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The Wild Mountain Thyme

The Wild Rose Press

Heat Rating: SENSUAL
Word Count: 77,538
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There’s a serial killer murdering Irish-American tourists all over Ireland. Jim O’Flannery of the Boston Globe and Megan Kennedy of the Irish Times, are teamed up to report on the killings. They want to work together, but also to stay clear of each other emotionally; there was A LOT of trouble with the opposite sex in the past. But, Jim’s guardian angel appears, as a leprechaun, to pester and cajole Jim into getting involved with Megan. Jim can see Seamus, Megan can’t.

Jim and Megan trail the murderer to the west coast of Ireland, piecing together his motivation and where he may strike next.

An attempt is made on their lives, and only Jim’s quick wits saves the two. Megan disappears. Has the killer kidnapped her? Can Jim, with Seamus’s help, save her from mortal danger?

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The man had said, “It’s not over, Meggie.”Richard’s comment was all too ominous. What had he been to Megan? Could you be that angry with someone and not have been a scorned lover?

All Jim had to do was take one look at Megan’s stricken face to know that the guy had done plenty of damage. Richard was a type; the sort of man who was too slick for his own good. He had charm oozing from every pore. Jim hoped he could soothe Megan out of her hurt, maybe he could give her a hug and—

Those thoughts came to a screeching halt. Over Megan’s shoulder he glimpsed Seamus scowling at him. This time the elf/angel stood, with hands on hips and his toe tapping, in front of a teeny, tiny gothic church. The leprechaun looked steamed, and for good measure shook his head. Jim raised his hand and with as unobtrusive a movement as possible, backhanded Seamus off his little tuft of magical grass, mimicking a fly-shooing movement. Jim turned his attention to Megan. She stared down at the top of the desk, idly picking up a file and then letting it drop. Finally, she sat and took a deep cleansing breath.

“He’s scum,” she hissed under her breath.

“Hey, I read you loud and clear. And don’t worry; he won’t bother you while I’m around. He’s the type that talks big around women, but is a wimp around men taller than he is, or smarter either.” Jim snapped his mouth shut, chagrined. Those were his own words that popped out of his mouth and sounded too, too, too over the top. He was not Sir Galahad, and Megan was a modern woman and would definitely not swoon and fall into his arms when he came to her rescue. That is, if she let him. A knight in shining armor, he was not. He was a man, plain and simple.

“I hope you’re right.” Megan was too engrossed with her own thoughts to look at Jim. She watched the hallway door close behind Richard. Maybe, he’d escaped her corny meter. Hopefully, she hadn’t heard his boast after all.

“Come on,” said Jim trying to change the subject along with Megan’s mood. “We’ll do an early lunch. I got the lowdown from your associate editor, and it’s time to travel a little.”


“Yes, a place called Slee-go?”

“Let me see. Oh, that’s a nice city on the coast. Sligo? Oh—it’s pronounced with a long ‘i’ as in sli-go. It boasts of being the most Irish of cities. Why are we going there?”

“There was another murder last night.”

“St. Joseph.”

Jim watched Megan’s green eyes shrink to mere pin pricks. Murder was too close to home for her. She swallowed convulsively once and then turned all business. Her pretty heart shaped face turned up to him.

“Do they think it’s the same man?”

“Yes. The murder closely mimics the ones here in Dublin. The tourist falls where he stands, never knowing what hit him.” Jim looked at Megan’s puckered brow and wondered briefly how gutsy she was. Especially, since a mad serial killer was out there strangling any American he could find. He knew instinctively she had what it took. He felt it in his gut, that she could give as good as she got.