by Sophie Moss
“Maybe.”
“And when she takes Ronan’s side in an argument, it might hurt your feelings. But you always forgive her and go back to being friends, right?”
“So?”
“So why can’t this be like one of those times? It’s perfectly natural for you to be angry with me. For you to be hurt. But you’ve been up here now for over an hour. Don’t you think it’s time we made up?”
Kelsey shook her head. “You’re not Ashling.”
“No,” Tara said slowly. “I’m not.”
“And you’re not just trying to be my friend anymore. You’re trying to be my mom.”
“Kelsey,” Tara said softly, kneeling down so they were eye to eye. “Do you want to talk about what’s going on between your dad and me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s none of my business.”
“You’re wrong. It’s absolutely your business.”
“If it was my business then why didn’t he tell me he was going to ask you to marry him?”
“He’s not…” Tara trailed off when Kelsey pulled something out of her pocket and held it out flat in her palm.
Tara stared at the glittering emeralds nestled into the antique claddagh band. “Where did you get that?”
“It was my grandmother’s. It came in the mail yesterday. Mrs. Dooley brought it over because dad wasn’t here to sign for it. Because he was chasing after you.”
Tara’s fingers brushed over the ring, still warm from Kelsey’s pocket. “There must be some mistake.”
Kelsey shook her head. “He’s going to ask you to marry him.”
“But I—”
Kelsey’s fingers closed over the ring. She slipped it back in her pocket. “He didn’t even bother to ask me if it was okay.”
***
Sarah Dooley glanced up as the bell chimed on the door to the market, pausing in the middle of a sale when she spotted the cropped red hair and familiar blue eyes. “Well, will you look at this?”
“Mrs. Dooley.” Chief Walsh smiled, taking off his hat and strolling over to the register. “How are you on this fine day?”
“Just grand,” she said smiling up at the younger, more handsome version of his father. “And yourself?”
“Fine. Fine. Don’t let me disturb you.” He motioned for her to finish ringing up the customers in line and waited until she’d waved a cheerful goodbye to the last one. Picking up a crystal seal figurine, he weighed it in his hand. “This is nice,” he commented, glancing up.
“Buy one get the second half off.”
Cory grinned. “I’m not here as a tourist, unfortunately.”
“You’re never here as a tourist.” Sarah nodded to an elderly couple wandering in off the street and then smiled back at the Chief. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“My father wanted you to have this.” Cory dug a pair of ivory knitting needles out of his pocket and handed them to her.
Sarah clucked her tongue, shaking her head. “Where did he get these?”
“On a safari in Africa.”
Sarah turned the needles over in her hand. “They are pretty.”
“They’re real ivory.”
She set the needles down quickly. “Then they should have stayed on whatever poor animal they came from.”
Cory smiled, chuckling. “You can’t blame him for trying.”
“I’ve been happily married for forty-seven years, you know.”
“I know. But he’s still pining for you.”
“Well, he should have thought of that when he left the island and told me all we had was a summer fling.”
Cory leaned an elbow on the counter. “What year was that again?”
Sarah opened her ledger and marked down the last sale. “Too long ago for me to remember.”
“He came over for the summer, when he was twenty-two, didn’t he? To work in the pub?”
Sarah nodded.
“For Dominic’s grandfather? Back when he was still running it?”
Sarah glanced up, lifting a brow. “You seem to know as much about this as I do.”
Cory grinned. “You’ve had your share of passers-through on the island. Irish and others who took a few months off from life to work in that pub. Ever had a fling with any of the others?”
“Cory Walsh,” Sarah scolded. “Behave.”
“I’m just doing a little harmless snooping for my dad.”
“Well go and snoop somewhere else.” She shoved the needles into her top drawer. “I’ve customers.”
Cory pushed away from the counter, chuckling as she rung up the elderly couple. He nodded to them as they left and then strolled back over to the counter. “I heard Dominic’s grandmother’s still off traveling.”
“Aye.” Sarah nodded. “She left about two months ago. Only planned to be gone for a week or so but still hasn’t come back yet. I guess that’s the thing about traveling. Once you start, you can’t stop.”
“Jealous?”
“No.”
“Not even a little bit?”
“No,” she said. “And I know what you’re thinking. If I ran off with your father I could be traveling the world. But I’m happy here, just as I am.”
“Okay,” Cory said, smiling. “I’m dropping it. But tell me.” He nodded across the street to the pub. “Who’s Dom got over there now?”
“Over where?”
“Don’t be coy,” Cory coaxed. “Who’s the short-timer, working in the back?”
“How do you know she’s a short-timer?”
“Because no one ever comes to the island and stays.”
“This one’s different.”
“How?”
“She’s just… different. She fits here. With us.”
Cory lifted a brow. “Is there something going on between them—her and Dominic?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t know.” Cory shrugged. “I guess I just had a feeling. Dom seemed a little preoccupied when I talked to him earlier.”
“It’s festival weekend. We’re all preoccupied.”
“So there’s nothing going on between them?”
“It’s really not my place to talk about Dominic’s affairs.”
“So he is having an affair?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I’ve never known you to be so protective about your gossip before.”
“And I’ve never known you to be so greedy for it.”
Cory smiled. “It’s my job to keep tabs on the islanders.”
“We’re all doing just fine and unless you’d like to buy something today, I think we’re done here.”
“What’s her name, Sarah?”
“For goodness sakes, Cory, this is ridiculous, even for you.”
“You and I both know what happened last time Dom got wrapped up with a short-timer. I don’t want a repeat of that tonight.”
“She is nothing like Rachel Gallagher.”
“Then tell me her name. What’s the big deal?”
Sarah let out a frustrated breath. “Fine. It’s Tara Moore. Are you happy now?”
“Where’s she from?”
Sarah leveled her gaze on his. “She’s an American.”
“American?”
“Aye.”
“You don’t get too many American’s choosing to live and work on the island.”
“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.”
Chapter 20
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?”