Love Inspired Suspense December 2013 Bundle: Christmas Cover-UpForce of NatureYuletide JeopardyWilderness Peril

by Lynette Eason

  He cleared his throat and pretended to examine the horizon. “I think the worst is nearly over,” he said as the cold rain slapped him in the face.

  She didn’t reply as they climbed over the log. The next few feet of trail was pinched in on either side by thick screens of shrubbery and mounded debris. Reuben struck out in front, forging through water that was up to his knees. Cold seeped deep inside, cooling his bones and chilling his blood.

  What had he expected? That she would decide to forget the past when his brother had nearly gotten them all killed? Stupid, but he’d never been smart where she was concerned. He’d just let his heart lead him.

  Try using your head for a change, Reuben. Survive this storm, why don’t you? Debris swirled through the water ahead of him. He bent to push a piece of jagged plaster aside when a gunshot whistled over his shoulder.

  SEVENTEEN

  Antonia did not register the noise as quickly as Reuben did. He carried her down into the water as another shot cut through the rain. Scrabbling to the edge of the path, they ran into the shrubbery, plunging down a slope that led back to the lagoon.

  She caught the sound of branches breaking behind her. A shot whacked off the top of a water-soaked branch next to her ear as she slipped and slid until they were deep in the mangroves again, water up to their armpits, the canopy closing over their heads. She had no idea where they were headed. So intent was she on where the next shot would come from that the water took her by surprise, deepening into a dark, cold pocket that forced her to tread water to keep her chin above it.

  The thought of being stuck in deep water again awakened a trail of terror inside her. She wanted to call out to stop him, but Reuben kept on slowly inching deeper into the mangroves until even the sound of the ocean was muffled by the eerie growth.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered as he finally pulled himself up on a curved root and helped her scramble next to him, her feet still resting in the water.

  “He can’t shoot us if he’s swimming,” Reuben murmured back. “Who is it?”

  Antonia slung the wet hair out of her face. “Leland’s little helper, Martin. I think they’ve decided we need to die since we’re all witnesses now and we didn’t cooperate with the drowning plan.”

  Water sparkled on Reuben’s stubbled chin. “Must have split up when they figured out we’d survived.”

  Antonia watched the leaves shivering around her, each set dancing by the rain. The smell of vegetation tickled her nose. “If the storm’s slowing, then the coast guard will come back, so they’ll need to finish before that happens.” She swallowed. “What do we do now?”

  Reuben wiped at his face. “These mangroves are all connected, more or less. If we keep covered, we can circle back and set a signal fire maybe, get the coast guard’s attention sooner rather than later.” He offered her a wan smile. “You know, like they did in the days before cell phones.”

  Antonia found herself smiling back. Something still fluttered inside her from Reuben’s kisses, as if the warmth of them lingered on her skin, though her teeth were chattering madly. She’d wanted to give in to the emotion that poured from him then, to forget everything but the sweetness that he offered up at that moment, but something stopped her.

  The litany of hurts poured through her in a river of bitter memory.

  Anger at Reuben and his brother for turning her life upside down.

  Confusion that she could still feel the strong current of tenderness while the painful past replayed over and over in her mind.

  Fear still fresh and ferocious at her near drowning only hours before, and now the added terror of Martin’s relentless efforts. Reuben interrupted her thoughts. He climbed up farther into the mangrove canopy and scouted for their pursuer. “I don’t see him.”

  Tiny fish bumped against Antonia’s ankles below the murky water. At least, she wanted to believe the motion was caused by the tiny fish that used the sheltering mangrove roots as a nursery of sorts, protection from the larger predators until they were big enough to venture into open waters. Surely it would not be the alligator, hunkered down in a mud pocket, waiting for the storm to subside.

  She climbed farther up the arms of the mangrove tree next to Reuben. “Where do you think Martin is?” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer. A flock of birds suddenly erupted from the branches to their left, long necks stretched dark against the sky, wide wings fanning the storm-tossed air. Reuben leaped from the tree and she followed, plunging once again into the lagoon. The sound must have alerted Martin because the bushes thrashed as he pursued them.

  “Tired of this,” Martin bellowed. “Sick of this storm and this island.”

  Reuben forced his way through the mangroves, making sure she was right behind him. Leaves slapped at her face, spangling water down her neck. There was no land underneath their feet, only the clawed roots that enabled the mangroves to thrive in the constant ebb and flow of the tide. They climbed over roots and squeezed under the ones that left enough clearance. Finding a foothold underneath the surface of the green water was impossible.

  She stumbled, and he held her up by her hand. They made their clumsy way along, feet slipping in their haste.

  Suddenly they found themselves stopped by an impenetrable wall of mangrove roots woven in a tight latticework, hemming them in the tiny circle of water like two caught fish. Martin could be no more than a couple of yards behind them.

  Breath tight with terror, she realized they could not make it through those interwoven roots before he caught them.

  Reuben went down in the water so abruptly she thought he must have fallen. She thrashed around for him, not daring to call out his name.

  Her fingertips found his shoulder just as he erupted from the water, brown eyes wide.

  “We can get through. There’s a channel.”

  Through the cloudy water she could make out the dark shadow, a gap in the roots no bigger than a manhole cover. Desperately she looked around for some way, any way, to avoid submerging herself again, but there was only the wall of mangrove and the sound of Martin crashing toward them.

  Reuben held out his hand.

  She locked eyes on his.

  I’m afraid to trust you, her mind whispered.

  There was a sheen of yearning in his eyes, the naked emotion that told her he wanted nothing more than her well-being, yet her heart had been torn apart already when she’d given it to him. He wanted forgiveness, and though she knew it was required, extended to her in endless heavenly grace, she hesitated.

  “I’m going to kill you both,” Martin hollered again, and the leaves shook around them from his wild thrashing.

  She looked once more into Reuben’s face, his offered hand, the plea for her trust just one more time.

  In spite of the warnings rattling through her, she knelt next to him and watched as he vanished into the dank hole. Heaving in one more very deep breath, Antonia sank to her knees and squeezed in after him, the enveloping water muffling the sound of the shots fired just behind her.

  *

  Reuben’s lungs burned as he peered through the tea-colored water to find a gap big enough for them to emerge. Perhaps he had miscalculated and they would have to return and face Martin. Thirty seconds, forty-five, and the network of roots seemed even more impenetrable, caging them under the surface. Behind him he felt Antonia’s movements grow more frantic. Where had he seen the patch of sunlight that pointed the way to escape? He could not—would not—fail Antonia again. Finally he spotted the clearing through which the sunlight shone a pale yellow.

  He exploded upward, sucking in a lungful of air and turning to be sure Antonia had surfaced behind him. She did, coughing and spluttering. “He’s still shooting,” she gasped.

  He pulled himself out of the water and balanced on the stiltlike roots, helping her up next to him. They’d emerged in a long ribbon of lagoon not more than two feet across, hedged in by the walls of mangrove.

  “We can make our way alon
g this channel,” he whispered.

  “He’ll follow.”

  “We’re quicker.”

  “You think so?”

  He flashed a smile. “Remember the races on the beach?” She did; he could tell by the softening in her face. Endless sprints down Isla’s glorious pristine beaches. The reward for his win? A kiss. The reward for hers? The same. He had not realized then exactly how precious those kisses were. He knew now how rare and fragile love could be, and he meant to sacrifice everything to the last breath if it would keep Antonia alive.

  Agile as they both were, exhaustion, dehydration and hunger would work against them. Martin was likely suffering from none of those conditions, and he still had the upper hand while he still had bullets or Leland came to join him. The branches were slick as they made their awkward way along, like two people walking a tightrope of roots. The wind was definitely weaker now and the rain reduced to a constant drizzle. They’d survived Tony.

  Would they survive Martin and Leland?

  Picking their way to the water’s edge, they slipped in. The depth was some ten feet, he estimated, swollen from the storm surge and the torrential rain. Proper swimming was not an option as the surface was cluttered with broken tree limbs and heaps of leaves that swirled in massive clumps. They settled for a sort of modified crawl, kicking along and pushing the detritus out of their way as they went.

  His stomach growled, and he tried to remember how long it was since he’d eaten, but he was not entirely sure even what day it was. They stopped to listen for Martin but heard nothing other than the rustling leaves. His arms ached from the constant battle against obstacles, but he didn’t complain and neither did Antonia.

  Fish swirled in the water underneath them, bumping into his legs occasionally, and a turtle poked his head out of the water before disappearing again. On the positive side, the might of the hurricane had passed. Now the lagoon dwellers were emerging from their hiding places. He hoped Leland would not do the same, at least until they escaped the present danger.

  The channel twisted and looped around, crisscrossed by large channels, which they avoided, and smaller ones. It was like navigating a giant living labyrinth, but now the sun was visible and he was able to get a sense of their direction.

  “Where are we going?” Antonia said, rousing him from his thoughts.

  He turned to reply and her face took the words straight from his mind. Daylight showed how badly the previous hours had treated her. Her chin was barely above the water, her face pale and scratched. Dark smudges under her eyes revealed the extent of her exhaustion, and she was shivering, though the day was warming rapidly. It had to have been hours since she’d had any water, longer still since she’d eaten, and bruises on her arms and cheeks showed how cruelly she’d been battered by the ocean.

  He floated over to her. “This channel joins the creek about a half mile from here.”

  “We can get to land?” she asked weakly.

  “Yes, real soon. Tired?”

  She nodded.

  “Piggyback ride?” He didn’t exactly wait for a response, just offered his back, grateful when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her knees around his waist and he began to tow her along. She did not resist, allowing herself to be moved gently against the water, her head mostly leaning against his back, sometimes turning to scan for any sign of Martin.

  They moved slower now, her added weight making it harder for him to navigate the debris, but he knew she could not struggle along on her own much longer. Another turn in the channel and he felt the water change, growing colder, the current moving more rapidly. The river. He’d been right in his calculations.

  The mangroves thinned out and spindly shrubs poked here and there through the roots, some nearly denuded of their leaves. He felt the bottom under his feet as they made the final turn.

  The creek and lagoon water were now a swirling cauldron that lapped all the way up to the cabbage palms, and it was several yards farther before they finally made it clear of the water altogether. Antonia slipped off his back and they slogged up the submerged bank, sinking into the mud. Each step was an effort as they pulled free from the sucking ooze.

  He gathered her close behind the cabbage palms and allowed them both a moment to catch their breath. Antonia’s whole body was shaking now, and she clung to him.

  “My legs aren’t working,” she whispered.

  “We’ll use mine then,” he murmured back, hoisting her in his arms, noting she had lost her shoes somewhere in the cloying mud. His mind whirled as he considered their next move. There was no way to know if Martin had given up the pursuit somewhere. Martin or no Martin, he had to get Antonia into some sort of shelter, but what was left intact? The lighthouse was probably the best bet, but he could not ask her to walk there until she’d rested and he would not be able to carry her all the way since half the island was now underwater.

  The bungalow.

  It was time to find out if the expensive storm retrofits had done their job. He began the slow ascent to the hill where the bungalow sat, praying all the while it was not under several feet of ocean. Antonia didn’t say a word as they traveled, nestled limply in his arms, which made him worry all the more.

  Skirting a pile of windblown wood he recognized as part of the Isla Hotel’s upper balcony, he made his way up the sodden slope until the roof of the bungalow came into view.

  The relief he felt at finding the structure intact and not submerged made him want to shout. Instead he pressed forward until they reached the front walk and Antonia wriggled out of his grasp.

  He found the floor covered by a good four inches of water. It hardly mattered. The tiny cottage had a roof and four walls and right now that was better than a fine palace.

  Inside, the bed frame was lapped by water, the bedding soaked. Sloshing in, he stripped off the wet blankets until the mattress was covered only by the plastic protector, which he silently thanked Paula for insisting on. “Climb aboard,” he said. He expected a funny remark or a hesitation, but he got none of those. She meekly climbed up on the mattress. There was no dry pillow to be found, but Antonia curled up on her side and closed her eyes.

  He went outside and shimmied open one set of storm shutters, allowing some sunlight to enter. They could now see out, which made him feel marginally better. Back inside he shoved the door closed but found the wood so swollen with water that it would not lock. After a full five minutes of scanning for any possible sign of Martin, he turned away from the window. Splashing quietly so as not to wake Antonia, he floundered into the kitchen. Everything in the lower cupboards was floating around the water-covered tile floor. There was nothing much to be salvaged. Some of the upper cupboards had been snatched open by the wind that had plowed in, but somehow one was left closed.

  He squeaked it open. Inside was a six-pack of pineapple juice. He resisted the urge to whoop for joy. Continued prowling produced a plastic jar of peanuts, which plunked against his shins as he waded around. With the seal still intact, the contents were neatly preserved. Though his mouth watered at the thought of food, he stacked the treasure on the kitchen counter and stripped the saturated cushions off of a wooden chair, setting it into position by the front window and climbing up, seating himself cross-legged to keep his feet out of the water. The only thing he could find to offer for protection besides the knife in its sheath on his belt was a broken chair rail, and he laid this across his lap. Though he meant to keep watch for the slightest sign of Martin’s approach, his gaze kept wandering to Antonia.

  Her dark lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and he hoped she was not dreaming about what had happened in the past few days. His thoughts drifted back to his brother for the first time since he’d left the lighthouse. His stomach clenched in anger. Though Reuben had tried to ignore the truth, Hector saw it clear as sunrise—Reuben had never stopped loving Antonia.

  Hector exploited that vulnerability in his brother to save his own skin. And what was the cost of his decision? Gavin wa
s shot. Reuben’s boats ruined. A sadistic gangster roved the ruins, determined to pursue them at any cost.

  In the distance he could just make out the broken outline of the Isla Marsopa Hotel, his mother’s dream, reduced to rubble. Suddenly none of it mattered, and he could not remember why he had fought so hard to keep things intact. Maybe it was the pride he felt, the aura of righteousness at holding together something of their mother’s. He’d gone through the motions, the money, the toil to try to save a building—a collection of wooden beams and nails, nothing more—when the one thing he’d wanted, craved, in fact, was to save his brother. How he’d prayed, how he’d scolded, reprimanded, pleaded and berated. For nothing.

  People don’t save people, do they, Lord? Salvation is Yours to give and Yours alone. Something like peace settled into his soul at that moment. He would love his brother until his dying breath, and he would pray that Hector would earnestly repent, but it was Hector’s choice to make and he would have to decide what kind of man he was going to be if they survived.

  Reuben’s choice, his only choice, was to ask God to intercede and keep Antonia alive.

  With one last look at her face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep, he clenched his hands in prayer.

  EIGHTEEN

  Antonia didn’t remember climbing up onto that mattress or falling asleep, but sunlight on her face awakened her what must have been several hours later. Her lashes felt gummy, her mouth dry, and for a moment she did not recall how she’d gotten to be napping on a stripped mattress with water sloshing gently around her. Rays of golden light peeked through the window where the storm shutter had been partially opened, dispelling some of the gloom in the bungalow.

  Reuben sat on a wooden chair, a piece of rail across his lap, staring out the window. Seeing him there brought a crush of emotions all at once. What did he see as he gazed out at what was left of Isla? Ruined dreams? The betrayal of a brother he’d trusted steadfastly? She could not read the expression on his face, but she thought it might have been sorrow, and the need to comfort blossomed in her heart, strong and solid. Before the hurricane she would have ignored the feeling. Now, it seemed, the hurricane had stripped away some of the hardness that calloused her, but she did not know quite how to act on the strange feelings. “Still raining?”