Storm Warning Read Online Free PDF Page B

bloody good officer. He’s going to liaise between you and the Lothian and Borders Police on the other side of the river. They can set up surveillance cameras, phone taps and any other electronic gadgets deemed necessary to see if this girl really is involved in drug trafficking.”
    “But what about people on the ground?”
    Archer grinned. “Look in the mirror, Foley. You’re it.”
    “Fuck.”
    Archer’s smile turned grim. “If this thing is as big as you say it is, I want these bastards caught.” He clenched his hands over the wheel. “So it’s up to you to get close to Sorcha Logan and figure out how she fits into this mess.”
    Ben opened the door and climbed out. The dog jumped in. “So, ‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you’?”
    Archer’s grin sharpened. “Could be worse—she could look like the back end of a bus.”
    Ben remembered the glow of her skin as she’d stood half naked in front of the fire, the tangle of damp blond curls tumbling over her shoulders. “Might be easier if she did.”
    “Watch your back, Foley,” Archer said, not unkindly. “Ewan will call you tomorrow.”
    Ben closed the door and stood back to watch the taillights disappear. He hadn’t felt this isolated since he’d been a kid in his grandfather’s house. He thrust the thought aside and went back to his car. Drove home with the radio cranked all the way up.
    ***
    The dead couldn’t hurt you. That’s what they said. Sorcha lay in bed with her hands wedged beneath her cheek and tried to believe it. The moon stole in and out of billowing clouds. The lighthouse beam circled the May Isle with incessant caution. A thin slice of shoreline was visible through her bedroom window, the sea calm now after its earlier spat. She tugged the duvet closer,rolled over to stare at the ceiling. Her father’s ghost hadn’t shown up in their old cottage yet. It was a small blessing.
    She’d painted the room cool blue, rather than the pastel pink she’d favored as a child. It smelled the same though, the resin of unfinished wood mixed with the taint of smoke from the fire downstairs. Funny how she remembered the inconsequential details, but nothing important.
    Three months.
    She’d been back three months and it already felt like a lifetime. Because no amount of fresh paint could wipe out the horror of how it had ended.
    Since her grandmother’s death a year ago, Iain Logan had haunted her. Always walking away. Always leaving. Always compelling her to follow and never letting her catch up.
    Madness whispered indecipherably in her head.
    What do you want, Daddy? To punish me?
    “Sorcha…”
    Her name echoed in her brain and her fingers gripped the duvet so hard they cramped. She couldn’t confide in anyone—she’d made that mistake with Bruce and been paid back with heartbreak. She wanted to pretend she wasn’t being stalked by a dead man. She wanted to be left alone to live a normal life. Like everyone else.
    “Sorcha…”
    The voice was an admonishing angel swooping down on her. He’d never leave until she’d figured out what he wanted. Nobody knew what happened on that wild night so many years ago. Some whispered suicide, others that she’d cursed him in her childish rage. All anyone understood for sure was that a lifeboat rescue had gone disastrously wrong and Iain Logan had died in a cruel, unforgiving sea.
    And ten-year-old Sorcha Logan had woken up on the beach to find her father dead at her feet.
    The moonlight poured across the beach before fast-moving clouds cloaked it again. Her heartbeat stuttered. A man stood staring up at her window. Startled, she jumped. Squeezing her eyes shut, her mouth went dry and she held her breath.
    She opened her eyes. The moon flashed, revealing a solitary figure who turned and walked away up the shore. Relief shot through her. It was a flesh-and-blood human being, a dark-haired man out for a midnight stroll.
    The American?
    With a grimace, Sorcha flopped back, closed her eyes and