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

by Lynette Eason

  They found the remnants of the rope, still knotted tightly around a sturdy tree trunk. Martin fingered the edge, which had been severed not by the power of the storm, but cut neatly with the aid of a knife.

  Antonia stared at the cut rope. “Leland took the boat.”

  “No, that ain’t what happened.”

  “Yes, it is,” she argued. “He sent you out to find Reuben and me, and he took the skimmer and left. Left you behind.”

  “No,” Martin barked. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Oh, yes, he would,” she breathed. “He decided things were too out of control here and he took off.”

  “It wasn’t Leland,” he snapped.

  “Who then?” she demanded. “Couldn’t have been me and you.” She choked on the words. “You stabbed Reuben.”

  “The old man, then, or the cop. Maybe Hector.”

  “Silvio wouldn’t leave his wife, and the cop has a bullet in his shoulder. He could hardly manage a boat by himself. Hector wouldn’t leave his brother here to die.” She was not sure it was true, but Martin’s agitation was growing.

  “Shut up,” he said, grabbing her with both arms and shaking her until her head whipped back and forth. “He wouldn’t leave me here to take the fall.”

  “Oh, yes, he would and you know it.” She felt reckless, filled with a power she had no right to. “He could leave the country or go back to Garza and convince him it was all your idea to change the plan.”

  “Leland ain’t gonna go and do something like that.”

  “Oh?” She spoke the next words softly, drilling them into him. “Why not? Life’s too short to worry about morals.” She thought she’d gone too far as his hands went for her throat. Instead he seized her arm again in a crushing grip.

  “We’re going to the boathouse. He’ll be there.”

  And if he was? She knew she was playing a dangerous game, and if she lost, her life, and Reuben’s, would be forfeit.

  *

  Reuben was thrashed by the water, bumped and banged along by the creek until he somehow got a grip on a gnarled tree that protruded from the bank. His ribs burned, but he could not devote any energy into inspecting the wound. It took all his strength to wrap his arms and one leg around the root.

  The bark was slippery as he tried to tug himself onto the tree, the rumbling water threatening to detach him at any moment. Agony lanced through his side as he fought. Martin would kill Antonia, or Leland would. The thought drove him to clench his cold fingers into claws that gripped the rough wood. He managed to pull himself clear of the water and he hung there now, like a bear cub stranded in a tree, panting and dripping, breath heaving and muscles screaming their displeasure.

  He wanted to shimmy along to the bank. His body demanded oxygen instead so he hung there, staring upside down into the water, which seemed to be waiting for him to drop. After a full minute devoted just to breathing, he continued his awkward shimmy along the root, feeling the wood give and bend under his weight.

  Another couple of feet and he would be close enough to try to grapple his way to shore. He kept his mind on Antonia, picturing her face. Though he was neither a painter nor a poet, his memory could render every detail—the silky strands of hair that she was apt to twist between fingers most always stained with paint, the radiant smile, the eyes that saw so much more than he ever could. Quick wit, quick temper, fast to find joy and first to embrace it. He brought up a memory of her laughing, the big belly guffaw that seemed incongruent with her slender body.

  As he moved hand over hand, he replayed the sweetest images he’d filed away in his memory. Antonia swimming through a crystal sea. Antonia laughing as she inhaled the heady scent of the orange blossoms in his orchard. And yes, the moment when she’d walked away from him for the last time. Then, she had held up her chin, strength shining in her face, her lips trembling slightly. She loved him, but she would not turn her back on her sister or her niece for anyone, not even him. Maybe it was that moment, he thought, as he watched the water spin crazily underneath him, that he learned what a truly fine woman she was.

  He felt the ominous snap, but there was nowhere to grab as the tree gave way and he was plunged again into the water. Landing on his back drove the breath out of him, and he struggled to right himself, breaking the surface and sucking in a mouthful of water in the process. He was being spun in circles, thrown up and down as he whirled along, unable to manage even one handhold on anything solid.

  As it raced to empty itself into the sea, the creek hurtled through the trees so fast his vision blurred. He was weakening, teeth chattering, chin barely above the waterline, legs struggling to kick, arms no longer able to seek rescue. Helplessly, he felt himself being swept toward the lagoon. Perhaps there, in the slower water, in the sheltering arms of the lagoon that was a cradle for myriad creatures, he would also find refuge and a place to regroup.

  If he could make it that far.

  Ahead a curve of debris had collected in the creek, broken beams from Isla, sodden heaps of plaster and even a plastic cooler that had blown in from somewhere. It had all congealed into an unsightly pile that jutted out into the water. His heart leaped as he tried to gut his way through the waves toward the mass. His side was on fire, and he raked the pounding water until he managed to crook an elbow around a protruding two-by-four.

  Choking and sputtering, he eased over the shifting debris, praying it would not break apart and deliver him into the mercy of the creek once again. Pieces of plaster shook loose under his feet, but the lattice of junk held firm until he heaved himself halfway out of the water. Clutching at the mud and straining forward, he found himself lying face down on the bank.

  Thank You. It was all he could muster. He laid there heaving and coughing until he found the strength to roll over, the canopy of trees swimming in front of his eyes. Had he made it to the lagoon? Judging from the foliage he had not. The question became would he be able to manage it?

  He reached a sitting position, though it cost him severe pain, and then rolled over onto his knees to try and lever himself into a stand. His gasping breaths were so noisy that he didn’t hear anyone approach until a weathered hand was thrust into his face.

  “Help ya up?” Silvio said.

  Reuben goggled incredulously up at the man. “Silvio?”

  “Who else would it be tramping around this place lookin’ for you?” Silvio knelt next to Reuben and peered into his face, pale eyes scanning Reuben’s shirtfront. “Someone got ya?”

  “Martin. Didn’t see the knife coming.”

  Silvio grunted. “Too slow. That’s why you were never a good boxer.”

  “As I keep telling anyone who will listen, I’m a farmer, not a fighter.”

  Silvio chuckled as he hooked an arm under Reuben’s shoulder. “Maybe not. Pretty good fight to get yerself out of the water.”

  Reuben could not hold in a groan of pain as Silvio raised him up.

  “Come on,” Silvio said. “Over here.”

  “Where’s Paula?” Reuben grunted.

  “You’ll see soon enough. Be quiet and keep walkin’. I’m not too keen on having to carry you.”

  Reuben focused on walking, step by painful step, along the riverbank. Several times he had to stop, leaning against Silvio and struggling to stem the dizziness in his head. It seemed like miles before they came to the place where the river dumped itself into one of the lagoon channels, but it was likely no more than fifteen minutes’ distance.

  They stopped there and Reuben bent over, gasping for breath. When his head cleared enough for him to straighten again, he blinked at the unbelievable vision before him. It was the skimmer, bobbing gently on the waves, Paula perched inside, Charley the cat on her lap.

  She shot to her feet, nearly falling in her haste to get to him, and Silvio handed her out of the boat.

  Paula stopped abruptly in her dash toward him when she saw the blood that stained his shirtfront. Putting the cat down, she approached more slowly. “Come sit in the sk
immer. There’s a first-aid kit there.”

  With Silvio on one side and Paula on the other, Reuben was shuttled into the boat.

  “How…?” he started.

  Silvio shrugged. “Storm passed. We got tired of waiting for you or the bad guys to arrive. Went looking and found the skimmer. Decided we had better use for it than Leland.”

  Reuben grunted in pain when Paula peeled away the shirt from his side. “You should have gone for the mainland,” he rasped.

  “Not leaving you here. Or Antonia,” he said. “Been trying to call the police, but my phone’s out of juice.”

  Through gritted teeth Reuben fought the waves of burning pain as Paula swabbed the wound with an antiseptic wipe. “So we’re still on our own.”

  “Looks that way.” Silvio’s gaze traveled over the storm-swollen lagoon. “What’s the plan?”

  “Find Antonia,” he said.

  Silvio raised an eyebrow. “Not much of a plan.”

  It’s all that matters.

  TWENTY

  Antonia kept as slow a pace as she could. Martin was clearly preoccupied, shoving her along. It was a difficult walk, sometimes nearly a swim as they encountered lowlying areas under several feet of water. She tried to keep her mind from imagining what was waiting for her at the boathouse, but scenarios kept scrolling through her mind anyway. Maybe Gavin had taken control, but Gavin’s chances against Leland weren’t very good, especially when he had Hector to worry about, too. It struck her then that Gavin was a very brave man indeed to continue his mission in the face of impossible odds. Far safer to hide out, hunker down and wait for rescue.

  Her ears kept playing tricks on her. Had she heard the sound of Reuben’s footsteps behind them? The engine noise from an incoming chopper? Nerves tingling, she forced herself to keep the panic at bay. Just keep walking. Wait for an opportunity. Wait, wait, wait.

  Still her mind would not slow. If she died there, if they all did, who would tell Mia? Hector might somehow escape, and he would find her and Gracie. Your sister drowned on the island, Hector would say. So tragic. Martin was right; no one would be left alive to tell the story.

  But would Hector really allow his brother to be murdered? This same man who had helped drag her to shore? She was not sure, even after all that had transpired, what nestled deep in Hector’s soul, under the greed and hunger for power.

  Maybe you should worry about your own soul. The ocean rolled calmly against the shore, soothing and regular now that the angry storm had departed. A life jacket bobbed in the water, dipping and swirling on the waves. Ironic. What she would have given for a life jacket when Leland left her in the ocean. Salt water stung the cuts on her feet and with the pain came a heavy weight of guilt. Too much of her past few years had been steeped in judgment, in hatred and condemnation. If she had been given only twenty-seven years to live, surely the Lord had not meant for her to waste one moment, let alone month upon month mired down in those emotions? Forgive me, Lord. Forgive.

  She recalled the look of pain on Reuben’s face when he toppled backward into the river. His eyes had not been on his own wound, but on her face, as if he wanted his last sight on this earth to be of her. She’d been wrong to nurse the anger, to stoke the fire of her hurts that crippled her spirit. Every moment wasted in anger was an affront to the One who’d given her life. Too late, the wind seemed to whisper.

  Tears threatened and she swallowed hard. “He’s okay,” she muttered savagely. “He’s got to be okay.” They skirted another flooded section of trail and pushed instead through the sea grass and down into the sandy sweep of ground that was soggy but passable. Great mountains of kelp had been disgorged on the shore and the seabirds were making use of the opportunity to scavenge for fish forced into the shallower water. Wreckage dotted the sand, piled into strange sculptures. She stumbled over a partially covered pipe. While down on one knee she palmed a scoop full of sand and put it in her pocket. Sand against the enemy? Well, David used a handful of rocks, didn’t he?

  Martin stopped at the approach to the boathouse, pulling her into the trees as he scoped out the structure. There had been some damage, she noted. The roof was partially ripped off the top story, but the upper level was still intact. The lower story housed the three gaps where boats would be secured, and they appeared to be empty. As far as that went, there were no signs of life or movement from the boathouse whatsoever. The stillness pricked up the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.

  “See?” she said. “No skimmer. It’s gone. He’s gone and left you here.”

  “Shut up,” he said.

  They crouched there until her knees began to ache, the mosquitos buzzing down to feed on her tired flesh. Reuben always joked that when the world was destroyed, mosquitos would be the last living creatures standing. She shoved down the wave of tenderness and grief the memory churned up. She fingered the sand in her pocket, but he was so close, an eyeful of grit would only stop him for a minute, maybe less.

  “There,” Martin cried, stabbing a finger at the remnants of a rickety dock some fifty yards from the boathouse. “The skimmer’s tied there neat as you please. Leland’s still here.”

  Antonia did not know what to make of it, or how to use the information to her advantage. “Why is it tied there instead of the boathouse?”

  Martin shook his head. “Dunno. I’m going to check it out. You stay here.”

  Her stomach tensed. Now was her opportunity. Martin took a few cautious steps toward the dock. She readied herself to run as fast as she could manage into the trees. One more step. As soon as he took one more step away she’d take off.

  He stopped as if he’d suddenly changed his mind. Her stomach dropped as he returned to her and dragged her close to a tree, yanking her arms around it and fastening her wrists together with his belt. “Just in case you get any ideas, honey,” he said, so close she could feel his sour breath on her face.

  “I won’t…” she started to plead, but he wasn’t listening. Tightening the belt, he returned to his wary approach toward the skimmer.

  She yanked at the bonds, succeeding only in bringing a shower of water from the wet leaves down on her head. The tree was fairly smooth, but she started sawing her wrists back and forth against it anyway, hoping the bark would begin to wear away the strap of the belt. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Martin approaching the dock. She did not know nor did she care how that skimmer came to be tied on that weathered strip of wood, but she knew she only had a few moments before he checked it out and returned.

  “Come on, come on,” she whispered impatiently, feeling the belt scratching into her wrists.

  Martin made it onto the planked walkway, past tall patches of oat grass. The skimmer was tied to the end, bobbing gently in the calm water. One spot of the belt wore away. Breath exploding, Antonia worked even harder, feeling her palms grow slippery with blood from her chafed wrists. A moment more. She needed only a fraction of a minute of sustained effort to free herself.

  Martin drew even with the skimmer, peering down into the vessel. “There’s blood in here,” she thought he said.

  Blood? Maybe she’d misheard over the rolling waves. She sawed harder at the restraint, her nerves burning.

  He pulled at something she could not make out.

  “Radio’s still busted,” he yowled. “Lying little…”

  She pulled as hard as she could and felt the belt giving slightly.

  Martin looked over and his eyes widened. He moved to step over the edge of the boat and back onto the dock.

  Something erupted from below in a shower of water. As she struggled to make out what was happening, she felt a hand grasp her shoulder, the fingers long and cold.

  *

  Reuben used every bit of momentum he could muster as he exploded from the water and yanked Martin downward. Caught completely off guard, the man went over face-first into the shallows. The impact of the body slamming into the surface nearly took Reuben off his feet. It wasn’t a planned effort, and
he hadn’t time to consider all the variables. After they’d caught sight of Martin leading Antonia toward the boathouse, they’d just made it in time to secure the boat to the dock and hide before he arrived. He’d hoped Martin would bring Antonia with him to investigate, but he’d tied her up instead. Tied her like an animal. He’d pay for that choice, Reuben had decided.

  Catching Martin completely by surprise should have been the end of it. Get him bound and out of the picture quickly, but each movement sent ripples of pain through Reuben’s side as he struggled to get his arms around Martin’s neck. Martin had weathered the storm better, and his strength seemed undiminished as he fought back, flailing punches at Reuben, who dodged as best he could.

  Salt water stung his eyes as Martin landed a punch that caught Reuben in the ribs. The pain blurred his vision and left him unable to suck in a breath. He stumbled backward and nearly went down.

  “Shoulda shot you when I had the chance,” Martin grunted.

  Reuben kept his footing and somehow got his fists up again, fighting through the red wall of pain. “Guess so,” Reuben managed. Think it through, Reuben. You’re not stronger than he is. You have to be smarter. He waited, like Hector had taught him, until the split second after Martin drew back a fraction, telegraphing his intentions. He was going to go for a punishing low swing, probably seeking Reuben’s injury again. At the last moment after the blow was launched, Reuben jerked to the side and swept his foot out in a wide arc, knocking Martin’s feet out from under him and letting his momentum carry him to the water.

  Just as Martin struggled to his feet again, Silvio emerged, oar in hand, and brought it down on the man’s skull, the thwack sounding dull and flat. Martin crumpled forward into the water, unconscious. Limbs heavy with fatigue, Reuben flipped him onto his back to keep him from drowning. He looked up at Silvio, panting.

  “You could have used the oar a little earlier.”

  Silvio shrugged. “You were doin’ okay, and I had to make sure Paula was hidden.”

  Reuben moved slowly toward the bank, where Silvio dragged Martin out of the water and rolled him none too gently into the shrubs. “He’s gonna wake up a couple of pints short of blood due to the mosquitos.” Silvio smiled. “Unless his blood is too foul even for them.”