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    When the Siren Cries: Prequel
    When the Siren Cries: Prequel
    When the Siren Cries: Prequel
    Ebook54 pages50 minutes

    When the Siren Cries: Prequel

    By Tom Barry

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    About this ebook

    When the Siren Cries is a sensual romantic thriller, every bit as sex-studded as book one. The novel is set in the idyllic surroundings of Coronado Island, but against the backdrop of the dark side of life along the America-Mexico border. The story plunges Isobel into an alien world in which she is embroiled in drugs and guns, crime and violence, uncertain of who, if anyone, she can trust.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTom Barry
    Release dateJun 27, 2014
    ISBN9781311935472
    When the Siren Cries: Prequel

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      Book preview

      When the Siren Cries - Tom Barry

      When the Siren Cries - Prequel

      Published by Clarion House at Smashwords

      Copyright 2014 Tom Barry

      The moral right of the author has been asserted. This book is a work of fiction and all characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved.

      www.tombarrywrites.com

      Chapter One

      In a line of a thousand lights a single beam blinded Isobel. A flashlight raked her body as strong knuckles rapped against the glass. Through the rain-spattered window she could see a face shrouded in a drenched hood, features blurred and distorted by the deluge. She ran her fingers along the upholstery left and right, hunting for a button in the unfamiliar surroundings. The knock came a second time, the sound against the window sharper now. She felt the ribbed contours of a switch and jabbed down. The light returned to her face and again she shielded her eyes against the penetrating brightness. 

      Is this your vehicle, ma’am? The man spoke in a southern drawl, polite yet authoritative. 

      I’m sorry, said Isobel, can I help you?

      The man threw back his hood to reveal a blue cap with a gold badge that drew her eye like a beacon. 

      I asked if this is your vehicle, ma’am, he repeated, lowering the flashlight and leaning in closer. She could feel the heat of his breath against her face, sense the probing intensity of his gaze. 

      Yes, she said, raising her voice to be heard, recoiling from him as a sheet of rain swept in, carried by the howling wind.

      The man lifted his cape to offer some protection. You own this vehicle?

      It belongs to a friend of mine. I’m just using it.

      So it’s not your vehicle? he asked, the courtesy in his voice now laced with aggression. 

      No, it’s a friend’s. She felt her heart rate quicken. That’s not a problem, is it, officer?

      He didn’t respond, his lips twitching slightly as Isobel glanced away. Her truck no longer sat bumper to bumper with the car in front. Ahead of her, taillights were creeping toward the row of gates in the distance. On the other side of the freeway headlights accelerated past as the road widened, welcoming those heading into Tijuana and beyond.

      A horn behind gave a single but penetrating beep and Isobel watched the policeman’s face shift from calm control to irritation. 

      Stay where you are, ma’am. Don’t move the vehicle, he commanded, striding through the rain to the car behind, the elements mirrored in his face. Isobel shook her head in confusion. What on earth could he want? Why, out of an endless line of traffic waiting to cross back into the US, had her car been singled out?

      Despite knowing she had done nothing wrong—four hours had passed since she sipped a single glass of wine—Isobel started to tremble. She touched her skin, half-expecting to feel a tremor pulsating to the surface. Instead, her fingertips skimmed goose bumps and she tugged her light cardigan closer around her. She pulled down the visor and glanced at her reflection, as though her unease might, somehow, be visible in the mirror.

      When the man returned he walked into the space to the front of the pickup, seemingly oblivious to the lashing rain. Isobel watched as he began a methodical examination of the truck, prowling twice around it before dipping to the ground. Isobel craned her head out of the window as he disappeared from view. One brown boot flicked at the pooling water as the man crouched down on one knee, his trousers plastered to his legs by the ever-falling rain. The leg in view lay still for more than ten seconds. Was he looking for something or examining something? Isobel felt sure he wouldn’t find a single fault; she knew that Ryan fussed over what he drove and the image it projected. In Hollywood, style outranked substance every time.

      Is there something wrong? she asked as he finally stood up and returned to her window. Again, he did not

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