This was who he really was. Kind-hearted, genuine, easy-going. If he’d shown her this side of him from the very beginning, she might have tried to leave the island sooner. For an entirely different reason. The only reason that was making her stay at this point.
Pulling her gaze away from his handsome face, she glanced back at the path and realized with a start that they’d walked all the way up to the cliffs and back to her cottage. She didn’t want him to go. But she also didn’t want to invite him in and have him assume the underlying implication of that invitation.
“I can see your head spinning,” he said, tipping her chin up and pausing outside her door. “I’ll say goodnight to you here.”
She searched those quiet, patient eyes. “I know you’d like to come in.”
“I would.”
“But I can’t let you. Not yet.”
“I know,” he said softly, lowering his mouth back to hers and taking her hips in his hands. Easing her back against the door, Tara’s whole body shivered when he pressed the hard length of his body against her, giving her a sample of what he had to offer, when and if she chose to let him.
She closed her eyes as those warm lips trailed up to her ear, and he whispered, “I will come in one night soon, Tara. And you will invite me.” He pulled back and gazed down at her.
Her breath caught in her throat when she saw those pale eyes filled with such need, such vivid desire for her.
“But like I said before,” he said, pushing back from her. “I’ve time.”
He turned, walking away in the moonlight and she leaned her head back against the door, every muscle in her body turning to molten gold.
Chapter 10
The next three weeks passed in a blur of cooking lessons and stolen kisses. A simple brush of Dominic’s hand on hers in the crowded pub made Tara’s breath quicken. His hand on the small of her back as they shifted around the tight quarters of the kitchen made her stomach flutter. She found herself looking forward to the gentle swish of the door almost as much as the oven revealing another dish she’d somehow managed to pull off without burning the place down.
When the door connecting the bar and the kitchen swung open, she smiled and turned toward it, but when she saw it was Glenna instead of Dominic, her face lost some of its glow.
Glenna’s eyebrow lifted. “Expecting someone else?”
Tara blushed and turned back to the stove.
“I heard Dominic’s grandmother extended her trip again.”
“She did,” Tara said, stirring the simmering stew and inhaling the scent of cloves and garlic. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me in the kitchen for a little while longer.”
Snagging a cookie from a plate by the sink, Glenna took a bite. “Actually, I think you’re starting to improve.”
“Kelsey made those.”
“Oh,” Glenna laughed. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’m getting used to the idea of being outdone by an eight-year-old.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time together, you two,” Glenna commented, taking another bite.
“We have.”
Glenna watched Tara add a pinch of salt to the stew. “How does Dominic feel about that?”
“About me spending time with Kelsey?” Tara glanced over her shoulder. “I think he’s okay with it.”
“I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s usually so protective of her.”
“He was at first,” Tara admitted. “But I think he’s finally realized that if I’m here all the time and she lives here, we’re bound to get to know each other.”
“And… because you’re seeing each other.”
“Yes.” Tara turned. “And because of that.”
“What will you do then,” Glenna asked, snagging a second cookie, “when the summer ends?”
Tara gazed across the room at the other woman. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet.”
“You might want to start thinking ahead, if you’re building a relationship with his daughter.”
Tara opened her mouth as the door swung open and Dominic walked in. When he caught the tense expressions on Tara and Glenna’s faces, he paused. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Just girl talk,” Glenna explained, smiling when Dominic handed her a glass of Cabernet. “A woman could get used to that.”
Dominic smiled and glanced over at Tara, but she’d already turned back to the stove. Wandering over to join her, his shoulder brushed against hers as he leaned over the simmering pot. “What are you making?”
“Just something my dad used to make for me when I was a kid.”
“Where did you get the ingredients?”
Tara fought to push Glenna’s words out of her head. “I asked Donal to pick them up when he was in Sheridan yesterday.”
Picking a shrimp out of the stew, Dominic popped it in his mouth, and made an approving sound. “You said your dad used to make this for you?”
Tara nodded. “It was a staple in my house growing up.”
“I thought you grew up in Portland.”
“I did.”
“Isn’t this more of a southeast thing?”
Tara stiffened. “How do you know that?”
“Just because I live on an island doesn’t mean I haven’t ever watched a cooking show or eaten this kind of food before.”
Tara glanced up, realizing her mistake too late. “My father was from New Orleans.”
Dominic searched her face and Tara could see the frustration building in those usually patient eyes.
“I said I wouldn’t rush you,” he said, leaning down and speaking softly into her ear. “But if you can’t tell me the truth, I’d rather you say so, than lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
Dominic pushed back from the wall.
Tara watched him walk away helplessly and when Glenna cleared her throat, she jerked her head around. She’d completely forgotten the other woman was standing there.
“I’ve known Dominic O’Sullivan a long time,” Glenna said, leaning a hip against the counter. “He’s a good man. And easy to look at.”
Tara turned back to the stove and picked up her spoon. “I didn’t come here to find a man.”
“And yet, isn’t that when they always seem to appear?” Glenna rubbed the stem of the wine glass with the tips of her fingers. “I didn’t say what I said earlier to scare you away from him.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“I just wanted to see where you stood. When we first met, you said you were planning to leave the island at the end of the summer, but now, with the way things are going between you two…”
“I’m not going to change my whole life for one man.”
Glenna angled her head. “Be a shame to let him go to waste. It’s not every day a woman gets a man as handsome as Dominic O’Sullivan looking at her the way he looks at you.”
Tara stirred the sauce around in the pan. “Looks aren’t everything.”
“Interesting,” Glenna murmured as Tara turned to rinse the spoon off in the sink. “So he was a looker?”
“Who?” Tara asked, distracted.
“The man you’re running from.”
Tara stopped breathing. Laughter drifted in from the barroom. She heard the squeak of the pub door opening and the commotion that rose to greet whoever walked in. She stared at Glenna, all the blood draining from her face. When she finally spoke, her voice was like tires skidding on ice. “What did you just say?”
