The Truth About Tara (14 page)

Tara sent him a sharp look. The moon was bright enough that it cast a soft glow over him, illuminating his classic features and highlighting that attractive widow’s peak. “How did you know about that, anyway?”

“Gus told me,” he said.

“Gus actually used the word
date?
” She put emphasis on the last word.

“Gus said he asked your mom to dinner,” Jack said. “I’m not sure if he used the word date or not.”

“So it’s possible he didn’t specify that it was a date? Did he say where he intended to take her?”

Jack laughed. “I didn’t ask follow-up questions.”

“Why not?” she demanded, but she was smiling when she said it.

“I’m a guy,” he said. “That’s not what we do.”

“You ask me a lot of questions,” she pointed out.

“I’m trying to get to know you better,” Jack said. “I’ve got a couple questions in mind right now.”

The toe of her sandal caught in a crack on the sidewalk. She stumbled. His hand shot out to right her.

“Thanks,” she said.

“That’s me,” he said, “the knight in shining armor coming to the rescue.”

“Ha! I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said.

They walked in silence for a few paces past the modest houses with the well-kept yards that were a staple of the neighborhood. The streets were quiet, as they usually were at this time of night, whether it was a weekend or weekday.

The turmoil was inside Tara. She felt her stomach tightening in anticipation of what he might ask. After another few paces, she noticed he was still holding her arm. “You can let go now.”

“Do I have to?” There was a chuckle in his voice.

“Yes.” She didn’t feel any less tense when he was no longer touching her, not with the uncertainty of what he’d ask hanging over her. “What did you want to ask me?”

“How good a volleyball player are you?”

She relaxed, but only slightly. “I’m decent. Why?”

“I heard you were a star in high school and that you passed up scholarship offers.”

Tara doubted her mother had revealed that information. Her mom had gently dissuaded her from taking one of the scholarships, pointing out how far the colleges offering them were from home.

“Art’s been talking about me, hasn’t he?” she asked.

“How did you know it was Art?”

“Logic. He’s the one most likely to phrase it like that.” She nodded across the empty street to indicate they should cross. It was so quiet she could hear the click of her sandals on the pavement. But then serenity was abundant year-round in Wawpaney. Her mother always said that was the quality she liked best about the town. “I don’t think I passed up much of anything.”

“A full ride to a Division one college sounds like something pretty great to me.”

“It’s a gamble is what it is,” she said when they reached the other side of the street. “You’re involved in sports. You know athletic scholarships don’t come with four-year guarantees. Get injured and you can kiss your scholarship goodbye.”

“Athletes recover from injuries all the time.” Jack sounded slightly defensive. “Sometimes they come back stronger than before.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t willing to take that chance. Volleyball wasn’t that important to me. It’s not like I could make a career of it.”

“Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh did.” He named the two most celebrated female beach volleyball players in the United States. The two-time Olympic gold medallists had both been college stars before transitioning to the two-player beach game.

“They beat astronomical odds,” Tara said. “They’re the exception, not the rule.”

“What’s to say you wouldn’t have been an exception?” Jack asked.

“Lots of things. My talent level, for one.”

“Art said you’re oozing talent.”

“Art exaggerates.” She slowed down and indicated her house. She hadn’t left the porch light on, but the moon illuminated everything she loved about the place. The flowers she’d planted along the perimeter of the house. The uneven roof line that lent the home character. The coat of pale yellow paint on the stucco walls. “There’s my place.”

“Nice,” he said. “How long have you lived there?”

“About eight years,” she said. “The location’s perfect, close enough to Mom if she needs anything, far enough away for privacy.”

“It’s kind of dark,” he said. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

He took her gently by the arm, something he seemed to like to do. She expected to tense at his touch. Her body relaxed instead. Had he been any other man, she wouldn’t fight the attraction.

“What if I come watch your volleyball game Monday night and judge for myself whether Art is right?” he asked.

The ball of anxiety she thought had dissipated rose to her throat. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Then here’s another question for you,” he said. “What can I do to convince you I’m a good guy?”

The melancholy note in his voice tugged at her. How could she claim to have a negative impression of him after watching him interact with Danny and the other kids at the camp? If she’d been dating him, she’d heartily approve of the way he treated her mother.

“I already know you’re a good guy,” she said.

He cocked his head. “Then why have you been trying so hard to keep me at arm’s length?”

Her skin tingled where he still touched her. What excuse could she give that would both be believable and convince him to stay away from her?

“I don’t quite know how to explain it,” Tara said. “I guess it’s because you make me...uncomfortable.”

He looked her straight in the eye. “You mean because I’m attracted to you?”

She’d meant because he was a danger to her. The sexual pull between them, though, complicated matters even further.

“Yes,” she said.

He let go of her arm and touched her cheek. “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable that you’re attracted to me.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s because you’re a man.”

He laughed. “Good point. For a minute there, I thought you’d deny there was something between us.”

“Would it do any good if I did?”

Two of his fingers slid to the pulse point at the side of her neck. “Not when I can feel your heart racing.”

“Damn heart,” she said.

He laughed again. “What are we gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m not in the habit of making out with the tourists.”

“Very glad to hear it,” he said. “But you know what they say? There’s an exception to every rule.”

“Why would I make you the exception?”

“Because this feeling, this chemistry that’s between us, it doesn’t happen very often.”

Tara swallowed. “All the more reason to resist it. When something burns this bright, this fast, it will fizzle just as quickly.”

“Let’s find out.” He traced her lips with his fingertips. “If it fizzles like you say, our problems will be solved.”

Something was off with his logic. The trouble was, something was equally wrong with Tara’s brain. She couldn’t think, could barely form a coherent thought. He was standing so close she imagined she could feel the heat of his body. Or maybe the heat was coming off her.

Her back was against the front door. He placed one hand on either side of her. Most of the men she’d dated had been roughly her height. Jack was at least four inches taller. He put a finger under her chin and tipped it upward, then he dipped his head.

Their mouths met in a slow, sweet exploration. The contact was featherlight, yet Tara couldn’t deny—from the jolt that traveled through her—that she wanted more from this man. She reached up and twined her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down more securely on hers.

He tasted delicious, better than her favorite ice cream. His tongue traced her lips, then parted her mouth and delved inside. She circled it with her own tongue, dimly aware there should be some reason to resist him but unable to bring to mind what it was.

As his tongue thrust inside her mouth, she matched his motions. Their bodies plastered against each other, pressed so closely together she could feel the muscles in his chest, the flat plane of his abdomen, the unmistakable rigidness of his erection.

With her back against the door, there was nowhere to go. That didn’t matter. She no longer thought about getting away from him. She only wanted to be closer.

His hand traveled up her rib cage and cupped her breast. She moaned, leaning into his hand. Liquid heat pooled in her center. She rubbed against him. This time he was the one who moaned.

She deepened the kiss. Sensations flooded her until nothing was more important than this moment and this man. The kiss went on and on and on. Then suddenly there was air where his mouth had been. Her fingers were still tangled in his hair. She tried to pull his head back down to hers and met resistance.

“Why did you stop?” Her voice sounded breathless.

He cleared his throat. “I’m trying to prove I’m a good guy.”

She blinked up at him, not understanding.

“I’m gonna hate myself for this,” he said. “But if you’re not inviting me inside, we need to stop right now.”

He was asking if she intended to invite him not only into her bed but into her life. Temptation gripped her. A little voice inside her head whispered for her to take a chance.

Yes, he was a tourist who would soon leave the Eastern Shore. He was also the first man who had excited her in a very long time. A man she’d met only because his sister suspected she might be the missing Hayley Cooper. A cold chill ran through her. That was a possibility Tara hadn’t been able to rule out.

She wet her well-kissed, swollen lips and cleared her throat. “I’m not inviting you in.”

He winced, stepped back from her and covered his heart with his hand. “I was right. I do hate myself.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “You are a good guy, Jack DiMarco.”

She unlocked the door and backed inside, her eyes still on his. With the moonlight glowing down on him, he looked open and honest.

“Are you at least okay with me coming to your volleyball game?” he asked.

She shouldn’t be, for the same reason she hadn’t invited him inside.

“C’mon.” He cocked his head. “We good guys, we’re hard to find.”

She bit her lip, intending to say no. No words came out of her mouth, but her head nodded. She shut the door on his smile, aware that their experiment had failed.

The kiss hadn’t extinguished the sizzle. It was still burning brightly.

CHAPTER TEN

T
ARA
SAT
BOLT
UPRIGHT
in bed on Monday morning, her heart pounding and tears running down her face. She imagined that she could feel the woman’s fingers digging into her shoulders even though that was impossible.

It had only been a dream.

Or a memory.

The sequence was always the same. A dark room, Tara’s own choking sobs and then the woman grabbing her shoulders and shaking her so that her head snapped back and forth.

“Stop that damn crying, you little brat!” the woman would yell. Her face was usually in shadows, but not always. A light shone somewhere in the room.

Tara could never figure out why she was crying or exactly where they were. The only thing of which she was absolutely certain was that Carrie Greer was not the woman shaking her.

The images had come to her over the years dozens of times, dating back to early childhood. They intruded on her when she was both awake and asleep, although it was impossible to pinpoint the first time it had happened.

As Tara got older, the woman rarely encroached on her thoughts during the day. At night, the dream came less and less frequently until years passed without Tara being wrenched out of a deep sleep.

If Tara had thought about the woman at all in the past few years, it was to convince herself she was the stuff of nightmares.

Jack’s appearance in Wawpaney had cast that theory into serious doubt. The specter of the woman had nagged at her all day Sunday, through morning services at church to the local talent show she’d volunteered to judge in the evening.

If Tara was Hayley Cooper, it made sense that the woman was a real person from her past. Maybe the woman was even her biological mother, the very woman who had hired Jack’s sister to find her little girl.

Tara kneaded her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. No matter what Carrie Greer had done, Tara intended to protect her. The uncertainty, however, was slowly driving her crazy.

She switched on her bedside lamp, blinking against the sudden influx of light. The darkness of the night peeked through a crack between the windowsill and the bottom of her mini blind.

It didn’t matter that dawn was still hours away. She’d never be able to go back to sleep, especially when there was a computer in her living room.

A short time later she was sitting at the rolltop desk she intended to refinish, tapping her fingers on the faded surface as she waited for the desktop computer to boot up. It was at least six or seven years old, a computer-age dinosaur.

Now that she’d made the decision to try to find out more about Hayley Cooper, she could hardly contain her impatience.

The first time they’d talked, Jack had told her his sister had put Hayley Cooper’s age-progression photo on a missing-persons website.

The icons on her desktop slowly appeared. She moved her mouse to the icon for the internet and clicked, waiting for long minutes to get online. She typed “missing persons cold cases” into a search engine. Dozens of results popped up. She clicked on the first one.

A website materialized with a photo of the missing person of the week, a young Chicago woman who’d disappeared six years ago after a night of drinking. Had Hayley Cooper’s photo appeared in that very spot on this exact website?

She found the search function on the page and typed in Hayley Cooper’s name. Her fingers shook so much it took her three tries. Side-by-side photos appeared. One was the age progression of the woman who looked so much like her. The other was of a very young girl, her lips creased in a closemouthed smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Honey-brown bangs fell into her eyes. Was it significant that Tara couldn’t remember having bangs?

Hayley’s vital statistics at the time of the abduction were beneath the photo: three years old, thirty inches tall, twenty-eight pounds, golden-brown hair, brown eyes. Her date of birth was more than a year after Tara’s own, a reassuring sign. Also noted was the date of her disappearance and the fact that it was a nonfamily abduction. The date was April 14, 1984. That was twenty-eight years ago.

Tara scrolled down the page to the two short paragraphs that provided the details of the disappearance.

Hayley was last seen in the women’s department of a Macy’s Department Store at the Green Acres Mall in Oak Hill, Kentucky. She liked to hide in the circular racks of clothes whenever she went shopping with her mother. This time, when her mother tried to get her to come out she was gone.

Police found no witnesses. Hayley has not been seen again, but her family believes she is alive and may not know she was abducted.

That was it. Tara had no memory of ever disappearing inside a clothes rack. However, she could easily envision a little girl hiding from a mother who was cruel to her. Maybe the girl hadn’t been snatched from the women’s department. Maybe she’d been trying to get away from her mother. Maybe whoever came across her had found her crying and unhappy. Maybe it hadn’t been so much a crime, but an opportunity to help a child in need.

Tara closed her eyes and ran a hand over her face. She didn’t know that had happened and she certainly hadn’t discovered anything on the website that would lead her to believe she was Hayley Cooper.

Before she realized her intentions, she was on a popular internet auction site, searching for a home paternity kit and making sure it could also verify maternity. Or not. She bought one from an official-sounding lab with DNA in the name, paying more for shipping so it would arrive more quickly. Her stomach churned and rolled as she finalized the payment.

That done, she leaped up from the computer, her head feeling as though it might explode.

She crossed the room to the window, drawing aside a blind. The weak light of dawn cast a hazy glow over her yard and the street in front of her house. She had plenty of time to go for a run and not be late to carpool to camp. It wasn’t quite bright enough unless she wore the reflective vest her mother had bought her for Christmas, the one she’d stuffed into the back of a drawer.

A half hour and about four miles later, sweat dripped down her face and from between her breasts. She’d run faster than she ever had before, hoping to clear her mind. It hadn’t worked. She couldn’t stop going over the details of the case or thinking about the woman in her dream.

She slowed to a walk, her mind still racing. Yes, she looked eerily like the grown-up version of Hayley Cooper. And, yes, she could come up with a scenario that explained the woman in her dreams. But there were other facts that pointed to Tara being exactly who she’d always thought she was.

Tara was more than a year older than Hayley Cooper. She wasn’t sure exactly when she and her mother had moved to the Eastern Shore, but it was highly possible it had been before the Hayley Cooper kidnapping.

She did some mental calculations. She was thirty-two. She and her mother had moved to Wawpaney sometime after the drownings, when Tara was three years old. That was twenty-nine years ago. In 1983.

Hayley Cooper had been abducted in 1984.

The dates didn’t add up!

Her elation faded as quickly as it had appeared. The dates didn’t add up as long as her mother had told the truth about when they’d moved to Wawpaney.

But how could Tara ever determine that?

It wasn’t yet six-thirty. The neighborhood was just waking up, with lights shining from the occasional window and the distant sound of a car motor starting.

She was almost surprised to find herself on her mother’s
street, although it probably wasn’t a coincidence, considering what was on her mind.

A movement caught her eye—a woman, walking down her sidewalk with the aid of a cane to where a newspaper lay in her driveway. She recognized Mrs. Jorgenson, her mother’s longtime next-door neighbor. She remembered Mrs. Jorgenson once telling her she’d resided in the same house for fifty years.

Mrs. Jorgenson would have been living next door when Tara and her mother moved in.

“Mrs. Jorgenson!” Tara called, raising her voice to be heard and waving.

Mrs. Jorgenson stopped and pivoted, waiting while Tara jogged to catch up to her.

“You beat me out of bed this morning, Tara,” Mrs. Jorgenson said. “I’m usually the early bird in the neighborhood and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

“Coffee,” Tara said. “Do you think I could have a cup?”

Mrs. Jorgenson looked surprised. However, she was much too polite to point out it was rude to invite yourself into a neighbor’s house before seven in the morning.

“Why, certainly,” she said. “Come on in.”

The kitchen felt too warm after the cool air of the morning. Mrs. Jorgenson led her to the kitchen, which was small and cramped but somehow inviting.

“Artie’s not awake yet, so we need to be quiet,” she whispered. “How do you like your coffee, dear?”

“Extra cream and extra sugar, please.” Tara hoped that by diluting the strong taste she might be able to tolerate it.

A pot of coffee was already brewing. In no time, Mrs. Jorgenson set a full coffee mug in front of Tara.

“Thanks.” Tara took a sip and tried not to grimace. She was too impatient not to get right to the point. “You’ve always been such a wonderful neighbor. How long has it been?”

Subtle, Tara thought. Really subtle.

“How long has what been, dear?”

“How long have you and my mother been neighbors?”

“Oh, heavens. A long time.”

This wasn’t going well. “Do you remember me as a little girl?”

“Of course I do,” Mrs. Jorgenson said. “I remember the day you moved in. You were, let me see, three or four years old, if I’m not mistaken. Such a quiet thing. But that was understandable, considering what you and your mother had been through.”

“So you knew about the drownings right away?”

“Oh, heavens, yes. Dawn told me before you even moved in.”

“Dawn?”

“Your mother’s best friend from high school. She and your mother had lost touch, but when your mother called and told her what had happened Dawn invited both of you to come live with her.”

“I don’t remember Dawn,” Tara said.

“Such a nice lady she was,” Mrs. Jorgenson said. “Never raised her voice to anyone. She moved away about six months after you got here.”

“Because of a job transfer?” Tara provided the reason her mother had given.

“That’s right,” Mrs. Jorgenson said. “She moved here because of a man. I think she met him on vacation. Dawn was so smitten she bought this house. Wouldn’t you know, she caught him cheating. She was a bank teller, so it wasn’t hard for her to get a transfer.”

That synced nicely with what Tara’s mother had told her. “And I was three, you say.”

“Yes,” she said. “Three when you moved in.”

“So that was 1983,” she said.

“That sounds right,” Ms. Jorgenson said.

For the first time since Jack had shown Tara the age-progression photo, she didn’t feel as if a weight was pressing on her heart. If she’d been here at the Eastern Shore in 1983, she couldn’t possibly have been abducted from a shopping mall in Kentucky in 1984.

Had she known that last night, Tara very well might have invited Jack into her bed. She almost snorted. Who was she kidding? She would have dragged him there.

* * *

I
F
J
ACK
HADN
’
T
HAD
AN
agenda, the throbbing in his shoulder would have driven him back to his bay-front house after camp and rehab on Monday afternoon. The ibuprofen tablets he kept there didn’t help much, but sitting still usually did.

Though, if he’d taken it easy today he might not be suffering. Operating on the principle that more is better, he’d gone against Art Goodnight’s advice to work out the shoulder only once a day to speed up the excruciatingly slow healing process.

The throb in his shoulder told him he shouldn’t have.

He heard the thwacking sound of hands hitting balls and voices celebrating a point being scored before he saw the group playing volleyball on the strip of beach adjacent to the public pier in Cape Charles where he and Tara had fished with Danny.

The net was set up beyond the surf line, with six players on each side, only a few of whom were women.

Jack hung back on the wooden walkway, his attention snagged by one of them. Tara was taller than some of the men and nearly as tall as the others, but that wasn’t what set her apart. Neither were the long, toned limbs left bare by her sleeveless red top and navy shorts. Something else was at play, a characteristic shared by every top athlete Jack had ever known.

Confidence radiated from her, and not only because of the way she carried herself. Her weight was balanced on the balls of her feet and her head mimicked the motion of the volleyball. Anyone watching could tell she wanted the ball to come to her.

She was in her team’s front row in the outside hitter position. A guy on the opposing team served a bullet that one of Tara’s teammates bumped to the setter, a short woman in the center of the front line. The woman got under the ball and sent it looping in a high arc over to Tara.

Tara leaped, elevating herself over the sand with impressive loft. While airborne, she cocked her right elbow and spiked the volleyball. It shot over the net, finding an empty space on the court and kicking up sand.

“Damn, Tara!” exclaimed a big, barrel-chested guy who looked as if he could lift the combined weight of his teammates. “Do you have to keep doing that to us?”

“Yes, she does,” retorted the short woman who had set Tara up for the spike. It was Mary Dee, her friend from the ice cream shop. “It’s only fair. You had her on your team last week.”

“I tried to get her this week, too,” the big guy said. “But she wouldn’t take a bribe.”

“You only offered me five bucks, Butch,” Tara said.

“Hey, I’m not a rich man,” Butch said.

“And that’s why Tara’s gonna make you pay,” Mary Dee retorted.

Smiling to himself at the good-natured banter, Jack resumed his walk to the beach, the sand getting in his sandals. He’d never get tired of breathing in the salty air. A few players noticed his approach, including Mary Dee.