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Her Irish Boyfriend

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File Type: epub
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Author: Chuck Bowie

Book 5 from Chuck Bowie's Donovan: Thief for Hire series...
The problem, the secret, the decision.
Donovan agrees to retrieve a stolen cell phone for his friend Gemma. This is a simple enough task. Then, he decides to determinewhy the phone is important, and on it views a crime being planned. One crime leads to another, and each case escalates in its level of complication, seriousness and darkness.
He cannot lose sight, though, that at one time he was broken. The victim he is attempting to rescue is broken, as is his partner-in-crime. Will they be strong enough?
Sean Donovan follows each crime from Ireland to England, deciding each time to continue on in an effort to save the lives of the victims. As the crime that began in Dublin circles back around to Dublin, he is confronted with the stakes in this deadly, dark game.

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Her Irish Boyfriend

Donovan: Thief for Hire Book 5

by Chuck Bowie

Cover by TWJ Design

Ebook price 6.99

Print price 12.99


* * * *

Donovan glided up the two flights of stairs, stopping at the familiar entrance to Phelan’s flat. He put an ear to the door, listening to the murmur of the television. He couldn’t hear any words from the occupants, so he set about picking the lock. Once the lock was solved, he opened it two inches, where a short chain stopped it. That’s a new addition.

            “Who’s that? I’ve got a gun.”

            Donovan peeked through the crack in the door, spied a dresser across the room and, calculating, rolled one of his marble bombs toward the piece of furniture. It came to rest at the wall behind the dresser.

            “Well, hello, Declan. It’s me. You might remember me as the guy who rode you down a flight of stairs like a rented mule. May I come in, please?”

            Phelan’s response was to curse, both in English and in Gaelic. “One step inside this door, old son, and you’ll be visiting Paddy McGinty’s goat, be it heaven or hell.”

            Donovan continued to speak through the door. “I don’t hear footsteps coming to unchain the door, Declan, so I have to assume that you’re laid up. Let me guess; you broke a leg in a skiing accident? Listen. I don’t have any more time for fooling around. I want in and I do not want to die, so this is what I did. I just rolled a marble across your floor, and you heard it come to rest behind the dresser. It’s actually not a marble, but a tidy little bomb, just big enough to empty a room the size of, say, the one you’re in. You have five seconds to slide your gun to the door so I can see it, and if not, well…kaboom. Little pink bits of you will be floating sideways out onto Anglesea Street, together with your stove and sofa. Four…three…”

            “All right; all right. Here we go.”




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