Storm Clouds. Cheryl Wolverton
Читать онлайн книгу.
is going to put a kink in my plan, you’re finally going to be mine. Time to play the mind games—again. And you won’t even know it.
Come on, Angie, doll. I’m waiting. Come on and try to find your brother and walk into the maze of my own making. Search for him and play awhile, before you die.
Contents
Prologue
About the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter One
The fuss over her pistol was not the most auspicious start to Angelina Harding’s flight. They’d made her check it—fortunately she had a smaller bag she could unzip from her backpack and check.
She’d gotten no sleep on the ride over, but she needed to be here for her brother.
Oh, how she wanted to be back in Pride, Louisiana, the tiny little town with a population of less than one hundred. She’d lived there for three wonderful years, with several of her friends who’d started a security firm. She liked it there in the small town, and she didn’t want to venture out into the real world.
But what could she do when she got the call…a call she hadn’t expected? She hadn’t talked to her brother in over fifteen years, and he needed her help.
Stepping into the cool air of Australia, she realized she hadn’t dressed for spring but late summer.
It was hot as an oven in Baton Rouge.
And it was just finishing winter here.
She shivered and cupped her hand over her eyes to glance toward the sunny sky. Wearily she grabbed a handful of her dark hair, tied it in a knot at her neck and then released it when she realized it had been shading the back of her neck.
Taking a deep breath, she paused to slip her pistol back into her ankle holster, rearrange her backpack and find the paper containing the information she’d jotted down about her brother.
Her internal clock told her it should be nighttime.
Her brother had said catch a plane to Sydney—and to hurry. Like she should drop everything for him. Glancing around, she noted the cars driving on the wrong side of the road.
She’d been so angry with her brother when he’d become a Christian nearly twenty years ago and decided to move to Australia….
She shook her head as she watched the hustle and bustle. Same as in any city but different too. Not seeing her brother, she started down the sidewalk looking for any sign of him. Bitterness nipped at her as she remembered her one visit to Australia when she was sixteen. She’d come here to see her brother.
He had sent her back home, telling her she shouldn’t have stolen money from her uncle and should have gotten his permission.
Permission!
She’d hated her brother for not letting her stay, and yet, he was her brother and when he called, she couldn’t ignore him as he had her.
Oh, man, she didn’t want to be here. Maybe Providence had been trying to keep her from coming. Maybe she should have turned around and left when the airline had hassled her about the gun.
The beep of a horn when she accidentally stepped out in front of a taxi brought her back to the present.
She hated Australia.
Or at least hated what it stood for.
Where was her brother?
Glancing around at the noisy area, she only wanted to be somewhere else.
Her brother’s decision to leave her in that forsaken place they’d both called home—at the mercy of her drunken uncle—had stuck with her all these years, haunting her dreams at night when she was all alone in the dark, scary night.
Her brother had left her because he felt called to become a missionary out in the bush of Australia—to start up a church. But in leaving to follow his calling, he’d left her to fend for herself. He didn’t mind being alone. She wouldn’t have minded being alone either. It would have been better than dealing with her uncle.
She didn’t like to remember that time of her life, but coming to Australia forced those memories back into the forefront of her mind.
She hadn’t talked to her brother in years because of that incident. She hadn’t seen him either.
And now he was in trouble.
Deciding her brother had forgotten to pick her up, she looked for a taxi to hail.
“Angelina Harding?”
She heard her name called and, in surprise, turned.
A man of medium build, dark hair, dark trousers and shirt stood about ten feet away. She was used to cataloguing whomever she met because of her training. A small mole under his right eyebrow barely showed above the sunglasses he wore.
“That would be me,” she acknowledged, noting he stood near a large sedan with a driver in it. She couldn’t see much else through the tinted windows.
“Your brother sent us.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she glanced at the car again. “He must be doing better than I realized,” she muttered to the man, feeling that much more angry and put out by her brother. Swinging her backpack over her shoulder, because she refused to pack more than one small case when she traveled, she headed toward the car.
“Let me take your bag,” the man murmured and reached out for it.
She shook her head and cradled the bag closer, wrapping her arms around it. “I’m fine.”
His hand brushed her side and she stepped away, not liking to be touched and wondering if all were so informal here.
Curious, she glanced at him but he’d turned away.
She sighed.
Her shoulders hurt, her neck ached. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed, nap and try to adjust to the time change. “I can’t believe it,” she said as she climbed into the back seat. “He called me and demanded I show up here. Said he had to talk to me. Do you know what I dropped to be here?” She knew the man wasn’t listening as he closed the door.
He hesitated again then climbed into the front. Okay, so she was being a grouch and she realized it. But seeing this car really ticked her off. How could her brother afford something like this? It just went to show her that he was so high and mighty now, he expected to have everyone at his beck and call.
She sagged back against the soft cushions of the expensive car.
When someone makes it sound like a matter of life and death, it usually means there is something serious the matter, she thought, disgruntled. She’d been in the Secret Service and didn’t throw terms like that around