Stirring Attraction (11 page)

 

Chapter Twelve

D
OMINIC WALKED UP
the porch steps he'd built alongside his father back in high school. They'd gone from one project to the next after his mother died. His mom had made list after list of plans, things they could tackle later, when his father wasn't so busy at the station. And they'd done them all. After he graduated, Dominic had tried to involve Josie, mostly to keep an eye on her while she was grounded.

He paused on the top step and stared out into the yard. They'd started with a vegetable garden, and then moved on to larger construction projects, him and his dad both trying to stave off the heartache and loss.

After spending another long night on Lily's couch fighting the urge to climb into her bed, then getting up at dawn to install a camera on her front porch and floodlights in her yard, he needed a shower and a nap. Lily was with Josie for now, completing the inventory at the bar. But Dominic had promised he'd be at Big Buck's in time to help her set up. Josie and Noah had a meeting at a brewery up by Portland, and Caroline wasn't due in until close to five o'clock. Not much need for a dishwasher on a quiet weekday afternoon.

But he could smell the fried eggs and bacon from here. And his dad's cooking still trumped sleep in his book. Dominic pushed open the door. His father stood by the stove, an apron covering his police uniform as a line of fried eggs sizzled on the skillet. Three placemats sat on the four-­top in the kitchen.

“Where's Lily?” his dad asked.

“Work.” He sank into a chair as his father plated breakfast.

“I thought she'd be with you or I would have called with the news.” His dad deposited one plate in front of him. “But it might be better for you to hear it first.”

“News about what?” Dominic plucked a piece of toast off the plate in the center of the table.

“The Salem police called yesterday and reported a similar crime. Young woman attacked while jogging.”

His hand froze, still holding the bread over his plate. “Attacked with a knife?”

His father nodded. “He spoke with one of my deputies. I wanted more details before I told you and Lily. When I called him back, the chief said they had a suspect in custody and they'd like Lily to come up.”

“He's tall and broad shouldered?” Dominic had read through the case file so many times he knew the description by heart. “Wearing a sweatshirt?”

“No sweatshirt this time, but the suspect wore a mask.”

Dominic nodded. He'd reviewed the case file and come up with next to nothing aside from a belligerent dad who picked fights over PB&J and one locked in a custody battle. But none of that involved Lily.

He stared down at his plate, his teeth grinding together. He knew damn well that she honest to God believed she'd been the target of the attack, that there was a reason a knife-­wielding lunatic had come after
her
. But he also knew how hard it was to swallow the fact that sometimes you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time—­like in front of a terrorist with a gun.

He'd wanted to support Lily. And yeah, he wanted a chance to crush the guy who'd attacked her. So he'd tried to replace the facts with new ones. He'd allowed his feelings for Lily to cloud his judgment.

“He took the victim's phone,” his father added between bites of egg. “The Salem PD used it to track him.”

Dominic buttered his toast, his brow furrowed. “That doesn't fit. The guy who attacked Lily never went for her cell. She was listening to music on it. She had it in her hand when those girls found her. He never tried to take it.”

His father set down his fork. “The man they arrested isn't a hardened criminal. They found prescription antipsychotics on him. Enough to suggest he hadn't been taking his meds.”

“Are you sure they were his?”

His dad nodded. “They ran his prints. He's been arrested before. Mostly public disturbance, that sort of thing. And a long psych record.”

“Did he confess to attacking Lily?” he asked.

“No.” His father let out a sigh. “The suspect claims he's never been to Forever. Never heard of it. And they didn't recover a knife. Just the phone.”

“How many times was the Salem victim slashed?”

“Just a few. Mostly on her arms and face. No deep cuts. I have a copy of the report at the station. I can bring it home for you this evening and you can share it with Lily. The Salem victim's name has been blacked out, but she can get a sense and decide if she wants to drive over and try to ID the guy. The mug shot's in there too.”

Dominic nodded. “I'll come back for it. And she'll want to go to the station and talk to the Salem PD. She'll need to hear the details. She's convinced that she knew her attacker. And hell, I was too. But knowing he's behind bars will help her sleep at night.”

“You too, I imagine.” His father picked up his fork, but kept his grey-­green eyes focused on him. “Still keeping watch from her couch?”

“For now.”

“Does this mean you're heading back to Georgia?” his father asked. “Now that there's been an arrest?”

“I don't know.” He stabbed the yolk and watched it run over his plate. Then he picked up his toast and dipped it in the gooey center. His dad cooked the perfect egg. It might be worth staying just for that. “I still have the apartment out there. And I'm not sure what I'd do with myself here. It's not like this area has a lot of jobs right now,” he added.

“I've been waiting for you to ask me for a position. I didn't want to push. But with your military experience—­”

“I still can't fire a gun,” Dominic cut in.

“Have you been out to the range? Tried your other hand?”

Yeah, he had. Back in Georgia, before he'd given up hope. But he was a shitty shot with his left. He could do it, sure. But hit a target? Defend a teammate? Not a chance. Being able to pull a trigger didn't make a man a ranger or even a policeman.

“Dad, I'm not the best man for the job. There are plenty of guys, probably some fresh out of the military, who still have the full use of both hands.”

“What about a desk job?”

“It's my right hand. My handwriting wasn't anything special before, but now I'm struggling to sign my own name.” He stabbed his eggs. “I've thought about it. Trust me, I tried to see if there was something I could do for my guys, my team. A support position. I'd push paper around an office at the base if I thought I'd be useful.” He shook his head. “They have guys with prosthetics who can do a better job.”

Playing bodyguard, watching over Lily, that job fit him. But beyond that he saw himself back in Georgia, trying to give Lily the space she needed to find the man who could complete the life she wanted. If he stayed here, he'd be tempted to make her next boyfriend faint off his barstool—­or worse, he might try for the position himself.

“You might find more ­people willing to help you here.” His father wiped his mouth and pushed back from the table. “Now that Josie's moved into her own place with Noah and the baby, I wouldn't mind having you here.”

“Thanks, Dad.” But he didn't want his hometown's pity heaped on him day after day as everyone else moved on with their lives—­including Lily.

T
HE SMELL HIT
her as Dominic walked into the bar. He closed the door and turned the lock, keeping the public securely on the other side until Big Buck's opened for business at noon.

“You picked up Chinese? At eleven something in the morning? I think this not-­sleeping thing is messing up your internal clock.” She ran a cloth over the bar's polished wooden surface.

She'd completed the inventory with Josie and together they'd set up for her shift. Noah had arrived minutes before Dominic to drive Josie up to their appointment at the brewery. Her friends' and coworkers' movements were carefully orchestrated to keep her feeling safe.

Until Dominic took a detour for Chinese, leaving her alone for five minutes. Still, she'd survived. And that was something, wasn't it? Progress?

“I thought we'd celebrate,” he said.

Dread rippled through her. He was leaving. The army had found a job for him. Or—­

“The Salem police have a suspect in custody,” he said.

She dropped the cloth. “What?”

“There was another attack,” he explained. “Only this time they were able to make an arrest.”

“And they are sure it's him?”

He nodded as he set the take-­out bag on one of the high-­tops. “The physical description matches. Same body type. And the attacks were . . . similar.”

There was another woman out there who'd been cut over and over for no reason. Another person who would spend months asking why? And coming up empty, eventually forced to accept the fact there wasn't an answer.

“He wasn't after me.” She drew her arms tight around her waist. She'd been so sure. Now, it felt as if the one piece of the nightmare that she'd clung to had been torn away. Her memory felt faulty, and her judgment questionable. How could she have been so wrong?

“No. He wasn't,” he said. “And you're safe now.”

But she wasn't. Couldn't he see that? If she couldn't trust in her own judgment? Her memory of her attacker's words?

“You can go up to the Salem police station and talk to them in the morning,” he added.

She'd dreamed about this. Not when she drifted off to sleep, but in the moments when she'd stared out into her brightly lit home, listening for suspect sounds. She'd envisioned how it would feel to know that man she feared was behind bars. But where was the relief?

“Are you sure?” she asked slowly. “I don't want to know what your dad thinks, or the Salem police believe. Do
you
think they have the man who attacked
me
?”

“I read what the Salem police chief sent over. So, yeah, I think it is a strong possibility. And once you read through it . . . I think you'll finally be able to sleep at night.”

“I slept fine last night.”

“Because I was on your couch,” he said.

And I don't want you to abandon your post.

She nodded slowly. “I thought if I knew who'd attacked me, I would feel . . .”

“Liberated?” He walked around the bar, lifted the ser­vice entrance, and stepped into her domain. “Like your life can finally return to normal?”

“Yes.”

He pulled her into his arms. “Sounds like someone forgot to program your on-­off switch.”

Resting her chin against his chest, she looked up at him. “Is that your way of saying I should give it time?”

“Everything won't go back to the way it was overnight,” he said.

“Will you stay?” she asked, promising herself this was the last time she'd say those words to him. She wouldn't beg him to come back. And she wouldn't wait for him. Not this time. But she might crumble if he left her now. Every little sound would leave her terrified. And how could she comfort herself, allow logic to explain away the supposedly spooky sounds as harmless—­leaves rustling in the trees—­when she'd been wrong before?

He nodded. “For as long as you need me.”

She rose up on her tiptoes and her heels lifted out of her sensible slip-­on shoes. She pressed her lips to his cheek. One soft touch, before she drew back. “That could be a long, long time.”

He brushed her hair back from her face. “You won't need me to watch over you forever,” he said.

How can you know that?

“You're going to heal,” he continued. “This is only the beginning. Once you see the file and talk to the police, the truth will sink in. Trust me.”

She nodded. Maybe he was right. “But I need you to stay until then.”

“I will. I promise I will stay on your couch for as long as you need me.”

And then he would slip away again. Without a sense of purpose to keep him here, he'd return to Georgia. Taking the pleasure he'd delivered on her coffee table with him . . .

But not before she returned the favor. Pushing aside her fear and her questions about her own judgment, she let her fingers drift lower, down over his T-­shirt.

“I don't want you to take this the wrong way,” she said as her hands moved between them, searching for his waistline, her fingers eager to release the button on his shorts. She found her target and undid the closure. Hooking her thumbs into his underwear, she dragged his clothes down to the floor

“But,” she began as the rubber mat dug into her knees. Thankfully, she'd selected a pair of capri-­length legging in her dash to get dressed. Because she planned to stay here awhile. He'd changed his facial hair, added a few scars, but the hard, long length ready and waiting for her remained the same.

“You're going to ask me to trust you too?” he said as his hand ran through her hair.

She pressed her lips to the tip. She felt the moisture beaded there.

And the door leading to the back room swung open.

Her nails crawled at his thighs. But Dominic had already jumped into action, pulling up his shorts. He didn't bother to secure the fly as he hauled her off the floor and held her close against him.

“Hey, guys,” Josh Summers called. “Drop something back there?”

“You could say that,” Dominic said, still holding Lily close, as if concerned her fears had taken flight. But the nervous questions—­who was there? Why was he here?—­had slipped away. Just Josh and his bad timing.

But maybe he didn't see it that way. One glance around Dominic, and she saw Josh's amused smile.

“Glad to see you made it here, man,” Josh said. “Josie called and asked if I'd bring Caroline over just in case you were delayed. Help Lily open the bar and all.”

And babysit her
, she thought.

“According to the sign outside,” Josh continued, “this place opens in five. You might want to search the floor later.”