Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5 by Zara Keane

she could afford, if her clothes were anything to go by. Hell, if they didn’t discount for law enforcement officials, it was more than he could afford on a cop’s salary. “Stay here,” he insisted. “I doubt I’ll make it back, but you’re welcome to have the room in my place.”
    She hesitated a fraction of a second before answering. “I can’t take your reservation.”
    “Of course you can. Knowing you’re safe in a warm bed will make me feel less of a heel for taking off like this.”
    “Well…thank you.” She tugged at neckline of her T-shirt, reminding him of the silky skin of her cleavage.
    “No problem,” he said, keeping his voice even. He placed the key card on the dresser. “Breakfast’s included. Just drop the key at reception when you leave.”
    She blinked, drawing attention to the eyes that had riveted him when he’d first seen her in the hotel lobby. “Bye, Seán.”
    “Bye, Orla. Thanks for a fantastic evening. Hope to see you again soon. In the meantime, enjoy your stay in Cork.”
    He clicked the door shut.

Chapter Five
    Clonmore House, Ballybeg, Ireland
    CLIO LEANED ONE HIP against the granite kitchen counter of her mother’s new weekend home, surrounded by moving boxes and bad vibes. She downed the last dregs of cold coffee and wished her hangover to Hades. This was why she’d sworn off spirits. From now on, she was sticking to the odd glass of wine and avoiding the hard stuff.
    She massaged her aching temples with her free hand and fought a wave of nausea. Last night, she’d tried to forget her crazy situation using gin and Seán as distractions. This morning, she was plagued by reality and regret.
    She placed her coffee cup on the counter and squeezed her sore eyes shut. Thank goodness Seán had been kind enough to let her stay in his hotel room. To her amazement, she’d managed to sleep in until it was almost time to collect her daughter from the train station.
    When she woke up, her first act had been to call Emma. She’d poured out the whole sordid story, starting with the phone call to Ray six weeks ago and its unforeseen consequences. To her credit, Emma hadn’t said, “I told you so.” She’d simply agreed to transfer two thousand euros from her bank account to Clio’s so that Clio could replace the cash she’d taken from her mother’s safe. Emma was the best friend any woman could ask for. Plus she was a private investigator. She’d promised to try to ferret out a nugget of information Clio could use to get Ray off her back and out of her life.
    Looking for a part-time job in Ballybeg hadn’t been on Clio’s immediate agenda. She’d been hoping to put out feelers for translation work she could do from home. However, paying back Emma meant she’d need to pick up work as soon as possible, preferably a job in a pub or a restaurant where the pay came weekly and could be augmented by tips.
    In addition to finishing unpacking moving boxes, today’s to-do list included figuring out a way to stall Ray over the burglary. That was going to be a lot more complicated than replacing the missing cash.
Oh, God.
    A crash jolted Clio back to the present, sudden as whiplash. Her eyes flew open.
    Shards of broken glass lay scattered across the terracotta kitchen tiles, shimmering defiantly in the pale sunlight. Framed by a mountain of empty moving boxes, Helen and Tammy stood on either side of the broken vase—her mother regal in a tailored suit, her daughter channeling Marilyn Manson on a bad day.
    “You stupid girl!” Helen’s screech was like a banshee on acid. She dropped a small traveling case onto the kitchen floor and pointed a scarlet-lacquered talon at the slivers on the floor. “Vintage Waterford Crystal. Vin. Tage.”
    Tammy shrank inside her oversized shirt, shoulders hunched. Clio’s stomach muscles clenched to see her daughter so nervous. Harsh memories surfaced of a childhood spent weathering Helen’s glacial gibes.
    “Sorry, Gran.” Tammy’s normally