Stirring Attraction(39)

“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.

THE 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.