The Navy SEAL’s Holiday Fling: Ballybeg Bad Boys, Book 3 (6 page)

Her heart leaped in her chest.

A large man loomed in the dim light, holding a baton in one hand. It was too dark to see his features clearly, but a cold sense of dread snaked down Jill’s spine. Pulse pounding, she emitted a strangled scream and leaped back, stumbling over a display table of vibrators and landing hard on her left ankle. Pain shot up her leg. When she tried to stand, her left foot refused to bear her weight.

“Shit, no.”

The man moved closer, wielding the baton.

Adrenaline kicked in. Gritting her teeth, Jill hopped over to the main cash register and grabbed a decorative paperweight containing Blush Shoppe business cards. She hurled it at the intruder and heard a grunt as it hit him on the middle of his forehead.

But he kept coming for her.

Leaning down, Jill grabbed several vibrators that had fallen on the floor when she fell over the display. She drew her arm back and threw the vibrators at him one by one like missiles, occasionally aiming one at the window where the two eejits of policemen stood outside, apparently oblivious to Jill’s predicament.

The intruder moaned, rolled over, and tried to stand.

Sweating and with a racing heart, Jill limped to a shelf packed with products. “Come on,” she said through gritted teeth. “Cooperate.”

She pulled at the display with all her might until it started to topple over. Throwing herself out of harm’s way, she watched as the shelf fell and landed on the intruder’s legs.

The man roared with pain. “You crazy bitch. What are you doing to me?”

“I’m defending myself. That’ll teach you to screw with a sex toy seller.”

At long last, the two policemen noticed the commotion and burst into the shop.

“Where the fuck were you?” Jill shouted and burst into tears. “I threw vibrators at the window and you didn’t even react.”

The man on the ground managed to free himself from the fallen shelves. He hauled himself to his feet, swearing and calling Jill every bad name under the sun.

Jill stepped back, landed on her bad foot, and grabbed the counter to break her fall.

One of the policemen grabbed the intruder in a rugby tackle. A punching match ensued, but the man with the baton proved no match for his opponent. He flailed, spluttering protests, and landing the occasional feeble punch on the policeman’s back.

When the second policeman hit him with a stun gun, the man jerked several times, and then fell limp.

Jill slumped to the ground, tears streaming down her face. “Is he unconscious?”

“Oh, yeah.” A broad grin spread across the second policeman’s face as he slapped handcuffs around the intruder. “Well done, Ms. Bekele. You helped capture The Ghost.”

T
hree hours
after The Ghost’s capture, two plain-clothes police personnel drove Jill home to Ballybeg.

“Sure you’re okay, Ms. Bekele?” Sergeant Walsh asked.

Jill gave a weak nod, still struggling to regain her composure after the incident in the shop. “I’m fine, thank you. There’s really no need for you to stay overnight.”

The policewoman smiled. “Inspector Tobin insists. We won’t invade your privacy, but we’ll be right outside the door if you need us.”

“All I need at the moment is a hot shower and sleep.”

The policeman driving—Garda Toomey, if Jill remembered correctly—eased the vehicle to a halt outside her cottage. “Bit isolated out here,” he said, eyeing the fields surrounding Jill’s home.

She shrugged. “Not really. My nearest neighbor is only a few minutes’ walk down the road. I prefer living on the outskirts of Ballybeg rather than in the town center.”

Garda Toomey killed the engine. “If you give me your house key, I’ll check that no one is lurking inside.”

Jill slipped her key out of her pocket and handed it to him.

After the young policeman had gotten out of the car and ambled up the path to the house, Jill turned to Sergeant Walsh. “I hope you two don’t freeze out here tonight. You’re welcome to come inside if you get cold.”

“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be grand with the car heater on.” The policewoman smiled. “I bet your boss is glad to have the case wrapped up before Christmas—no pun intended.”

Despite the bad joke, Jill laughed. “I imagine both our bosses will be celebrating tonight. This hasn’t been positive publicity for the Blush Shoppe brand.”

“I heard the shop was packed today,” the woman added. “I’m betting Blush Shoppe will do just fine.”

Privately, Jill agreed with her. The cynical part of her thought the Irish launch couldn’t have gone better—aided and assisted by The Ghost. The unforeseen delays with the shop’s renovations had delayed the launch, cutting into their pre-holiday profits. Courtesy of the publicity generated by the attacks, Blush turnover was through the roof. Definitely not what The Ghost had intended.

After a few minutes, Garda Toomey returned to the car and handed Jill her key. “No one’s there, and everything looks fine. I’ve locked and bolted the back door. Make sure you do the same with the front.”

“Will do,” Jill said, opening the car door. “Thanks for the lift.”

“For the woman who helped capture The Ghost, any time.”

The Ghost…
Jill shivered. Despite knowing the man had been arrested at Blush Shoppe, she had a lingering sense of unease. Probably the dual shocks of yesterday’s bomb and today’s encounter with a terrorist had shattered her nerves. A good night’s sleep would do her the power of good.

When Jill let herself into the house, her nostrils twitched. Aftershave. Funny, she hadn’t noticed Garda Toomey’s aftershave in the car. Liam? But his scent was subtler than this and wouldn’t have lingered for twenty-four hours. She blinked and gave herself a mental shake. Yeah, her nerves were shot. The aftershave must be Garda Toomey’s.

After she’d locked and bolted the door, she sagged against it and squeezed her eyes shut. Liam would be at the airport by now, waiting to board his plane. Would she ever see him again? Was he serious about wanting a relationship with her, or was last night just another pretense? Her heart soared at the memories. Even if it was all an illusion, just another act like he’d played with Jean-Baptiste, she had no regrets. The sex had been off the charts and the warmth of another human body was exactly what she’d needed after the shock of yesterday’s bomb.

Whatever happened, she was moving forward with her life. Happiness and living a normal life was the best remedy against people who sought to destroy freedom.

Jill shrugged off her coat and shoes and climbed the ladder to her loft bedroom, wincing each time she placed her weight on her bad ankle. A hot shower was what she needed right now, preferably with her favorite rose shower gel.

She slung her handbag onto the floor and hooked her phone up to its charger. After she’d grabbed clean underwear and pajamas from her wardrobe, she padded across the room to the tiny bathroom.

In the bathroom, she turned on the water, letting it get nice and hot, and stripped out of her clothes. The instant she stepped under the jets and the needles hit her tired skin, she sighed in pleasure.

Pure heaven.

W
hen Liam peered
through the one-way mirror at the Emergency Response Unit’s HQ, icicles formed on his spine. “That’s not him,” he said hoarsely. “That’s not The Ghost.”

“What?” barked Inspector Tobin. “Of course it is. The man’s already confessed.”

Liam shook his head. “I’m telling you, it isn’t him.”

Inspector Tobin swore in a language Liam assumed to be Gaelic and ran a hand through his sparse red hair. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. I wish I wasn’t, believe me.”

The police inspector shook his head, already tapping numbers into his phone. “I’ll reactivate the alert until we know more. Go in there and question the man yourself. Why is he saying he’s The Ghost if he’s not?”

“I don’t know. Lust for notoriety? A loose screw? Does he have a vine tattoo on his left hand?”

“The man is covered in tattoos. He’s got a vine or a snake or something trailing down his arm. Are you sure you got a good look at The Ghost’s tattoo?”

“I’m certain. It was a vine.”

The policeman bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet and thrust open the door of the interrogation room. He ushered Liam inside. “Go ahead and question him. If we’ve got the wrong fella, we’re well and truly fucked.”

The man in handcuffs raised his head when Liam entered. He examined his new visitor carefully.

Liam returned the favor. The man who claimed to be The Ghost was as nondescript as the guy he’d eyeballed in France. Same average height, average build, average face. As Tobin had mentioned, he sported several tattoos, one of which snaked down onto his left hand—literally.

Liam leaned down to get a closer look. “That is a snake, not a vine.”

The prisoner snorted. “Of course it’s a fucking snake, man.” He yanked the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal the rest of the tattoo. “It’s Saint Patrick ridding Ireland of snakes.”

“Who are you?” Liam demanded. “Why did you break into Blush Shoppe?”

The man shrugged. “A mate in my local pub had the catalog. He said they stocked solid gold vibrators. I was to break in and nick a few, and we were going to flog them on the black market. Solid fucking gold, man. Who pays thirty thousand euros for vibrator, I ask you?”

“If you’d read the catalog properly, you’d have seen that they don’t stock them in the stores. The gold versions are special order only.”

The man mouth gaped. “You’re not serious. Are you saying I broke in for nothing?”

“It would appear so.” Liam swung his legs over a chair and sat across from the prisoner. “Let me get this straight. You didn’t go to the Blush Shoppe store to attack Jill Bekele?”

“Who the hell is she?”

“The woman who threw a paperweight at your head,” Liam said, indicating the impressive lump on the other man’s forehead.

“That bitch?” The man’s face contorted with rage. “I’ve had a splitting headache ever since she whacked me.”

Inspector Tobin, still clutching his phone, marched into the interrogation room. The policeman’s nostrils flared when he scanned the prisoner. Judging by the red flush on the police inspectors face, he’d received a reprimand from his superiors.

“Did you or did you not blow up the Sheldon Hotel yesterday?” Tobin demanded.

The prisoner regarded him through bloodshot eyes. “Of course I bloody didn’t. Why would I want to bomb a hotel? Sure I was in my local pub the entire evening. You ask Tommy the barman at Dingle’s in Cobh. He’ll back me up.”

Tobin’s face grew even redder. If he were a pressure cooker, he’d explode. “Then why the hell did you say you were The Ghost?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know what I said. I was hit on the head by that mad bitch in the shop, and then one of your eejit officers electrocuted me.”

Liam and Tobin exchanged glances. “I believe him,” Liam said. “I’m going to call Jill to make sure she’s okay.”

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and hit Jill’s number. It went straight to voice mail. Liam frowned. “Do you have a number for the police who escorted Jill home?”

Tobin nodded and punched a number into his phone. After a tense wait, the man shook his head. “Neither Toomey or Walsh is answering.”

Liam’s stomach clenched and the pulse at the base of his neck throbbed. “I don’t like this. I’m going to Ballybeg to check on Jill.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Tobin said, not looking convinced. “I sent her home with two of my best plain-clothes detectives. Go on and catch your flight before it’s too late.”

Liam shook his head. “No. I’ve had a bad feeling all day. I can’t leave Ireland until I know Jill’s okay.”

Tobin sighed and got to his feet. “Go on, then. As for me, it appears I still have to hunt down a terrorist.”

J
ill hummed
her favorite dance tune and worked the rose-scented shower gel into a lather. The hot needles of the shower on her aching bones felt so good. She adjusted the angle of the showerhead and stretched her neck from side to side. At this moment, Liam must be at the airport, if not already on the plane. How could a man whose real name she’d only know for a day have come to mean so much to her? Was it a reaction to the crazy events of the last twenty-four hours? Even if that were the case, her heart had filled with joy when he’d suggested she visit him in January. Life didn’t come with guarantees. That much had become abundantly clear to her over the last day. Whatever happened between her and Liam, she intended to choose joy and live a life filled with love and laughter.

She grabbed a bottle from the rack and squeezed shampoo onto her hair.

And froze. What was that sound?

Pulse pounding, she turned off the water and listened.

Nothing.

The seconds stretched into a minute. She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and shook her head, laughing at her jumpiness. Yeah, her nerves must be frayed from lack of sleep and shock if she was imagining sounds that weren’t there.

She massaged shampoo into her hair but didn’t switch the water back on.

Thirty seconds later, her heart leaped in her chest. There it was again. Someone was moving about downstairs. Had the police changed their minds about coming inside? But she’d bolted the doors, both front and back, just like they’d told her to. If they wanted to come in, they’d have to ring the doorbell.

Jill removed shaky hands from her soapy hair and stepped out of the shower. When she landed on her bad foot, she bit her tongue to silence a yelp. She edged her way out of the shower cubicle and gasped.

Words were scrawled across the floor-to-ceiling bathroom mirror in soap. They must have been there before she’d gotten into the shower but she hadn’t been able to see them until the mirror steamed up.

Corinthians 6:15

Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ himself? Shall I then take the members of Christ and unite them with a prostitute? Never!

Her breathing grew labored.
The Ghost.

Oh, shit.
Why hadn’t she brought her phone into the bathroom? It was still on her bedside table, hooked up to its charger. She inched out of the bathroom, trying not to make a noise.

Someone was climbing the ladder up to her bedroom.

Jill tasted bile. Her gaze darted around the room, searching for a weapon. On the bedside table was the Cleopatra sex toy Liam had used on her the previous night. And then she had an idea.

She forced her legs into motion and sidled over to her bed. Struggling to breathe, she dropped to her knees and reached underneath for her box of sex toys. She eased it out, careful not to make a sound. Then she flipped the lid and reached inside. Her fingers closed around the Magick Wand and a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs.