Read Irish Eyes (Stolen Hearts Romance) for Free Online Page B

know.”
    Fear flickered in the depths of her dilated pupils but she did not cower before him. “What I know, Mr. O’Dea, is that if you or your phony-baloney Officer Shaughnessy—”
    “Shaughnessy? Michael Shaughnessy?” The name made Cameron’s blood run cold. “I wondered if you’d crossed his path. Tell me, how much do you know about him?”
    She opened her mouth to speak but made only a few sounds. She pressed her lips closed, frowned then met his eyes and at last her expression and whole posture melted into a trusting surrender. “Only that he isn’t a real police officer and that he’s the one who took the boy.”
    “The boy” he echoed. The boy was his nephew, Devin, who was now being used as bait.When Cameron had returned to the billboard, Devin had vanished. Cameron had only been gone twenty minutes or so, just long enough to walk to the market where he could get a signal on his cell. He’d called for police help in retrieving the gold, then picked up something for the boy to eat—they’d been out all day and the child had been famished.
    A late night phone call had informed him that Michael Shaughnessy, a man Cameron had once considered like a brother, had taken Devin hostage. The kidnapper intended to hold the boy until Cameron turned over the gold. Michael hadn’t known how close he’d been to nabbing the treasure himself, nor had he mentioned any run-ins with Julia or any other person for that matter.
    Greed, it seemed, had made his old friend, and current nemesis, sloppy. That was good news for Cameron and his quest. But Michael’s blinding lust for the gold could certainly prove a very dangerous thing for the woman who knew that he had the boy—especially since she had the gold. If she did have the gold.
    He narrowed his eyes at her. “So you saw Shaughnessy take the boy?”
    “Saw him?” She snuffed out a quick sound of self-disgust. “Mister, I handed the poor child right over to that imposter, and I could just kick myself for it. But that’s nothing compared to what will happen to you and your pal Shaughnessy if you harm one red hair on that precocious leprechaun’s head.”
    “Leprechaun?” His voice squeaked out the word so peculiarly thrust into the weighty discussion.
    “That was the kid’s story, not mine,” she hurried to explain.
    “He actually told you he was a leprechaun?” Cameron laughed.
    “With an accent thick as peat moss and a tale as intricate as Irish lace,” she said, her body relaxing just an inch. “He even went so far as to grant me his buried—”
    She jerked as if pricked by a pin. Her fingers went to her lips as if to seal the rest of the sentence in.
    Cameron’s head snapped up. He pushed forward a step, standing so close that he felt her shallow breathing against the parka wadded between them. “He granted you his buried what? Tell me.”
    She jerked her head to one side. “The tour is over now, Mr. O’Dea. I’ll thank you to be on your way.”
    “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.” He would not release her from his heated gaze.
    “I’m warning you, Mr. O’Dea. If you don’t leave this very minute, I’ll—
    “What?” He leaned in. Menacing, he supposed, but with a purpose. Still, when he saw the glimmer of distress in those lovely eyes and knew he had been the cause of it, Cameron winced.
    “I mean it,” she said again with growing fervor. “Leave at once or I’ll—I’ll scream. One scream from me would draw every person in this building. They’d be on you like that.” She snapped her fingers. “And it wouldn’t take long then for the police to show up.”
    “No, Miss Reed, I dare say it wouldn’t take long at all.” He reached into his back pocket and eased out his billfold. Like all the detectives on all the old TV shows he’d ever seen, he used a sharp flip of his wrist to pop open the leather wallet and flash his shiny gold badge.
    Her lips fell open. Her gaze darted from the badge and ID to his face,