Survival Instinct

by Rachelle Mccalla

  “Why not?” Though it seemed like a stretch that Mitch may have been involved, she felt the Coast Guard team should know about every possibility. Clearly someone didn’t want them leaving the island alive, and Mitch had both the motive and opportunity to make Marilyn disappear, though those facts alone didn’t make him guilty.

  “As I think about it, we really don’t have any evidence against him. And with Mom missing and the Coast Guard on the case, I doubt there’s anything more he could do at this point. I just don’t want to accuse him yet. I may not like the man, but he is my mother’s husband, and if I made an unwarranted accusation, Mom would be furious with me. My relationship with Mitch is strained enough as it is. If she knew I’d wrongly accused him of plotting her murder, I’m afraid she’d feel she had to take sides between us. I don’t want it to come to that.”

  Abby bent her head close to catch every word in the whipping wind. “Of course,” she agreed when he’d finished. “I won’t say a thing unless there’s immediate danger,” she promised.

  “I appreciate that.” Scott gave her shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “Here they come.” He pointed to the helicopter that had appeared out of the darkness. It looked like a fragile child’s toy against the immensity of the black night sky.

  Abby shivered, reminding herself of the many times she’d ridden in helicopters when she worked out on the islands. They were perfectly safe and a huge blessing when the rocks and waves made travel by boat too dangerous.

  Despite the distraction the helicopter presented, Abby couldn’t shake her concerns about Scott’s choice to leave the Coast Guard in the dark on his suspicions about Mitch. Scott was clearly falling back into his usual pattern of trying to shield his mother from anything too distressing. She hoped in this case his judgment was correct. There was every possibility his good intentions could be a fatal mistake-for his mother, and for both of them.

  As soon as the copter touched down, she and Scott rushed forward to the opening door and were helped aboard by a smiling young Coast Guard crewmember. Abby recognized the blonde woman from seeing her around Bayfield, though she didn’t know her name.

  “I’m Tracie Crandall,” the Coastie introduced herself and helped them get situated as the helicopter rose again and headed back to Devil’s Island. “I know you’ve got a lot of questions, so let me tell you what we’ve learned so far. In an initial check of the buildings on the island, we’ve found no sign of Marilyn, but that doesn’t rule out the possibility that we’ve missed her, or even overlooked a building. It’s been dark and stormy the whole time we’ve been looking, and that complicates things.

  “We were able to contact the accountant whose name you forwarded to us. He looked into her accounts and discovered the last charge to any of her credit cards was at the Seagull Bay Motel yesterday afternoon. That doesn’t mean the cards haven’t been used since then-the activity simply may not have been recorded yet. He’s going to stay on top of it and let us know if anything comes through.”

  Tracie took a deep breath. “Now, about this Captain Sal,” she said, watching their faces, “we can’t find any record of anyone by that name, nor of any boat called the Helene. Are you sure that’s what he went by?”

  “Yes,” both Abby and Scott agreed.

  “Well, then I’m going to need to get a description from you once we get on the ground. Here we are now. We’re going to land by the old keeper’s quarters.” She braced herself and the helicopter touched down.

  Once on the ground, Abby hurried with the others through the spitting rain to the structure, where the lights were on, though no one appeared to be inside. Abby assumed they were all out searching.

  “They’ve restored power,” Tracie explained. “We wouldn’t have known to bring the right tools if Burt hadn’t passed along your message about it being cut, though, so thank you. Fixing the radio will be more difficult, but we’ve brought out another unit.”

  While Tracie took their fingerprints, Abby and Scott did their best to describe everything they remembered about Captain Sal and his boat.

  “I thought from the sound of his accent he was probably local,” Abby admitted. “He had that Northern Wisconsin way of pronouncing things.”

  “The local dialect can be a pretty tough one to fake,” Tracie noted, “but it covers a pretty wide area. I’ve heard it as far west as North Dakota, and the Canadians have a very similar way of talking. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Yes,” Abby admitted. “And you’re right-I didn’t hear him talk enough to rule that out.” She wished she’d paid more attention on the boat, but she hadn’t known then it would be important.

  Scott had been watching out the window while the women talked. He spoke up. “I don’t know that I can recall anything more of importance, but I can tell you I’m itching to get out there and start looking. Do you mind if I poke around outside?”

  “Yes, but try to stay close until I get done with Abby’s prints,” Tracie requested. “Then the two of you can head out as a team. We don’t want anyone going too far alone. And keep an eye on the weather-this storm may well get worse again. Here’s a flashlight.”

  Scott accepted the high-powered torch with thanks and hurried out. Abby watched him go, then took advantage of his absence to inquire of Tracie about Mitch.

  “So, Tracie, did Mitch go back to Bayfield already?”

  “Yes.” The other woman methodically pressed another of Abby’s fingers against the sensor that would record her prints for computer analysis. “He’d been standing out in the rain and was in a hurry to get into some dry clothes. We assured him we’d let him know right away if we learned anything.”

  Abby nodded, cognizant of the promise she’d made to Scott about not suggesting anything incriminating about Mitch. “So where is he now?”

  Tracie pressed the last of Abby’s fingers to the sensor. “I suppose he headed back to his hotel. I don’t know. Is it important?”

  “It may be.”

  “Then let me find out.” Tracie finished and quickly got on the radio. “The guys who escorted him to Bayfield said he was headed back to the Seagull Bay Motel,” she explained.

  Abby had heard as much from the transmission. “How was he going to get there? Was he driving?”

  Tracie passed along the question, and the reply came back clearly.

  “He drove his own vehicle.”

  “Are you sure?” Abby scowled, thinking quickly. Marilyn had said her keys were in her purse, which she’d left aboard the Helene. They’d assumed Captain Sal would steal the vehicle. But if Captain Sal hadn’t stolen it, then why had he abandoned them on the island? Abby stepped closer to Tracie. “Can you ask them if they noticed what kind of vehicle?”

  Tracie nodded and forwarded the question.

  Once again, the answer transmitted clearly. “A red Escalade, the latest model.”

  SIX

  “I need to go find Scott,” Abby told Tracie, excusing herself quickly and heading toward the back door.

  “Take a flashlight,” Tracie reminded her.

  “Thanks,” Abby said, her mind mostly on getting to Scott and letting him know what she’d found out. Part of her wanted to tell Tracie what was up, but she doubted Scott would agree that the news warranted revealing their suspicions about Mitch. Still, it didn’t add up. If Captain Sal was nothing more than a petty crook, then why wouldn’t he take one of the most valuable pieces he’d managed to steal? If he’d only been in it for monetary gain, wouldn’t cutting the power and radio lines buy him enough time to drive the vehicle out of the area before anyone tracked him down?

  The rain had picked up while she’d been in the house, and Abby pulled her hood up, turning her whole upper body this way and that as she stood on the path and wondered which way Scott would have gone. He’d promised Tracie he wouldn’t go far. She headed down the path, trying to think of where Marilyn might have gone, which would then translate into where Scott would have headed out looking for her.

 
; The underbrush was tangled and thick beyond the small yard behind the house. Abby couldn’t imagine Scott heading out through the dense growth, much less Marilyn. But as she flashed her light into the woods to the left of the path, she saw the movement of a large, looming figure.

  “Scott?” she called out. The wind whipped her words away. The shape looked human, but Abby realized in the deceptive darkness she might be mistakenly trying to communicate with a bear.

  The figure advanced closer. He had Scott’s height and broad build-it wasn’t a bear, anyway. Abby stepped farther down the path toward him. “Scott?” She squinted into the rain, trying to decide. Between the darkness and everything else going on, her nerves were a little on edge. The figure came closer, though his gait didn’t seem like Scott’s, and he looked to be more widely built. Still, there was something familiar about him.

  The mysterious figure stepped toward her, and Abby felt a cold jolt of fear as she recognized him.

  “Hey, Abby.” Trevor’s words were casual, but his tone held a menacing bite.

  “Trevor.” Abby would have preferred to meet a bear. She tried to look behind her, wondering how far she’d gone from the house. Her hood blocked her view. She decided to act casual while she began to inch backward. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Search and Rescue,” her former fiancé said, drawing himself even taller until he loomed over her, and puffing out the Coast Guard symbol on his parka.

  Abby recalled that Trevor was part of the Coast Guard, though for a long time he’d been stationed far from Bayfield. Apparently he was now part of the local team.

  “Find anything?” Abby asked, carefully backing down the path. She didn’t want to draw attention to her retreat, but she was mindful of Scott’s warning not to allow herself to be alone with Trevor. His caution made sense-especially now when she was in Trevor’s threatening presence. Once she gave Trevor the ring, she’d be of no more use to him. Would he leave her alone then-or choose to get rid of her for good?

  “Not yet. Not much here to find. What about you? Did you find that diamond ring I gave you?” His heavy eyebrows shaded his eyes, cloaking them in blackness.

  Abby looked behind her. It was still a good hundred feet to the house. She slid her hand under her parka, reaching for the ring. She wondered if she dared hand it to him and then attempt to run away. Would she have time? “Trevor, there’s a woman missing and this storm seems to be getting worse. It’s hardly the time to be concerned about an old piece of jewelry.” Her fingers dug against the thick fabric, which had shrunken slightly when Edna had baked her pants in the dryer, making it that much more difficult for her to reach the ring.

  “Proper etiquette says that if an engagement doesn’t work out, the woman should return the ring.” Trevor stepped closer to her.

  “Proper etiquette?” Abby repeated incredulously, as the tip of one numb finger brushed against the ring, pushing it farther into her pocket. She took another step backward and tried to reach deeper for the ring. Her mind spun as she tried to keep Trevor at bay with words. “What does etiquette have to say about a guy who cheats on his fiancée? Does he still get his ring back? What if he cheats twice?” Abby had never nailed down just how unfaithful Trevor had been. By the time she’d heard the rumors, he’d apparently determined himself to be exempt from the restraints of faithfulness.

  Her words clearly irritated the large Coast Guardsman. “Abby, you’d better find the ring. I don’t have time for your petty jealousy.” He moved closer, close enough he could reach out and grab her if he tried. She didn’t want to think what he might do if he got hold of her.

  “My petty jealousy?” Abby tried to inch backward, but between her hood and the darkness, she couldn’t see anything behind her. “You’re the one who’s drudging up ancient history in the middle of a Search and Rescue. In case you’ve forgotten, Marilyn Adams is lost. Her life may be in danger, and every minute counts in our search. And you want to stand around and yak about some old piece of jewelry?” She couldn’t reach the ring. It had disappeared past a crease in the stiff denim, and she could have sobbed with fear and frustration.

  “Testy, testy,” Trevor clucked, shaking his head in a pitying fashion as he continued to move toward her. “Abby, you’ve really got to learn to control your temper if you’re ever going to find a guy willing to put up with you. Most men aren’t interested in your unstable little dramas.” He stepped forward again. “Most guys don’t like being manipulated into proposing.”

  He was close, far too close, and Abby recognized the expression on his face. It almost looked concerned. It almost appeared caring, but it was everything but. When it came to manipulation, Trevor was a master. It had taken Abby far too long to realize he couldn’t be trusted. She had to get away from him. Though she couldn’t see anything behind her, she stepped backward in faith-and slammed into something hard.

  An arm came around her, pulling her back, pulling her tight against a muscular chest.

  Abby’s heart stood still.

  “Is there a problem?” Scott’s voice met her ears.

  Abby sagged ever-so-slightly against him. She was so relieved to have him there, but at the same time, she realized he must have heard all the nasty things Trevor had said about her. Her heart sank. How could she even begin to explain away Trevor’s accusations?

  “No problem, unless you consider Abby’s refusal to cooperate with the Search and Rescue to be a problem.”

  Abby’s spine stiffened. Trevor had sunk to a new low.

  But Scott didn’t budge, didn’t question her. Instead he stared down Trevor. “Abby has already cooperated far beyond what you have any right to ask,” Scott retorted, his arm pulling her more snugly against him, comforting and protective. “If your mission succeeds, it will be because of her contributions.”

  “Whatever.” Trevor turned away. “I’ve got a body to find.” He stomped off into the woods.

  “I’m sorry,” Abby apologized, cringing at Trevor’s use of the word body. She hadn’t yet allowed herself to consider the possibility that Marilyn might already be dead. “He’s completely inappropriate, completely irresponsible…” Her voice faded as Scott lifted her chin gently until she looked into his eyes.

  “Trevor Price has always been a total jerk,” Scott stated bluntly. “I’m just sorry you had to put up with him as long as you did.”

  Abby clamped her eyes shut. Scott’s words were comforting, but she had to tell him the whole story. “Trevor Price is my old fiancé. He’s the one who gave me the ring.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m so sorry.”

  At the look of pain that crossed Abby’s face, Scott wished he had time to explain his own history with Trevor Price, but there wasn’t time. They’d found no sign of his mother, and the weather was getting worse. “Come on, let’s look this way.”

  “But Trevor just went that way.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t trust him. So let’s not let him get too far ahead.” Scott stepped resolutely down the path.

  “Wait, Scott.” Abby’s hold on his arm tightened. “There’s something you need to know.”

  Sensing what she was going to say, Scott stopped her. “Abby, I know Trevor just said a lot of libelous things about you. I heard him, but I don’t care about that right now. After we find my mom, you and I can sit down and straighten all that stuff out. But right now I just want to find my mother.”

  “It’s not about that.” Abby’s voice wavered, and Scott sensed for the first time that evening that her patience was beginning to wear thin. “It’s about Mitch. I asked Tracie where he was, and she talked to the guys who took him back to Bayfield. Scott, he drove himself back to the hotel in a red Escalade-the latest model. Doesn’t that match the description of your mother’s car?”

  Scott blinked away the rain that kept finding its way under his hood. So Sal hadn’t taken the car, then. Hadn’t he gone back to Bayfield? If he had, why hadn’t he taken one of the most valuable items he’d managed to
steal?

  A shifting flash of light in the darkness made him spin and look-just as an apparition appeared. “What was that?” he asked, taking a tentative step closer to where he’d seen the movement.

  “Blowhole.” Abby raised her voice to be heard over the storm. “When the water gets rough like this, the waves hit the sea caves hard enough they actually blow spray up through fissures in the rocks. Watch. You’ll probably see another one.”

  Sure enough, as the two stood looking, another blast of white appeared where Scott had seen the first one. He shuddered. “That’s creepy,” he shouted against the wind.

  “I know. I think that’s why the Chippewa called this place Evil Spirit Island-because the blowholes look like evil spirits dancing in the storm.” As Abby spoke, Scott had to lean close to her face to hear, or else the wind would have whipped her words away.

  “That’s where the name Devil’s Island comes from?” Scott clarified.

  “Exactly. Sounds innocent enough, doesn’t it? Although I’ve still never liked the place. There’s just something about it…something evil.” They’d stopped moving again, the furious storm hampering their progress.

  Scott huddled so close to Abby their hoods formed an intimate protected space. “Well, if Burt’s story about pirates is true, I’m sure plenty of ungodly activities occurred in this place.”

  “It’s hard to imagine anyone getting a decent-size boat in under this island. I’ve been through some of the caves in a kayak. They’re natural formations, never intended to be navigated by boat. How the pirates could have used them as shelter, I can’t imagine.” Abby’s breath felt warm on his chin, and Scott could just make out the faint scent of cinnamon and apples on her breath.

  “Burt seemed pretty confident the old stories were true,” Scott reminded her, his own imagination sparked by the possibilities and the presence of the blowholes. “What if there was a hollow space under the island? Or what if it wasn’t even that big-just big enough for a person to hide-or fall into.” He let his forehead touch Abby’s temple. He told himself he was getting close to her so she could hear him, but on a certain level, he was aware of the comfort that small contact brought him. “What if my mother went inland seeking shelter, got lost in the rain and slid into a blowhole? She could be stuck in there, unable to get out, and we wouldn’t know it until we got close enough to hear her cries for help.”