Free Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5 by Zara Keane Page A

a short acquaintance, then gestured for him to take a seat on an adjacent armchair.
    With the fluidity of a robot, Seán forced one foot in front of the other and unclenched his right hand. If he didn’t offer it to the woman, the super would have his hide.
    He needn’t have bothered. Helen kept her focus on his superior. She reclaimed her seat on the sofa, leaving Seán with an outstretched hand. If anyone else had snubbed him, he’d have been irritated. In this case, relief was his primary emotion.
    Thoughts churning, he claimed the chair next to the super’s.
    “Cliona will get us coffee,” Helen said and for the first time shifted her attention to Seán. “Or would you prefer tea, Sergeant?”
    Her haughty tone and arched eyebrow dared him to ask for such a plebian beverage. He was tempted to ask for tea, just to annoy her.
    “Coffee’s fine.” The words came out in a hoarse croak.
    “Cliona?” Helen’s eyebrow arched even higher.
    Her daughter blinked a few times before a flush crept up her cheeks. “Oh, right. I’m on it.”
    Even though she’d lied to him and given him a fake phone number, Seán couldn’t help but a feel a pang of sympathy for the woman as she hurried toward the door, her gait unsteady. Being landed with a harridan as a mother couldn’t be easy.
    The gentle sway of her hips drew attention to her firm backside, outlined by tight denim jeans. Memories of last night danced before his eyes, as tantalizing and seductive as Cliona’s tipsy striptease.
    The vision sent a shot of lust straight to his groin. Seán swallowed a groan. Why the hell did the sexiest woman he’d met in years have to turn out to be Helen Havelin’s daughter?
    ***
    Clio sagged against the kitchen door. Seán was a cop. And he was sitting a scant five meters from the leopard aquamanile.
    His expression was unfathomable, but he recognized her. How could he not? Damn him for making that uniform look sexy. She buried her head in her hands and moaned, her red-hot cheeks burning her palms. When she was younger, she’d often used fake names and never once been caught out. Why now?
    Straightening, Clio held her hands out in front of her. They wouldn’t stop shaking. She clasped them together in the hope the tremors would subside, but no such luck. Grabbing a glass from the kitchen counter, she forced water down her throat.
    “Why is a police car outside?”
    Clio’s heart leaped in her chest. “Jesus, Tammy, you scared me.”
    “Sorry,” the girl said, not sounding the least contrite. She slouched toward the fridge, wrenched open the door, and took in its contents with a moue of distaste. “There’s feck-all to eat.”
    “There’s plenty to eat. And watch your language.”
    Tammy cast her mother a scornful look. All rage and bitterness were directed her way these days. However heinous Tammy might find Helen, Clio bore the brunt of her frustration. “Why are the Guards here?” the girl demanded as she extracted a carton of milk.
    “Helen mentioned problems with a stalker.”
    Tammy’s expression radiated skepticism. “Who in their right mind would want to stalk Gran? She’s ancient.”
    Clio suppressed a smile. “She’s in her sixties. Please try to get along with her. I know she can be difficult, but we are living in her house.”
    “Only because
you
insisted on dragging us down here. I don’t see why we couldn’t have stayed in Dublin. Now I’ll see even less of Dad than before.” Tammy unscrewed the cap and drank the milk directly from the bottle. It was an exercise in provocation. Tammy knew Clio hated it when she did that.
    “Your dad isn’t the best influence in the world, pet.”
    Tammy glared at her. “And you are?”
    “I know I’ve made mistakes, but your father…” She trailed off. What was the point in dragging up her ex’s dodgy friends and even dodgier family? For all Clio knew, calling him over the O’Leary situation instead of Ray might have been the smarter move. “We’ll