Irish Eyes (Stolen Hearts Romance) (17 page)

“If you don't want to be treated like a child, stop behaving like one.” Craig took her by the arm.

Cameron released his hold on her.

“I am not—” The momentum as she yanked her hand away threw her back against Craig. She almost—almost—stomped her foot down on his.

Julia swiveled back toward Cameron at the sound of his unabashed laughter. He figured he should take credit for saving Craig’s instep.

She glowered.

Cameron tipped his head in farewell and put the car in gear. “Hopefully, I’ll have Devin home with his mother and Michael in jail before the night is over. Don’t leave Julia alone.”

“I won’t,” Craig said, his arm around the sulking woman.

“Good night, sweet Julia.” He could not meet her seething gaze. He sighed and tried not to think of the implications for his heart as he added, “All goes as planned, you’ll be well rid of me once and for all come morning.”

He did not look back, sorely tempted as he was. He just placed the tracking device on the dash and drove, hoping the precious moments wasted arguing with Julia would not cost him his prey.

“C’mon,” he urged the black box. Gritting his teeth, he practically willed the tracking light to change from red to green. “Lead me to Michael.”

The scenes of the suburbs rolled past him. He glanced down a series of dead-end alleys and found them empty. The light stayed as red as the traffic signal over the intersection ahead. He stopped.

“Tis no use,” he muttered. “Michael could be anywhere.”

He hammered his fist against the steering wheel. His jaw clenched. The traffic light turned green. Cameron moved the car forward at a snail’s pace. The tracking device stayed red through the intersection and all down that block and the next. Cameron was on the verge of throwing in the towel when another red light caught him off guard.

He punched the brakes hard. The car jolted to a stop. The tracking device spun on the dash, then plummeted to the floor. Cameron reached down to retrieve it, and his hand froze in midair.

Green.

The antenna extended over his shoulder. His quarry, he realized, lay behind him.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed it as he witnessed a plain white car dart into an alley two blocks back. He immediately turned the car around. Michael no doubt thought to hide out until Cameron had given up. Either that, or his lifelong friend, the man as close to him as his own brother, had just laid a trap for him.

The alley in sight, Cameron turned off the ignition and let the car coast in neutral to a stop along the curb. He opened the door with such control it barely registered a sound. He slid out, crouching to use the car for cover from peering eyes—and anything else that might target him from the depths of the dark alley.

He reached under his sweater and put his hand on his gun. Despite the warmth of his body beneath the knit, a cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. How could he draw a weapon on Michael? Was the man so corrupt that Cameron had reason to fear deadly force—or to use it?

His fingers curled over his service revolver. Every ounce of his training told him not to walk into this unarmed. Every fiber of his being told him not to go against his friend with a gun drawn. He held his breath. How could Michael have come so far as to take a child hostage, to rough up and try to kidnap an innocent woman?

Cameron alone could fully understand the man’s obsession. It was the other side of the coin to his own feelings about the gold, the legend, and family responsibility. Just as he would do anything to return the stolen treasure, Michael would go as far to claim the gold for family, honor, and justice. Knowing this, Cameron drew his weapon and inched out of the car.

From behind the fender, he studied the opening to the alley. He’d noted before that these alleys were all blocked by chain- link fencing. He knew that if Michael had gone in, then he was still there. Moonlight glinted off the chrome bumper, and Cameron glared upward, wishing for clouds.

Wishing is not going to get the job done,
he reminded himself. In a burst of speed, he ran from the protection of his car to the side of the building, without crossing the alley opening. Unless Michael was watching from the shadows, he would not have a clue that Cameron was stalking him.

Cameron counted on that advantage, but he did not preclude other situations. He held his gun up, pointing toward the moon that mocked him by making the black barrel gleam like calm water. His heart thudded faster and faster in his chest. He’d faced worse situations tactically but never one with so much personal emotional involvement. What if Devin were in the car? What if Michael tried to use the boy as a shield? What if he had to look deep into the eyes of his childhood friend and pull that trigger?

It ripped away at his being even to imagine it but knew he would do what he had to do.
He swallowed hard, drew a deep breath, and entered the alley

The white car sat at the end of the narrow passage. No movement betrayed the occupants. No sounds. No lights.
Cameron edged along the side of the alley, his back pressed to the damp, cold bricks.

Nothing.

What was Michael waiting for? For Cameron to draw so close he could take him out in one swift ambush?

Every muscle in Cameron’s body tensed, ready to pounce. His pulse throbbed in his ears. Moving slowly, he decided, was only making him an easier mark. He had to move and move now. His boots hit the ground with such force that it jarred him to his teeth, but he charged on. Rounding the bumper, he drew a bead on the driver’s window.

Empty.

The car was empty. His shoulder slumped as he peered in again, his gaze sweeping the seats and floorboards. The car had been abandoned.

He glanced at the chain-link fence and judged that Michael could have scaled it easily. He sighed and reholstered his gun. The release of all his built-up adrenaline flowed through his body with a tingling force. At least, he reasoned, it wasn’t hopeless. He could call in a police unit to impound the car so Michael could not retrieve it. And he could still use the tracking device to zero in on Michael. Since the man was now on foot, that give Cameron a definite advantage.

He propped one arm against the roof of the car, which put him at just the right angle to see a tell-tale beam of moonlight falling on something golden in the car. He popped open the door and ducked inside.

If he had been a cursing man, he’d have let loose a string of words just then that would have curdled the milk in Mrs. Murphy’s cows.
The light of the big, lopsided moon flashed off the gold cast of the tracking pin.

He stuffed the pin in his jeans pocket and turned to shut the door when a draft caused a small piece of paper on the floor to rustle. Curious, Cameron reached inside and withdrew the small notebook page that had been folded in quarters.
His own handwriting glared back at him from the crumpled page.

GOLD. Wait him out. Moonbow. Cumberland Falls, Kentucky. Full moon.

The tension that had been mounting in him since he’d first heard of the break-in finally wrenched free, issuing forth in a deep, resonant belly laugh.

He refolded the paper, obviously pilfered from Julia’s desk tonight. He now had something far better than any Interpol techno-gizmo. Michael Shaughnessy’s greed and impatience had made him slip. Cameron now knew exactly where the man would be and when he would be there—and he would be waiting for him.

CHAPTER NINE

Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Miss Julia Reed. Tis a bright fine day for a treasure hunt, wouldn’t you be saying?”

Julia gasped at the sight of Cameron O’Dea—dressed in a long-sleeved red T-shirt, the collar’s top button casually open, and faded blue jeans—on her doorstep so early in the morning. But unlike the last time he had pulled this stunt, she was happy—no, make that overwhelmingly relieved—to see him. She couldn’t really say she felt happy because she knew he had come to say good-bye.

She burrowed her hands into the pockets of her thick, nubby flannel robe. “I guess the tracking device worked?”

He cocked his head. “It did indeed.”

“So...?” She crossed her arms, trying to act more confident and brave about this parting than she felt.

“So?” He mimicked her posture, folding his muscular arms over his broad chest. “So, what?”

He wasn’t making this easy. She curled her bare toes against the cold floor of the entryway Part of her wanted to ask him in for coffee, but another part knew that postponing the goodbyes would only make them hurt all the more.

She angled her chin up, determined to get this over with. “So, aren’t you going to thank me for my quick thinking and swift action in planting the pin on Shaughnessy?”

“Thank you.” He bowed his head in a fleeting show of gratitude. “But I can’t give you all the credit.”

You could,
she thought,
if you weren’t so stubborn.
She smiled and leaned against the door frame. “Well, of course not. After all, you insisted I wear the device in the first place.”

“Actually, I didn't mean I should share the credit.” He shifted into a more comfortable stance. “I meant that even your actions, sweet Julia, benefited from a wee bit of… let’s call it luck.”

She blinked at him. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

He shrugged and chuckled under his breath. “I didn’t expect you to.”

She narrowed her eyes as if bringing him into sharper focus would suddenly help her to comprehend the man. “Maybe it’s too early in the morning for this conversation.”

“I agree. It’s a bit of a complicated story anyway, lass.” He brushed his knuckle under her chin. “Best we save it for the trip.”

“Trip?” She pulled her face away from his teasing touch. “What trip?”

“Our trip,” he said, as if reminding her of a long-planned arrangement between them.

“Our?” She shook her head. “Now you’ve completely lost me. Didn’t you come here this morning to say good-bye?”

“No, sweet Julia. I came here this morning to say ‘bon voy- age’.” He over pronounced each syllable, grinning as he did.

So that’s all it is to you,
she thought, a peculiar strangling sensation closing off her throat.
A joke. Another cause for clever repartee.
That’s all the more she meant to him. They’d had their

fun, helped one another out, and now
—bon voyage.

She pressed her lips together until they burned. The crisp morning air nipped at her fingers and toes but that was nothing compared to the chill as she aimed her gaze into his. Thank goodness he hadn’t completed that kiss! She stood on the very porch where just last night he had taken her in his arms. How much more painful his jests would seem had he done so.

“Please, Cameron, won’t you come in so we can discuss this?” he said in a poor excuse for an American accent. He stepped forward.

Julia had two choices. She could attempt to bar his way, which would result in an argument and quite a show for her neighbors, or she could let him into her house.

He took another small step.

Now he stood so close she could see the darkened circles beneath his ever-bright green eyes. She could feel the heat from his body and smell the stuffy air from Norman’s RV clinging to his clothes and hair.

She threw her shoulders back, but the fight was not in her. She could plainly see that the events of this last week had taken their toll on the indestructible Irishman, and it troubled her. Still, she reasoned, weary or not, he had no right to barge into her home—especially babbling about trips, insinuating she was somehow involved in a scheme she knew nothing about, and trying to turn their farewell into a hearty joke.

His whole cavalier attitude just made her mad. No, hurt, she corrected. No, confused. Confused and unsettled, she decided. And mad.

Her fists knotted tighter.

He motioned toward the door with both hands, as if to encourage her to move back.

Her bare feet did not move an inch on the cold old floor.

“You can let me inside, my dear, or keep me out like a stray dog come a-beggin’.” He cocked his head. The softness in his gaze made his green eyes glitter. “It makes no nevermind to me where we talk, but we will talk.”

She set her jaw.

He focused those amazing eyes on her and said no more.

She swallowed hard.

Then Cameron grinned.

Something broke loose in Julia’s hardened attitude. That grin, she surmised, and those eyes, should be registered as lethal weapons.

She grudgingly retreated just enough to allow him to slip through the door.

Once he stood inside her home, she gave the front door a Herculean swing, letting its thunderous wham herald her displeasure at having been the one to give in.

“Cameron O’Dea, you are not one bit funny. This.. . this… situation is not one bit funny. And I deeply resent my emotions being made fodder for your twisted sense of humor.”

He looked around himself then at Julia, his hands open in a gesture of befuddlement. “Excuse me, my dear, but I seem to be missing a piece of the conversation. I came here to talk to you about taking a trip and suddenly find myself attacked as a bad comedian.”