Read Online Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5 by Zara Keane - Free Book Online

shifted into gear. The living room boxes were amongst the few Helen had deigned to unpack herself. Most of the valuable ornaments were in there, hence her reluctance to let Clio and Tammy near them.
    Clio’s heartbeat accelerated into a sprint. If Ray’s coveted aquamanile was in Clonmore House, it would be in one of those boxes.
    ***
    Seán popped a painkiller and downed it with an energy drink. After a night spent questioning taciturn relatives and sifting through the charred remains of the caravan, he was exhausted, headachy, and red-eyed, not to mention tormented by memories of a naked Orla. God, she was one sexy woman. He felt awful for running out on her. He didn’t usually do follow-up dates, but he owed her one. And it would be no hardship, frankly. She was sexy, funny, great in bed. Exactly what he needed to take his mind off the job.
    He eyed the mountain of paperwork on his rickety desk, topped by a cheeky Hello Kitty Post-it note courtesy of Brian Glenn. Buckets had been strategically placed to catch the drips from Ballybeg Garda Station’s leaky roof.
Drip, drip, drip.
    Seán shivered and buttoned his uniform coat closed. The building’s heating system had broken down yet again. In keeping with the general tone of his morning, he’d lost the coin toss with Brian to see who got the station’s lone portable heater. Screw the budget. He was buying another couple of heaters to tide them over until they escaped this cesspit.
    In the spring, the staff of Ballybeg Garda Station was due to move into temporary digs while this building was bulldozed and another constructed in its place. The move couldn’t come soon enough for Seán.
    He fingered his phone with frozen fingers. Maybe he’d send Orla a quick text message before he tackled the admin. Invite her to dinner. He typed fast and hit Send. Almost instantly, his phone pinged.
Message undeliverable
. His heart sank. He’d wondered when she’d given him the number if it was the real deal. Seán chewed the top of his pen. Perhaps he’d give her a quick call, just in case.
    A tinny automated voice droned, “This number is not in service.” So she
had
given him a fake number. Seriously? Okay, he’d had to cut and run, but he’d had a great time up until that point. He’d thought she had too. Ah, well. It wasn’t as if he had time to spare on wining and dining a woman, however sexy she might be.
    He massaged his temples and tried to focus on the mountain of paperwork on his rickety desk.
An Garda Síochána
was strapped for cash at the best of times, and at Ballybeg Garda Station, funds for office furniture were nonexistent.
    At the knock on his office door, he looked up.
    “Morning, Seán.” Superintendent O’Riordan stood in the doorway, dapper in his police uniform, his silver-gray hair neatly combed off his broad forehead. Although he must have barely met the height requirement that had still been in place when he joined the police force forty years ago, the super’s confident posture and straight back made him appear taller than he was in reality. He looked cheerful and rested. Unlike Seán,
he’d
had a full night’s sleep.
    “Sir,” he grunted in greeting.
    “That bad a night?” The super cocked a bushy gray eyebrow. “I come bearing coffee.” The older man placed a tall paper cup on the desk. The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee was sufficient to bring a smile to Seán’s face, however fleeting.
    “Ah,” he said, “the coffee smells divine. Thank you.”
    “I wouldn’t drink the swill in the machine out front if my life depended on it.” His boss gave an exaggerated shudder. “This is from the Cottage Café on Curzon Street.”
    Seán knew the place. It was the newest café in Ballybeg, and served a decent espresso. He took a sip of the strong black brew and sighed in appreciation.
    “No news on the fire?” the super asked, sitting on the edge of the desk.
    “No news,” Seán said with a grimace, “and no one’s