by Zara Keane
She chose to ignore his first question, focusing on the second. “Ballybeg doesn’t exactly have a lot of choice when it comes to cafés. The Chew and Chat might be cheap, but it’s a total dive. The Cottage Café is out of my price range. That leaves the café in the Book Mark.”
Seán had a feeling he’d found the culprits behind the stolen money from the Book Mark’s tip jar. “Did those girls put you under pressure to steal the comic?”
She shrugged, gave one of her rings a final twist, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her school blazer. “I can’t rat them out. If I do, my life at that school is over before it’s begun.”
“Bullying is a serious offense. If you’re being harassed, please tell your teachers.”
The girl gave a derisive snort. “It doesn’t work that way, Sergeant. If I tell tales, I’ll be an outcast until I leave school. The first couple of weeks are crucial. If I f…screw up now, my life will be miserable. Believe me, I know how the game works. I’ve changed schools frequently enough over the years.”
The kid had a point. However, he wasn’t willing to let her off the hook that easily. “Will you at least tell your mother if you’re having problems at school?”
Tammy’s laugh was laced with hysteria. “After what happened the last time I confided in her? Hell no.” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to stare out the passenger window. “I suppose she’s blabbed to you about that. With you being a policeman and all.”
Curiosity piqued, he stole a glance at the girl. This had to be in reference to whatever it was that had Clio freaked about men and her daughter. Speaking of which…damn. Would she be upset that he’d given Tammy a lift home without calling her first? He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Stupid, stupid. He’d acted on instinct, made the offer he’d have made to any kid he’d found in that situation. “Clio hasn’t mentioned anything about your last school to me,” he said carefully, hoping to sound her out a bit.
The girl tugged the sleeves of her blazer down. It was something she did a lot. He’d noticed it before, but the potential significance hadn’t hit him until now. Suicide attempt? Cutting? Or just a nervous repetitive gesture?
“That’s a surprise.” Tammy’s tone was bitter. “Mum couldn’t wait to run to the police in Dublin.”
“Is there something I should know?” he asked gravely. “Something you’re hiding?”
She turned to face him. Her expressions were as vivid and mercurial as her mother’s, every emotion and mood change displayed for all the world to see. “The girls in the café are called Jenny Cotter and Roisin Quirke. They pull stunts like that all the time. I believe my ‘task’ was mild in comparison to others’.”
This was a deflection, of that he was certain. The real reason she was upset had little to do with two bitches and their power games. On the other hand, the information was valuable. He’d heard the girls’ names before, when Bridie had mentioned the stolen money. He had a feeling he’d be having a word with them before too long.
His mobile phone began to vibrate to the tune of “Bat Out of Hell.” This elicited a reluctant laugh from Tammy. Seán switched on his Bluetooth headset. “Sir?”
“Hey, Seán.” The super’s cheerful voice boomed into his ear. “Good news for a change. Police in Galway have arrested a man they suspect of sending Helen Havelin the threatening letter.”
This information was a melody to Seán’s ears. “Oh, aye? Does that mean we’ll be wrapping up the bodyguard duty?”
“If the suspect is charged, yes.” The super chuckled. “I bet you’re pleased.”
Conflicted, actually. He turned onto the winding tree-lined drive that led to Clonmore House. “What about the car she thought was following her?”
“Nothing’s shown up so far. My guess is that the threatening letters have made her paranoid.”
He certainly hoped so. Once he’d put his dislike of Helen aside and concentrated on the stalker angle, something had niggled. It was a nagging sensation they were missing something, some tiny detail that hovered like vapor but never coalesced into anything concrete.
“I’ve been in touch with Helen,” the super said. “We’ve agreed to continue to keep an eye on her until the Galway Guards confirm they’ve got the right man. She’s already offered a generous donation to the force’s widows and orphans fund in return for a police presence on the night of her housewarming party. Once that duty is fulfilled, we can leave the Havelins in peace.”
The note of regret in his boss’s tone made Seán chortle. “Would I be right in guessing there’s a part of you that’s disappointed by this turn of events?”
“Best leave the matchmaking in Ballybeg to Bridie Byrne, lad.”
Seán was still grinning when he disconnected. Despite his misgivings about potential loose ends, the end of surveillance on Helen meant there was no professional impediment to him asking Clio out on a date. A proper date this time, complete with dinner and music better than the shite they’d been subjected to at the Sheldon Hotel bar. If it led to a repeat performance of what had happened in his hotel room…well, he had zero objections on that score.
Chapter Twenty-Three
WHEN THE POLICE car drove into the gravel courtyard of Clonmore House, Clio was busy polishing the brass knocker on the front door. Although she rarely wasted time worrying about her appearance, the sight of Seán Mackey climbing out of his car made her acutely aware of her messy bun, raggedy long-sleeved T-shirt, and the smudge of dirt on her nose that the by-now gleaming knocker took perverse delight in reflecting. Given her past experience with policemen, the realization that she found his uniform a turn-on was as uncomfortable as the unsatisfied ache of longing in her loins.
She blinked in surprise to see Tammy get out of the passenger side. “Isn’t the Ballybeg police force only obliged to chauffeur my mother?”
Tammy’s stance was hunched, defensive. Uh, oh. This didn’t bode well.
“I hope you don’t mind me giving her a lift, but”—Seán’s grin displayed his dimples and sent her limbs aquiver—“the mobile phone number I have for you isn’t exactly accurate.”
Feck. She’d gone and given him a fake number the night at the hotel, hadn’t she? Heat warmed her cheeks. “No, it’s fine. What happened?”
He nudged the girl forward. “Would you like to tell her, Tammy?”
“I tried to steal a comic from the Book Mark.” Her daughter dropped her gaze to the ground.
“What?” Clio’s jaw dropped. “Why would you do that? You don’t even like comics.”
Tammy darted a glance at Seán, then focused on toeing some gravel. “A couple of girls from school dared me. But I didn’t actually steal it. Sergeant Mackey made me pay for it.”
“Thank goodness for that.” Clio gave him a grateful smile before refocusing on her daughter. “Why would you, of all people, let a couple of classmates persuade you to steal? You don’t usually care what other kids say.”
“Jenny Cotter is a cow and her sidekick, Rosin Quirke, isn’t much better. I don’t know why they wanted me to nick a tatty old comic. They said it was a test.” Tammy snorted. “More like a hazing ritual designed to torture new students.”
“Why didn’t you tell them to get stuffed?” Clio demanded.
Tammy’s fingers rubbed the wrists of her blazer. “For once, I want to belong. I don’t want to stand out in any way. After changing schools four times over the past five years, I know the best way to survive is to get the support of the so-called popular crowd, even if I end up being absorbed into their band of satellites.”
Clio could understand wanting to become someone so devoid of personality that no one at school would ever think to notice her, let alone pick on her. She’d been in a similar situation in her last couple of years at secondary school—before she’d discovered she was pregnant and had gotten expelled. The idea of her own daughter feeling that low made her heart ache. “Why don’t you go upstairs to your room and start your homework? I’ll come up
with hot chocolate in a few minutes and we’ll have a chat.”
Tammy’s head shot up. “You’re not going to bawl me out?”
“Given that you didn’t get as far as stealing the comic”—she shot a grateful look at Seán—“I’m more concerned about the motivation behind it. That said, you’re not getting off scot-free. You’re grounded for the next two weeks.”
Her daughter opened her mouth as if to protest, then obviously thought better of it. “Fair enough. I can deal with grounded. Especially if you use the fancy Swiss chocolate powder to make my hot chocolate.”
“Cheeky,” Clio said, suppressing a laugh. “Don’t push your luck.”
After Tammy left, she turned her attention to Seán. “Thanks for bringing her home. I can’t believe she’d do something like this, yet on the other hand, I’m shocked I’m even surprised.”
“Has she been acting up since you moved to Ballybeg?” His gaze was direct and probing, searching her face for clues.
She released a sigh. “Yes, but the move wasn’t the start of the problems. Look, I’d rather not get into the details, but I don’t intend to make excuses for Tammy’s behavior. She’s been through a tough time these last few months. I’d hoped Ballybeg and a new school would give her a fresh start. Clearly, I was being overly optimistic. So where do we go from here? Will the shop’s owner press charges?”
“No. Bridie was busy serving customers, and I don’t think she noticed Tammy was contemplating taking the comic. Fact is, she didn’t steal it.”
“But she would have, had you not intervened,” she said softly. “I can’t help but feel it’s my fault.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked, his intelligent eyes shrewd.
She bit her lip and weighed her next words carefully. “I haven’t always lived an exemplary life.”
That brought forth a deep chuckle that sent a shot of unfiltered lust straight to her nipples. “Which of us has?”
“Now, now, Sergeant Mackey. Surely a member of the police force has no questionable past?”
He threw back his head in a guffaw. “I was a teenage boy once upon a time. I’m hardly a saint.”
Somehow, she doubted any of Seán Mackey’s youthful exploits could rival her stint working for Ray Greer and scrounging for her next fix. She was certain he didn’t have a criminal record.
“If Tammy is troubled,” Seán said, suddenly serious again, “is she seeing anyone? A counselor, I mean. I realize this is none of my business, but we have a few contact numbers for youth psychologists back at the station. I can pass them on to you.”
“Thanks, but we’ve made an appointment with a woman in Cork City. I’m hoping Tammy is more cooperative with this counselor than she was with the one in Dublin.”
His eyes slid past the house toward the sea. “It can take a while to find the right therapist, and the counseling route isn’t for everyone.”
The gravity of his tone and gestures made her wonder if he spoke from experience. “I know,” she said. “I’m not keen on the idea of baring myself to a stranger with a pen, either. In Tammy’s case, I think it’s necessary. I’m out of my depth.”
“You underestimate yourself, Clio.” His gaze was focused on her again, searching her face with a charged intensity. “You’re doing the best you can with the cards life’s dealt you.”
Clio let out a bitter laugh. “Some of those cards are the result of my own poor life choices.”
His lips curved into a smile. “Not all your life choices were bad. You had Tammy.”
“Having her was the one smart move I made,” she said, returning his smile.
Seán closed the space between them and cupped her chin in his hands. The way he searched her face with such concentration seared her soul. He rubbed her forehead with his thumb, eliciting a small groan from the back of her throat.
“A smudge of brass cleaner,” he murmured, close enough that his breath warmed her neck. She was dizzy, falling, heady with anticipation. Kiss me, please. The words danced on the tip of her tongue.
“You’ve heard your mother’s stalker may have been caught?” The words tickled her ear.
“Yes,” she said, breathlessly.
“Which means there’ll soon be no reason we can’t see each other.” He nipped her earlobe playfully, making her ache in all the right places. “Would you like to go out with me some time, Clio?”
No, the sensible part of her screamed. “Yes,” she murmured seconds before he dipped his head and claimed her mouth with his.
Surrendering to the moment, she responded with such intensity that her knees grew weak. When he broke the kiss, it was like an invisible rope held them in place.
“I have to get back to the station,” he said, touching his fingertip to her nose. “Before I go, can you give me your number?” A wicked grin. “Your real number this time.”
She giggled and slid her phone from her back pocket. “Do I get a personalized ringtone?”
His grin stretched from ear to ear. “Everybody I talk to regularly gets a personalized ringtone.”
“What’s mine?” she asked after he’d keyed her number into his phone.
His dirty laugh made her acutely aware of the wetness between her legs, and of the aching need in her groin. This man slayed her, slashing through her barbed-wire defenses with alarming ease. He hit a button on his display and ‘Blitzkrieg’ by the Ramones started to play. “Reminds me of your outfit the night we met.”
“You remembered the logo on my ratty old T-shirt?” She was oddly touched by the admission.
“How could I not?”
He dropped a last kiss on her forehead, climbed back into his car, waved, and drove off.
Still shaking from the intensity of his kiss, she watched the police car wind its way into the distance. Was she crazy to go on a date with him? Her mind told her that getting closer to Seán Mackey was a lousy idea, but her body screamed the opposite.
She was slipping her phone back into her pocket when it vibrated with an incoming message. It was an e-mail from Emma. Heart thudding wildly, Clio scanned the display.
Hey, Clio,
I *finally* turned up something potentially useful on Greer. He was a silent investor in a shopping center development near Ballybeg. The project went bust last year. One of the partners—the former owner of your new home!!!—skedaddled to Marbella. Another partner wound up dead, but that doesn’t seem to be directly connected to the bust project. In the aftermath of the murder inquiry, Greer was investigated for money laundering and art smuggling, but he wriggled off the hook with his usual finesse. No clue if any of this relates to his interest in your mother and her aquawhatsit. Give me a call for the full deets.
Love ya,
Emma xx
Chapter Twenty-Four
SEÁN SPENT THE week following the arrest of Helen Havelin’s stalker buried in work but feeling like he was chasing his own tail. The investigation into the attack on the young Traveller boy, Jimmy Murphy, had reached a dead end. No one was talking, no one knew anything, and apart from him and Brian, no one seemed to give a damn. Meanwhile, he was facing another evening at Helen’s beck and call, but at least it would be his last. The consolation was having an excellent excuse to see Clio again.
The memory of their kiss lingered on his lips. His feelings for her were a jumble of raw sexual attraction and conflicted emotions he’d rather not explore. For whatever crazy reason, he found himself seeking emotional intimacy from her—the sort of intimacy he’d spent years avoiding. Whenever he was near her, his resolve to keep their connection to one of his no-strings flings took another battering. Still, what harm would a date do? They’d already had sex, after all.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Brian’s voice jerked him back to the present. It was the Friday before Helen’s party. They were in the Cottage Café, eating a spot of lunch and drowning it with hot tea and coffee respectively.
“Just thinking about the weekend.” Seán shoved another forkful of Olivia
’s divine chicken lasagna into his mouth.
Across the table, Brian scrunched up his freckled nose. “Are you sure you don’t mind covering the housewarming party on your own?”
“Nah,” he lied. “I’ll have the reserves to help me, and the super will be there as a guest. Enjoy your weekend away with Sharon.”
“I’m not sure that ‘enjoy’ is the appropriate word.” Brian stirred a second sugar cube into his tea, as if forgetting he’d already added one. “This will be the first time Sharon meets my parents, and it’ll be on my mum’s territory. I don’t know how it’ll go. I think she’ll get along fine with my dad and my sisters, but frankly I don’t see Mum and Sharon hitting it off.”
“Families, eh?” Seán’s experience of family was of ill-fitting jigsaw pieces—supposed to fit together to form a whole but somehow never managing to do so. And speaking of families, he needed to resurrect the half-written e-mail to his brother from his drafts folder and hit send. Last he’d heard, Dex was exploring a shipwreck off the coast of North Queensland, Australia. Although his brother was officially attached to the Irish National Monuments Service’s Underwater Archaeology Unit, he was frequently sent abroad for work. When had they last seen each other? Last year? The year before?
They’d been close as kids but their relationship had suffered once their parents died and they’d been sent to live in separate households. Their maternal grandmother couldn’t cope with raising more than one lively boy, so Seán had stayed with her and Dex had been sent to live with an aunt and uncle on the other side of Dublin. While he still cared about his brother, the bond they’d had as children had never recovered. All the same, he was proud of his little brother and his achievements.
In the corner of his eye, he registered a movement that triggered his policeman’s inner red alert system. A man clad in a biker jacket and boots strode into the café. He’d removed his helmet to reveal a shaved head with tattoos creeping up his neck. Due to the scarf the man had wrapped around the bottom part of his face, Seán couldn’t pinpoint who the guy was or where he’d seen him before, but he definitely knew him from somewhere. Memories whirred in the computer center of his brain.
