Thief (A Bad Boy Romance)(22)

I drop the phone back on the cot and slump back against the wooden wall. Immediately, I wince and jerk back up at the prick of the roofing nail that jabs my shoulder.

Wonderful, now I need a goddamn tetanus shot.

I gotta get out of here.

Staying or not, I need to improve my situation. And staying or not, there’s two things I’m here for. One, to see the man who basically raised me as a third son get a park named after him, whether he wants me there or wants me dead.

And secondly?

Secondly, I’m figuring out what the fuck I’m going to do about Ivy.

But first, I’m getting the fuck out of this bar.



“You work here?”

The voice startles me as I’m locking the back door to O’Donnell’s behind me. I turn to see a man in grey slacks and a white dress shirt - no tie, with the sleeves rolled up.

“Yup,” I lie, quietly sizing him. “Bar’s closed though.”

The guy sighs. “Damn, not even a quick one?”

I frown at him. He’s acting casual, but everything about his stance and his eyes says he’s fully alert, and not the day-time drunk he’s trying to pretend to be.

“Nope, sorry.”

I pull on the door to make sure it’s locked before I turn back and go to walk past him.

“We open at two.”

“Man, I bet it’d be open if we were in Dublin, huh?”

I freeze three steps from him.

“Ever been?”

I shake my head slowly as I turn back to him, my whole body on alert.

“Nope.”

The man grins at me. “You sure? You seem like the Dublin type.”

“Wrong guy, sorry.”

I go to turn, ready to get away from whatever the hell this is.

“No I’m pretty sure I’ve got the right guy, Silas.”

I whirl back to him, every muscle coiled and ready to spring, my hands in fists at my sides.

He’s holding a badge this time, the dopey look gone from his face.

“Special Agent Riley, FBI,” he says with a smug look. “I think we should probably talk.”

“About Dublin?” I shrug as casually as I can, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You want the best places for fish and chips? If you’re looking more for a cultural thing, the Natural History Museum has this great two-for-one deal on Sundays.”

Special Agent Riley smirks. “You done?”

“Oh, I could write a tour book on Dublin, Agent Riley.”

His grin fades. “I bet you could, Hart.” He tucks his badge into his back pocket and crosses his arms over his chest.

“How’s your uncle?”

I smile. “Cantankerous? Still full of shit?”

I know what this is. It’s an intimidation game. Agent Riley here doesn’t actually have anything on me or that night eight years ago or I’d be in handcuffs right now on my way to Boston.

But he’s not clueless either, that much is obvious.

We stand there another full thirty seconds, not speaking, before I finally throw my hands up and shrug. “Well, look, Agent, if you still want that drink, the bar opens at two.”

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m good. Just wanted to come by and see how my favorite ex-pat is doing back at home.”

“Aww, am I your favorite?” I clasp my hands over my heart. “That- gee, Agent Riley, that really means a lot. Thank you.”

He raises a brow at me as I grin right back at him. “I’ve got my eye on you, you know.”

Fuck him. Again, if he had something concrete, I’d already be in an interrogation room asking for a lawyer. I’m not entirely sure what he’s playing at showing up like this, but I do know damn well that the Federal statute of limitations was over three years ago.

“Just make sure you get my good side, okay?”

I wink as he shakes his head at me, his arms still crossed over his chest.

“Welcome home, Silas.”

“Enjoy our lovely town, Agent Riley.” I call back over my shoulder. “Try the lobster rolls down on Commercial Street.”

I wait until I’m a block away and around a corner before I almost drop to my knees, the wind leaving me in a whoosh.

Fuck. Welcome home indeed.





Chapter Thirteen





Ivy




I leave my sandals on the beach as I head down onto the rocky shore. The water is cold, as it always is in New England, even in the summer.

I shiver as I let just the tips of my toes into the lapping waves, feeling somehow comforted by the feeling of the Atlantic against my skin.

Shelter Harbor doesn’t get big surf-type waves. That’s out on the breakers around the mouth of the harbor itself. Here in the protection of the bay though, we just get little lapping ones - the ebb and flow of the water teasing endlessly against the shore.