The Selkie Spell (Seal Island Trilogy) (28 page)

“No.  We don’t.  But like I said,” Sarah concluded, dismissing him as she went back to recording the recent sales in her ledger.  “She’s different.”

***

Stepping back out into the street, Cory glanced up at the pub and shook his head. 
What have you gotten yourself tangled up into this time Dominic?
  Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he punched in the number to the home office as he threaded his way through the tourists and shop-cart vendors.  “Sean,” he said, speaking quietly into the phone when his assistant answered.  “I need you to run a name for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Her name is Tara Moore.  She’s an American.”

“Okay, just a second.”  Cory could hear the tap-tap of fingers on keys as his assistant searched the database.  “Alright, I’ve got her.”  His assistant paused, taking a moment to read the information on the screen.  “Customs has her checking into the country on April 27th.  Their records show she’s still here.”

“Is there any other information on her?”

“No, sir.  What are we looking for?”

“I’m not sure yet.”  Ducking down an alley, Cory paused beside a shrine to the Virgin Mary.  Clutching a handful of roses, she stood peacefully gazing out to the sea.  “Alright, Sean, I need you to do me a favor.  Do you think you can get a copy of her passport picture on that system?”

“Yes.  Customs will have a copy.”

“I need you to send it to a friend of mine in New York.”

“New York, sir?”

“Yes.  To a man named Dale McHenry.  He’s with the NYPD.”  Cory spelled out the name and email address and then lowered his voice.  “Tell him it’s from me, and to run a missing persons scan on that name.  If nothing shows up tell him to do one on the picture, and see if he can find a match under the last name Carter.”

Liam spotted the flash of red curls and caught Caitlin’s hand in the crowded streets of the village.  “Any luck?”

“No,” Caitlin said, shaking her head.  “You?”

“No.”  He pulled her off to the side of the road, away from the throngs of tourists.

She ducked under the shade of the awning of the fish market and then turned to face him.  “Can you please admit now that what we’re doing is completely ridiculous!”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Liam shot back, frustrated.  “It’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Come on, Liam.  Listen to yourself!  We are wasting our time!”

“We are
not
wasting our time,” he argued.  “Where have you looked?”

Caitlin blew out a breath.  “I searched Brennan’s entire farm this morning.”

“Where else?”

“Sarah’s, Donal’s, and Rory’s.”

“Okay,” Liam nodded.  “That’s a pretty good start.  I just went through Tara’s cottage again.”

“I
know
it’s not in Tara’s cottage.  I told you that before.”  Caitlin sidestepped as a tourist jostled her, knocking her head on a hanging plant of orange pansies.  “Even if it did exist,” she continued, rubbing her head.  “It couldn’t be there.  Dom and I tore the entire structure down when we rebuilt it.”

“I know,” Liam said, his discouraged gazed dropping to the ice trays of halibut and cod displayed in the window.  “But I still feel like it has to be there.  Where else could it be?”

“What about the walls?” Caitlin offered, finally.   “The ones lining the road to Tara’s cottage?”

Liam shook his head.  “I already checked.  I couldn’t find a single loose stone.”

“What about the caves?  Or somewhere along the path down to the beach?”

“I checked both those places.”

“What about the harbor?”

“That would take months,” Liam said, watching another ferry pull up to the dock.  Dozens of passengers swelled to the gate, preparing to step down to the pier.  He looked back at Caitlin.  “You really think we’re going about this the wrong way?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think we should do?”

Caitlin sighed.  “Look, Liam.  If there’s any merit—any merit at all—to what you’re saying, then
Tara
is the one who should be looking.”

Liam nodded.  “I know.”

“But there’s no way Dominic’s going to let her out of his sight.”

“And I don’t want him to.”

Caitlin looked past his shoulder to the harbor, where the next wave of passengers was filing up the pier and onto the island.  “He could be on that boat, Liam.  He could be anywhere.”

“I know.  We have to keep looking.  You take the north side this time. I’ll take the south.  We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

***

“
This
is your home?” Sam asked incredulously, ducking to fit his head through the doorway.  He took in the rich butter cream walls, the tasteful display of original art, and soft sensuous furnishings that beckoned guests to sink in and linger.

“Not what you expected?” Glenna asked, smiling as she ducked into the kitchen.

Not at all what he’d expected, Sam mused, stepping into a room that smelled of hearth-smoke and sandalwood.   But nothing had been as he’d expected since setting foot on this island an hour ago.

“This isn’t exactly what I’d call a rustic island cottage,” he commented, studying the artwork and noting the same initialed brushstroke in the corner of each painting.  “Are all of these done by the same person?”

“Yes,” she answered, walking out of the kitchen with a bottle of wine.

“Who?”

Popping open the cork, she poured two glasses of red wine and handed him one.  “Me.”

“You’re an artist?” he asked, surprised.

“I am.”  She led him to the sofa in front of the fire, gestured for him to sit.

“But how could you possibly make a living on this island?”

She sank down to the sofa beside him.  “I travel.  I show my paintings on the mainland, and elsewhere.  But I prefer it here.”  Tucking her legs up under her so the slit of her dress rode up one slender thigh, she smiled.  “Tell me, Sam.  If you didn’t come here to relax, what did you come here for?”  She shifted and the silky material inched higher.  “Was it just a fascination with our legend?  Or was it something else?”

Sam’s gaze lingered on the exposed skin, his fingers tightening around the stem of the glass.  “It was something else.”

“I hope you like red,” she said, holding out her glass for a toast.  “I forgot to ask.”

He clicked his glass against hers, the hollow ring echoing through the cozy room.  “Red’s fine.”

She sighed, pushing her heavy hair off her shoulders and revealing more of that tantalizing expanse of flesh.  “Red’s my favorite.”

When Sam downed his entire glass, Glenna smiled.  “I thought you just needed to relax.”

Sam lifted his tawny eyes to Glenna’s, the wine settling deep in his stomach, warming his already heated veins.  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Enjoying what?” Glenna asked innocently, refilling his glass.

“Making me want you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Glenna sipped her wine, letting her tongue trail across her bottom lip when she lowered the glass.  “Do you still smell the roses?”

Sam shook his head.

“See,” she smiled.  “It was just your imagination.  What do you do for a living, Sam?”

“I’m a reporter,” he lied, reaching up and twining a strand of her silky hair around his finger.  “Is this something you do often?  Invite strange men into your house?”

“Only ones that I’m curious about.”

Sam’s lips curved.  “What exactly do you find… curious about me?”

“You’re American.”

Sam arched a brow.  “That’s it?”

Glenna smiled.  “Irish woman always find American men fascinating.”  She gently pried his hand from her hair and set it back in his lap.  “What kind of a reporter are you?”

“Investigative.”

“Are you investigating something here on the island?”

“I might be.”

She settled back on the sofa, watching his heated gaze skim down the front of her dress.  “Maybe I could help you.”

“I don’t need help.”  He smiled.  “I’m very good at what I do.”

Glenna took another sip of her wine, lowering her lashes over the glass.  “Then have you found it?”

“What?”

“What you were looking for?”

“I think so.”

Glenna set her glass down on the table and slowly extended her arm behind the back of the couch, her fingertips just barely touching the back of his neck.  “Then your work here is done?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”  Glenna shifted closer.  “What else do you have to do before you can have fun?”

Fun?
  Sam’s mouth went dry when she lowered her other hand to his thigh.  “I need to call my… editor.”

Glenna smiled, her hand edging higher.  “Can’t that wait?”

“Why?” Sam asked, struggling to form the words.  “Did you have something else in mind?”

“I was thinking,” Glenna breathed, curling her soft hand around the back of his neck and pulling his mouth down close to hers.  “That maybe you could help
me
with something.”

There was something wrong—something
fundamentally
wrong with this situation.  But just as the warning bells went off, her hand inched higher, covering his desire for her, and all the blood drained from his head.

His mouth captured hers, drinking in the feel of those full sensual lips, the intoxicating scent of the wine on her breath.  He groaned when she pressed her willing body to his, reveled in that soft purr of pleasure escaping from somewhere deep in her throat when he filled his hands with those glorious breasts.

Had anything
—anything
ever felt this good?

He pulled her on top of him as she raked her hands over his broad shoulders, over his solid chest and stomach.  He stopped breathing when she dipped her hands in his pockets, feeling him through his pants.  Rubbing that place where all the blood in his body had flowed.  Her other hand kneaded his thigh, then pulled back, pulling out.  Pulling something out.

Pulling something out?

Sam’s head snapped up as Glenna twisted out of his arms.

“What the…?”

His gaze dropped to her hand, to where she was gripping his cell phone.  He reached for it, but he was too slow.  She threw it across the room into the fire.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam shoved to his feet.

“Stopping you from doing something stupid,” Glenna answered, the sultry siren’s voice gone now.  “I know who you are and I won’t let you call him.”

“Call who?”  Sam grabbed the iron poker and started fishing around the embers to rescue his phone.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

She wrenched the tool from his hand.  “I know you’re not a reporter, Mr.
Jones
.  If that’s even your real name.  Which I doubt it is.”

The flames licked at his pant leg and he moved away from the fire, his livid gaze never leaving her face.  “Who, exactly, do you think I am?”

Glenna glanced down at the phone and saw that it was starting to melt.  “Let’s not play games anymore, okay?”

“I wasn’t the one
playing
games.”  Sam gestured down at his still evident erection.

She flicked a heartless glance at the bulge in his pants.  “I did what I had to do.”

“What you
had
to do?”  Sam gritted his teeth and walked over to the wall, leaning his forehead against it, waiting for the pain to pass.  “Do you have any idea,” he said with his back to her, “How dangerous what you just did was?”

“I had the situation under control.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I did.”

He turned, his gaze blazing into hers.  “I could have been
anybody
.”

“And I would have done the same thing, to
anybody
.”

“What if I hadn’t let you up?  What were you going to do?  Smash the bottle over my head?”

“That was one option.”

“What was the other?” 
And why did he care?

She pulled the slit of her skirt up. 
She had a knife.  A goddamn knife tucked in the side of her leg. 
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and turned back to the wall.  “I didn’t think this was possible, but you just got ten thousand times sexier.”

Glenna let her skirt drop back into place and walked over to where he was standing.  She didn’t even offer him the slightest hint of a smile.  “Tell me your real name.”

“It’s Holt,” he said into the wall.

“
Sam
Holt?

“Yes.”  Sam turned back around, slowly.  The flames shot dark shadows into the room, flashing over her dress and tousled hair.  “How did you know I was lying?”

Glenna searched his whiskey-colored eyes.  There was something in them besides anger and confusion.  Something… troubling.  She didn’t know what she had expected from the man who would be searching for Tara.  But she hadn’t expected… this.  “I saw you coming.”