Storm Warning (21 page)

Ben’s memory returned the moment Sergeant Davy Logan walked through the front door—the dour expression on the older man’s face producing instant recall.

“What are you doing here?” Ben regretted his scowl as pain shot through his temples.

“I received a phone call from Sorcha.” Davy put his hand in his pockets, glancing at the paramedics. “She said you were stalking her. Had photos and everything.”

Great.
The girl from the ambulance crew shot him a venomous look. Ben ignored her and pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the pressure. Sorcha must have found the surveillance file and journals in his bag and panicked before he could explain. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

He dragged himself to the armchair by the window and something heavy bumped his hip.

The gun.

The weight of it reassured him and, despite his legal obligation, he had no intention of handing it over to Sergeant Davy Logan. Sitting upright made his head thump and vision whirl. Damn, he’d whacked himself good.

“Where is she?” Ben’s skin itched when the guy didn’t answer. “I’m not a stalker.”

Davy Logan raised a lone brow.

“You did call her cell when you found me unconscious?” Ben asked the policeman. “She’s okay?” He didn’t like the alarm pricking his skin. She was fine. Just pissed. No reason for him to be anxious.

“Yes, but it was turned off. Not that it matters, because she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

She’d run, but where to? And why wasn’t she picking up her cell? The medics were on the verge of leaving since he’d refused treatment. The sooner the better as far as he was concerned.

His cell rang. Ben struggled to pull it out of his pocket and answer it. “Foley.”

“Are you sure Sorcha Logan isn’t involved in drug trafficking?” Ewan’s voice hummed with excitement.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” It was the only thing Ben was sure of.

“Then we have a situation.”

His palms grew damp. “What do you mean, ‘we have a situation’?”

“Sorcha climbed onboard the
Kilmore
about twenty minutes ago,” Ewan said. “I just got word.”

Breath knotted in his lungs as Ben waited. His hands trembled. “And?” he demanded.

“It left port shortly afterwards.”

“What?” Fucking
what?

“Get this. After she went onboard, Robbie Logan was seen carrying a roll of carpet onboard, like he was getting rid of the proverbial dead body.”

Ben’s insides twisted like eels. Sergeant Logan was listening in to the conversation.

“Did you plant the transponders?” he asked Ewan.

The silence on the other end of the line wasn’t what he needed to hear.

“Well, did you?”

“We don’t know if they’re working yet.” Ewan spoke over Ben’s curses. “The receiver wasn’t picking up anything, but that might be a glitch. Look, we’ve got two Coastguard vessels standing by at sea and officers in place on the May Isle.”

“This feels bad.” Ben raised his eyes to meet Davy Logan’s suspicious gaze. Alarm eased through his blood. Where would they go? And why would Sorcha go with them? Was he wrong about her? Had he made a mistake? “Give me five minutes. I’ll call you back.”

The ambulance crew was still hanging around.

“Thanks for your help, guys.” He stood, a bit woozy, but holding it together as he showed them the door.

“You can take acetaminophen for the pain, but don’t go to sleep unless you have someone to check up on you,” the paramedic warned as she left.

“Yeah.” He closed the door on her scowling face. “Sleep isn’t going to be a problem tonight.”

Was he wrong? Was Sorcha a drug runner who’d played him for a fool?
No.
He didn’t believe it. She was in danger. He felt it in his gut. He bit back panic. Sorcha was at sea and the only way to rescue her was to do his job. First, he needed to know exactly how involved her Uncle Davy was with trafficking.

“Sorcha found her father’s journals in her attic, hidden behind the drywall.”

Davy’s eyebrows rose. “Aye, she said something about it on the phone. You stole them.”

“Borrowed them,” Ben corrected.

The older man reached out as if to touch the covers of the two books Ben had left on the table but changed his mind and drew back. “I’d forgotten about Iain’s journals until she mentioned them.”

“Did you hide them?”

“Me?” The policeman took off his cap and set it on the table, the skin on his brow wrinkling. “No.”

“Who then?”

“I’ve no clue.” Davy dragged his hand through what was left of his hair. “Angus?”

Ben fisted his hands impatiently. “I think Angus or Robbie broke into Sorcha’s cottage searching for those journals and got sidetracked by trying to rape Carolyn Jamieson.”

“Now wait a minute, my brother would never have hurt a lassie.”

“What about Robbie?”

Davy looked uneasy, shifted his eyes back to the table. “Who are you? Police?”

“Drug Enforcement Agency.” Ben nodded. “On loan to Scottish DEA.”

“Drugs!” Davy’s chin snapped up. “This is about drugs?” His tone was indignant. “My family has never been involved with
drugs.
”

“Is that why you warned them last summer?”

Davy’s eyes swung away. “My family wouldn’t tolerate drugs.” He fastened his arms over his stout chest.

He didn’t deny tipping off his brother, and that was as close to an admission as Ben was going to get. Logans were loyal, if nothing else. Except Angus hadn’t been loyal to Iain the night Ben suspected he’d murdered him, and right now he wasn’t being loyal to Sorcha either.

She could already be dead.

Palpitations squeezed his heart with short sharp jabs. “I think Angus murdered his brother that night on the lifeboat. I think he cut the safety line.”

“But why?” Shock widened his eyes as Davy lowered himself to a chair. “Why would Angus kill Iain?”

“Because Iain had the sight.” Ben picked up one of the journals he’d just found in Sorcha’s attic, the one only half full. “I think Iain found out Angus was running drugs, and he didn’t like it.”

Davy’s expression turned mutinous again at the mention of drugs, but Ben found what he was looking for in the last entry of Iain’s tight script. He laid the book flat in front of the other man.

Davy’s hands shook as he read the words and he seemed to shrink in his chair as the implications sank in. “Iain would never have allowed it,” Davy agreed. “He was a good man.”

Ben didn’t have time to gloat. Being wrong was a bitch, but that wasn’t his problem. “Sorcha is on their boat right now.” He stabbed a finger toward the blackened sea. “Where would they go?”

“They’d never hurt Sorcha.”

“Come on, man! What’s it gonna take? Sorcha’s dead body rolling in the surf?” His voice broke. “Would they take her fishing with them?”

“No.” Davy rested his bald head in his palms. “Angus is too superstitious. A woman onboard would sink the boat at the very least.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.” He tried not to panic, tried not to get consumed by the apprehension that tightened in his chest. “She’s on that boat, and I think they’re going to kill her.”
If they haven’t already.

“I can’t believe they’d hurt her.” Davy’s jowls sagged.

“They’ve smuggled drugs under your nose for more than a decade. They killed your brother and kidnapped your niece. You’re a cop. What’s it gonna take for you to believe it?”

Anger flashed in the other man’s eyes. “We never talk of it, but my mother, Sorcha’s grandmother, had gifts.”

“She saw ghosts. I know. What else?” Ben urged.

“She had the sight. She could see things you didn’t want her to see.” Davy frowned.

“Maybe she hid the journals? And if she thought Angus killed Iain…Well, maybe that’s why she sent Sorcha away to live with her mother. She’d lost one son, she’d no’ lose another—nor have Sorcha hurt. She loved that bairn.”

The policeman placed his cap on his head, pulled it firmly across his brow. “She always said Sorcha didn’t have any psychic gifts, but I was never so sure, especially after the lass found Iain’s body.” Davy’s stance was determined. “And neither was Angus. My mother was protecting her.”

And hiding the knowledge that one son had murdered another.

“I’m not saying I believe you, but let’s go talk to Eileen. She’ll know where he is. Angus doesn’t do anything that Eileen doesn’t know about.” Davy headed into the night, Ben on his heels, measuring Sorcha’s fate with each impotent beat of his heart.

***

Eileen Logan didn’t answer her door. There was a light on at the back of the house, but Ben couldn’t see a damn thing through the thick drapes at the front.

“Where is she?” Davy stood with his finger pressed hard against the bell, pushing the handle at the same time. It was locked.

“Do you have a key?”

“Back home, yes, but not with me,” Davy said.

Ben threw his shoulder against the door, but it was rock solid. A bad feeling clawed at his insides and wouldn’t let go. He glanced up and down the street. The house was part of a three-storey terrace—tall, elegant, impenetrable.

“How do we get around the back?” Ben started walking to the nearest end of the street. Davy jogged to catch up with him, his footsteps and heavy breath the only noise in the quiet night.

“Follow me,” Davy said.

Past a bakery and a couple more houses, then down somebody’s driveway. A dog yapped as Davy climbed on top of a rabbit hutch next to a low wall.

“Come on.” Davy threw himself over the wall and landed heavily on the other side.

Ben tucked the gun in the waistband of his jeans while Davy was out of sight. He climbed over the wall, not trusting the other cop, yet convinced something was going down inside that house.

They climbed another wall and popped into a back garden with a security light that lit up a long, narrow, neatly trimmed lawn. A row of net lofts formed a second terrace behind the houses. A cat meowed and scratched at the back door.

“This it?” Ben asked.

“Yep, this is it.” Davy stepped ahead, but Ben put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“This is still a police investigation. Don’t give anything away.” He held Davy’s gaze.

“I know how to do my job.” The policeman jerked out of his grasp, opened a door into a covered passageway, through to a concrete yard. The cat wound through his legs as he walked. Davy knocked on the back door, but no one answered. Carefully, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he tried the doorknob. The door swung open into a light-filled kitchen and the cat dashed in.

Davy fell back, hand over his mouth as he stumbled away.

Ben stood on the threshold. Watched the cat track bloody paw prints around her owner’s white kitchen.

Holy Mother.

Eileen Logan lay on the floor, rigor-stiff, a gash across her throat that damn near severed her head from her body. Blood pooled over the floor in a thick wash of crimson syrup.

He took two steps into the crime scene, grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and hauled it away. He shut the animal in the outhouse and joined Davy Logan in the garden, watching the man’s reaction, unsure even now of his involvement. Ben pulled out his cell phone.

“Eileen Logan’s dead,” he told Ewan when the call went through. “This is a farewell tour. They’re not coming back.”

Ewan swore. “We don’t have a great signal, but we’re going after them.” The connection crackled. “Call Nick to oversee the crime scene. I’ll call you as soon as we have anything.”

Like what? Sorcha’s corpse? Incredulous, Ben stared at the disconnected line. Saving Sorcha wasn’t Ewan’s priority. Arresting the drug runners was.

Davy Logan put a call through to the local station, requesting backup and forensics. Ben dialed D.I. Nick Archer, which caused a raised eyebrow but no comment from the local man.

After Ben hung up, he leaned over the fence, gripped the top railing as though it was all that stood between him and eternal damnation. His heart raced and his mouth went dry. It was pitch black and Sorcha was out on the ocean—the one place he couldn’t follow. All his grandfather’s jibes echoed through his mind like prescience.

Hell.

The thought of the water made his nerves freeze and his stomach grind—even now his hands were shaking. But he couldn’t sit on his ass while the woman he loved ended up sliced and diced like Eileen Logan.

Loved?

How could he have fallen in love? But what else explained the terrifying certainty that if he lost Sorcha there’d be nothing left to live for?

No way could he sit here like some useless prick while others raced into action. He wasn’t physically handicapped. There was nothing stopping him except his own crippling phobia.

“Where would they go?” Ben asked.

Davy’s shoulders slumped, his face haggard. “They’ve a boat, they could go anywhere.” His voice shook.

Ben grabbed Davy by the shoulders. “You must have some idea!”

Sirens pierced the night, lights flashing through the town like an alien invasion. There was only one place Ben needed to go, the one place he’d vowed never to revisit. He fought his instinctive revulsion as the sirens screamed closer.

“I’m going after them.”

Davy straightened from against the fence. “Right. I’m coming with you.”

“We need a fast boat.” Ben smiled without any pretense of humor. “And I know just where to find one.”

Sorcha knelt beside Carolyn and checked her pulse. It thrummed fragilely beneath paper-thin skin. She was alive. Just.

Her left eye was swollen shut, her cheek bleeding and angry. Sorcha untied Carolyn’s hands and feet and eased her onto her back. Gently she pushed the hair from her friend’s face. The girl groaned but didn’t wake up.

What was Angus doing? Carolyn could die here.

Sorcha’s skin prickled like insects crawling over her body and she cringed away from the invisible threat. Danger pressed in on her and even the voices went silent.

The malignant energy that had shadowed her since she’d returned to Scotland seemed to have taken root in her psyche, probing inside with short, sharp, angry spikes. She shook her head, shook off the notion that someone was prying inside her mind, and wondered what the hell she’d gotten herself involved in.

Why had Angus locked her up? Dammit, what was wrong with him? And where was Robbie? Did Ben have anything to do with this? The voices suddenly screeched inside her head. She pressed her palms flat against her ears in the hopes of driving them out, but it only made things worse.

The hatch banged open. Sorcha spun around and Robbie climbed down the ladder, whistling.

“Robbie? What’s going on? Angus has gone mad.”

The sweet boy she knew had disappeared. In his place was a cocky male who sneered as she knelt on the rough timbers. She recoiled and found herself pressed up tight to Carolyn. The light in his eyes was sharp and condescending, contempt filling their depths, turning them into pitiless obsidian. The color of his eyes reminded her of another man, only his sparked passion, not evil.

“What have you done to Carolyn?” she whispered. “What are we doing here?”

“Payback.” The word stopped her heart. She didn’t understand, but the threat was implicit.

“Why did you hurt her? I thought you liked her.” Sorcha’s whole world had capsized in one short hour. “What have we ever done to you?”

He took a step forward and she cowered. “You selfish little twat. You had the gall to give me the deed to this boat? The boat I’ve slaved on half my life?”

Spittle flew from his mouth. He slapped her across the face. The blow stung, but she didn’t have time to think about the pain. Grabbing her hair, he twisted it until his fingers tore it out of her skull and she screamed. She clawed at his hand, but he flung her away, and she barely saved herself from smashing into the hull.

The voices rose, higher and higher until she was scarcely able to drag in a breath.

Robbie snickered—a sound that agitated her more than the violence of his actions or the strange light in his eyes.

“You just have to tell them to leave you alone.” His voice had a flat edge to it, remote, as though nothing actually touched him.

“What do you mean?”

“Your guides. The voices in your head.” Robbie tapped his skull. “Tell ’em to piss off.”

Sorcha gaped at him. Robbie knew she heard voices? It wasn’t just her. She wasn’t crazy, or if she was, it definitely ran in the family. “You hear them too? Why did you never tell me?”

He jammed his hands tight against his head, the tension in his face screaming internal pressure as though his skull was about to explode.

“Robbie?” She started to climb to her feet.

“What?” he screamed and advanced a step. “What, Sorcha? What the fuck do you want?”

“I want to know what happened!” Her eyes filled with tears. “I loved you. You were my hero. How did that turn into hate?”

He lifted his shirt to reveal layers of ugly puckered scars running across his torso. “You know when I started to get these?”

Her jaw dropped. She shook her head.

“The first day the lifeboat was called out after your bitch of a mother left.”

Ice encased her skin, sinking into the flesh within. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither did I. Not at first. I was what, eight? Nine? And I’d started to have these graphic dreams about people dying. It wasn’t so bad at first because Gran was there when I woke up screaming.”

She shivered. Robbie’s face contorted, and the edge of madness was visible on every feature.

“Then your mom ran off. So whenever the lifeboat was called out I was alone because Gran had to go look after poor pitiful little Sorcha whose own mother didn’t want her.”

She flinched as if struck. She didn’t understand. Robbie was the one with the normal family. Why did he hate her?

His eyes bored into her like a drill-bit. “You don’t know how hard I prayed my own mother would just die.”

Her chest rose as she held her breath. She didn’t know what to say. What did you say to a man who was disintegrating before your eyes? Who radiated evil, but seemed so horribly…broken? Fear gave way to pity, and for a moment she wanted to reach out to him. Then she realized
he
was the source of the blackness that ate at her. His was the canker who’d tormented her whole life.

“But she didn’t—not then anyway. If she heard me crying at night she’d use Dad’s old belt to whip me senseless until I stopped screaming about visions and death.” He raised his face to the ceiling. “Are you in hell yet, you old hag?”

Sorcha froze. Eileen Logan was dead?

His laughter rang out and Sorcha shriveled inside. He leaned so close she could smell beer on his breath. “
You
took away my only protection. And that’s what I used to think about every time she drove the leather into my flesh—that it was
your
fault.”

“I didn’t know…” Sorcha’s throat constricted as fear slid along her veins. What was he going to do?

“I avoided the pain by planning how to get rid of you.” His eyes glittered. “And I got the perfect idea about how to do it the night I watched my dad kill yours.”

Angus?
Sorcha reeled. Angus killed her father? His own brother? And then pretended to love her?

There was no emotion in Robbie’s voice now. “I was just a kid asleep in bed and suddenly I see Angus pulling out his knife and cutting the line. Uncle Iain yelling into the wind and staring at his brother as though he knew what he was going to do, but Angus cut the line anyway.”

Sweat glistened on his brow, the knife shook as he wiped it away. “The next day Gran said she was going to live with you in the cottage—leaving me at the mercy of my mother.” Robbie’s face paled at whatever memory that evoked. “So I came up with a plan.”

“Duncan Mackenzie,” she whispered. It began to make sense.

“Aye, Duncan.” His smile was cruel. “But the thick bastard couldn’t even get that right. You were sent away, but Gran always suspected I had something to do with what happened on the beach.” His expression slid into lines of hatred. “She never trusted me. Never looked at me the same way again.”

Memories of the boy he’d been made her reach out. “Why didn’t you ask for help, Robbie?”

Laughter doubled him over but it was a hysterical reaction, not mirth. When he looked up his eyes were dark craters of pain. “My mother said if I told anyone about the visions I’d wish I’d never been born. Ever been there, Sorcha? Ever wished you’d never been born?” The words echoed around the wooden hull of the boat.

Every day. Every day since I was ten years old and woke to find my father’s body at my feet.

Fear made her shake as she looked at the knife gripped so tight in his hands. The way he looked at her with loathing in his eyes. But she wasn’t some whipped dog. Duncan Mackenzie had taught her a thing or two about dealing with bullies—fear just fed their rabid natures.

“I thought you could read minds, Robbie. Don’t you know?” She let bitterness fill her voice.

Robbie looked pissed. “Sometimes, but not always.”

The only chance she and Carolyn had was to keep him talking, delay him from whatever he planned to do, and hope someone saved them.

Or they saved themselves.

He ran a hand through his hair. Looked at her as if reluctant to get closer. “You’re good at blocking, though I know you don’t know you’re doing it.” His brows furrowed. “I can read most people a wee bit. Others, I can hear every thought in their head, know every desire in their body, before they even know it.” He shook his head, narrowed his gaze. “Others are like brick walls. Like that Yank you started shagging. Took me ages to figure out he was a cop.”

A cop?

The truth harpooned her in the chest. Ben had lied to her. He wasn’t a writer. He was an undercover cop. Investigating…
her?

Some of the questions he’d asked came back to her.
You ever done anything illegal, Sorcha?
Everything started to make a grim sort of sense. No wonder he’d been so angry when they’d slept together that first time. He’d wanted information, and she’d been falling in love. After that he’d used a shortcut through her knickers to get closer to the secrets he thought she was hiding.

Hah
. He must be bloody disappointed to be rifling through attics and hearing confessions about ghosts!

Hurt built like steam, burnt and blistered as it burst free. Ben had pursued her because of his job. The photos were surveillance photos. The connection she felt for him was based on nothing but lies.

Even so, the ache in her heart was sharp and real. The boat lurched and she fell against Carolyn, who groaned. Robbie rode the swell, one hand on the ladder, as much a part of the vessel as his father had been. His gaze settled on Carolyn.

“Awake now, is she?” Hatred moved in waves through the dense atmosphere, choking her with its force. “Too good for me, wasn’t she? I fixed that boyfriend of hers as well.” His grin was pure spite and Sorcha recoiled.

“It was you.” She gagged as she made the connection. “You broke into the cottage the other night. You hit me, tried to rape Carolyn!”

“She’s a slut. Spread her legs fast enough for that other fucker.” Robbie bared his teeth, his face ugly and cruel. “I was looking for your daddy’s journals and that whore turned up.” He stabbed his finger at Carolyn.

Sorcha didn’t know where her cousin was, but she didn’t recognize him in this man.

“And tonight I went looking for you.” He ran his finger along the edge of the knife, and Sorcha lost all sensation in her body as rational thought was overwhelmed by sheer terror. “I was going to finish you off in Iain’s cottage, but you weren’t there, and she was. I brought her along for a little entertainment on the trip.” He cupped his groin, his grin mocking. “But I think maybe once was enough.”

Tears pooled in her eyes as she glanced at her friend. What had he done to her?

“Why couldn’t you just die like you were supposed to?”

Sorcha’s eyebrows snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“You. Getting the freaking van stolen when we’d set up a sweet little surprise for you.”

“I don’t understand…”

“A bomb,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets and his eyes glittered. “I set up a car bomb to get rid of you that day you borrowed the van. I don’t know what happened…paid a fortune to those English wankers. To blow up my own bloody van.” He laughed.

“But why?” Open-mouthed astonishment hit her, made her glad she was already on her knees.

Why would anyone want to kill her? Let alone her own family.

“Angus thought you’d figure out the truth about Iain’s death. Find your daddy’s journals or start using your gifts and tell the police about our…activities.” His eyes focused on her like a hungry snake, fingers stroking his knife. “I told him you were too dumb. I’d given up on you. Decided killing you wasn’t meant to be, and then there you were, standing talking to Angus at the perfect moment.” His eyes gleamed, but he didn’t come any closer.

Why doesn’t he come near me?
Scared she’d fight back? Damn right. Hiding her hands behind her back, she scrabbled for a weapon. Anything.

Should she tell him they’d found the journals, that they’d contained nothing but personal details about her daddy’s life.
Why give him the satisfaction?

“Why did Angus kill his own brother?” The engine hummed and the sea lashed, but she yelled through the hatch anyway. “Why did you kill my daddy, you bastard?”

Robbie laughed, and for a brief moment he looked like the beautiful child who’d once saved her life. “He’ll not come down. Too much of a coward to face you again. Look inside and concentrate. Can you not see him?”

Sorcha resisted the urge to look for Angus, though she pretended. Why waste time honing psychic abilities if she was going to be dead soon anyway? She had a better plan.
Never show your teeth unless you can bite.
Her hands closed over a piece of loose timber.

“Aye. Fate said you were born a witch and you’d burn.” Robbie placed the knife back in its sheath. “But I’ll not burn with you.”

Her jaw dropped. He knew her dreams?

“We’ve been trafficking drugs, dear cousin. Using
your
boat.” He giggled, his eyes flickering around her, not settling.

“Drugs? This was about money?”

“Fishing’s been dead for years. A mug’s game.” He shrugged one lanky shoulder, sneered. “God, I don’t know how you can stand having all those sniveling spirits near you.” His eyes widened. “Or are you so blind you don’t even know they’re there?”

Sorcha jerked around, saw the hollow nimbus of her granny staring at her two grandchildren with misery in her eyes. Sorcha’s mother’s spirit stood nearby, riddled with cancer, but more alive than she’d seen her in years. And her father. He stood his ground as if to physically defend her.

She was protected by phantoms of the people she’d loved and who loved her. Her throat muscles constricted with emotion. When she turned back, Robbie was halfway up the ladder, running from the shades of his dead relatives. She leaped up, ran across the hold and smashed the wooden post into his calf.

“You bitch!” He lashed out, caught her chin with his boot, and she dropped like a stone.

“You’re gonna burn. Just like you should have all those years ago.”

The hatch crashed shut.