The Selkie Spell (Seal Island Trilogy) (13 page)

“Sleeping Beauty?”

Tara nodded.  “It will help you forget.”

“But that’s a little kid book.”

“You’re never too old for Sleeping Beauty.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

Kelsey scrunched up her face but she settled further into Dominic’s embrace, resting her head on his chest.

Tara opened to the first page, lifted her gaze when Kelsey’s pale fingers suddenly dug into her arm.

“You won’t go anywhere, will you?  If I fall asleep?”

“No.”  Tara forced a smile.  “Of course not.”

***

When Kelsey finally fell back asleep, Dominic snagged the strap of Tara’s small backpack and led her quietly down the stairs and out into the street so as not to wake his daughter.  Shutting the door behind them, Dominic leaned back against it, watching her.  “Where were you going, Tara?”

Tara gazed out at the sea.  The night was peeling away, the sunrise painting a pink line along the horizon.  “The mainland.”

“How were you planning on getting there?”

She reached into her pocket, pulled out the keys.

“Whose…?”

“Donal Riley’s.”  She handed them to him.

He slipped them into his own pocket, watching her, still holding her pack.  “You thought you could just slip away before anyone woke up?”

“I thought it would be best that way.”

“For who?”

“For everyone,” she answered, but as she looked at him, his pale face awash in the moonlight, his hair such a dark shade of black it looked almost blue, and those searching gray eyes holding hers, she was lost.

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Tara,” he confessed.  “I’m confused.”

“So am I,” she whispered.

“I don’t know if I should be angry with you for leaving, or relieved.  I don’t know if I should be upset that my daughter reached for you instead of me tonight, or thankful that you showed up when you did.  And I don’t know if what I’m feeling for you is real, or just a side effect of those damn roses.”

Tara swallowed.  “What are you… feeling for me?”

He pushed off the door, closed the distance between them.  “Remember that promise you made to me?”  He tipped her chin up.  “When you said you wouldn’t hurt me or anyone I cared about?  You leave today, you break that promise.”

“I didn’t ask for this.  I didn’t want this.”

“I think I’m starting to believe that.”  He brushed a thumb over her cheek, his eyes like pale water.  “What would happen if you stayed?”

 “I can’t stay.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know.”  She answered, honestly.  “Belfast.  Dublin, maybe.”

“And then what?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

His voice was soft, gentle, like sea glass sliding over the waves.  “I don’t want you to go.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered, but when he threaded his fingers into her hair, she let the heady scent of him pull her in.

His breath was a whisper on her skin.  “Don’t go.”

She searched frantically for a wall, for a defense when his fingers brushed the back of her neck, but when he touched his lips to hers, the need for him whipped through her, had her fitting her body to his.

And as the red sun rose, bleeding into the sky, Tara knew that it was him she’d been searching for, him she’d been running to all this time.  He was the missing puzzle piece she’d been looking for.  That last impossible-to-find piece that could make her whole.

The ocean crashed, surged against the cliff wall.

Sensing her urgency, her need, Dominic slid his hands up her back, curled into that silky curtain of hair.  And let the scent of her, the taste of her shoot into him like a drug.

A small sound escaped from somewhere deep in her throat.  Her lips parted, drinking in the taste of him.  Sugared almonds.  Spiced rum.  She raked her palms up the hard muscles of his chest, gripped those wide shoulders when her knees went weak.  Her mind grew dizzy.  And she clung to him, angling the kiss, taking it deeper, desperate for more.

He fisted his hands in the back of her shirt, fighting to maintain control.  “Tara,” he breathed.

When her lashes fluttered open, and her eyes lifted, they were heavy and full of longing.  “Dominic.  I...”

He started to release her.  Her pack was on the ground.  All she had to do was grab it and run.  Disappear.  Like smoke.

But she didn’t pull away.  She didn’t move.  And, gazing up into eyes the color of liquid silver, she let out a long breath.

“There are things I can’t tell you.  I won’t tell you.”

Dominic’s hand felt heavy and foreign when he lifted it to smooth her hair back from her face.   “I can wait.”

“I need time to think.  About this.  About us.  About everything.”

“I’ve time.”

And when he stood there, his strong arms holding her, gazing down at her with those quiet, patient eyes, she knew she wasn’t going anywhere.  She wasn’t leaving the island.  She wasn’t leaving Kelsey.  And she wasn’t leaving him.

Whatever was coming for her, she was going to face it.  And when the first rays of sun shot over the island—ribbons of orange fire into the street—she hoped she was strong enough.  And that she wasn’t making a terrible, terrible mistake.

The soothing notes of Chopin floated out of the speakers in Philip’s office in St. Joseph’s Hospital in Houston.  He was due for surgery in a matter of minutes and, although the nurses would have the same music playing in the operating room, at his request, he enjoyed these stolen moments to himself.  It gave him time to think about his wife.  And what he was going to do if it took Sam much longer to find her.

When the phone rang, shrill through the tranquil atmosphere in the room, Philip snatched it up.  “Carter.”

“Dr. Carter.  It’s Sam.”

“I was starting to wonder if I was going to hear from you.”  Philip said, tightly, rising from the chair to close and lock the door to the hallway.  “It’s been three weeks since I first called you and explained my… situation.”

“These things take time.”

“I expected more from someone with your reputation.  An update.  A phone call to fill me in on your progress.  I tried calling this number—”

“Don’t.”

Philips hand closed around the phone.  “Where are you?”

“Prague.”

“
Prague?
  You’re supposed to be—”

“Following your wife.  I know.  That’s what I’m doing.”

Philip walked slowly back around his desk, lowering himself into the chair.  “You think she’s in Europe?”

“I’m tracking a lead.  I don’t know anything for sure.  My instincts are telling me she’s somewhere in Europe.”

“Do you think she’s in Prague?”  Philip demanded, already reaching for his laptop and typing in the web address for an airline.

“She may have been here.  I think she was here.  For a time.  But if she was, it was several weeks ago.  And she didn’t stay long.”

Philip pushed away from the computer, disgusted.  “Then where the hell is she?”

“I’m working on that.  Have you seen the Houston Post this morning?”

“No,” Philip rummaged around the papers and files on his desk.  One of the nurses usually brought one into his office each morning.  Apparently they’d forgotten today.  He’d have a talk with them later to remind them of their additional duties and responsibilities.  “I was tied up in surgery all morning.  I haven’t seen the headlines.”

“I’ve been following the headlines of the city papers throughout Texas and I found an interesting story this morning in the Post.  A man was arrested in a suburb outside Houston last night for allegedly running a forgery operation out of his basement.”

“What does that have to do with Sydney?”  Philip demanded.

“The man specializes in fake identities.  But not for underage teens trying to buy beer and get into the bars.  He creates and distributes licenses, passports, and birth certificates for women.  Only for women.”

Rage coiled Philip’s stomach.  “You think Sydney went to this man?”

“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.”