Survival Instinct Read online

“No,” Abby hissed into Scott’s shirt. “Please, Lord, don’t let him get away.” She lay motionless, still not daring to move, as she listened to the crunch of tires on gravel on the road above her. The sirens grew louder, violently loud as the emergency vehicle came up the narrow driveway. The vehicle skidded to a stop, its red and blue lights piercing the woods, and Abby could picture it blocking the road, preventing Mitch’s escape.

  Then she heard a flurry of crackling leaves above her a half second before a loud voice shouted, “Sheriff, freeze!”

  After that, everything happened quickly. Scott jumped up and scrambled past her. She shouted at him to stay down, but he ran after the retreating figure who was half running, half sliding through the steep stand of woods that clung tenaciously to the side of the bluff. At the same time, she heard two shots fired above her, and more crunching leaves as another figure darted past. She huddled in the darkness and prayed for Scott’s safety as harsh men’s voices echoed off the brownstone and gave way to the sounds of their struggle.

  Scott’s voice. She heard Scott’s voice, sounding strained and winded, but determined as he insisted, “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Cautiously, she raised her head and peeked in the direction of Scott’s voice. Headlight beams shot through the darkness at discordant angles, dancing with the lights of the sheriff’s vehicle and the steam that rose from the rotting leaves to meet the sleet in the air. Then out of the darkness and fog she saw three figures step into the light. Sheriff Jacobsen and Scott, with Mitch between them.

  Much as she wanted to run to Scott and throw her arms around him, grateful he was unharmed, she held back, reluctant to risk doing anything that might give Mitch an opportunity to escape. Scott and the sheriff were having a tricky enough time picking their way up the steep, slippery incline while restraining Mitch, whose wrists were shackled behind him.

  Abby found her way up through the slick leaves and reached the brownstone ledge just as the sheriff shoved Mitch into the back of his patrol car and slammed the door. Scott’s voice carried through the eerily still night. “I don’t know. He’s my stepfather. My mother is missing-the Coast Guard has been searching for her out on Devil’s Island. He rammed into our cars.”

  Realizing Scott had no idea about the details of the conversation she’d overheard, Abby rushed forward. “Please,” she addressed Sheriff Jacobsen, “can you get in touch with the Coast Guard? Mitch knows where Scott’s mom is. I overheard him giving someone orders to take her back out to the island. He also said he’d cut Scott’s brakes.” She turned to Scott. “I came after you as soon as I found out.”

  Abby wanted more than anything to lean against Scott’s strong shoulders again, to feel the support of his sturdy arms around her, but when she looked up through the spitting sleet into his face, she saw the tension that knit his features and realized all his attention was focused on talking to the sheriff. Once again, she had to remind herself that, though she felt close to him after the day’s ordeals and from knowing him years before, they were still relative strangers. She had no right to turn to him for comfort, no matter how shaken she felt by the evening’s events.

  Sheriff Jacobsen listened while Scott explained, “We need more people working to find my mother. Someone obviously intends to harm her. Every minute counts.” His eyes flashed from the backseat window of the sheriff’s car, to Abby, then back to the sheriff again. “I don’t know who I can trust anymore. Please, step up the level of this investigation.”

  Sheriff Jacobsen nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” He got on his radio, and after some back-and-forth, explained, “A team from the Coast Guard is heading out here right now. They’ll need you two to wait and come in with them for questioning. They’re going to call in reinforcements to work the case. It seems they already have everyone on the Bayfield team doing everything they can to find your mother.”

  Abby knew the Coast Guard, with its greater resources and manpower, often operated in a law enforcement capacity on the mainland, especially when the islands were involved. The Bayfield village police force was simply too small. “Thank you.” She glanced back at Scott. He was staring at the back passenger window of the sheriff’s car, though the dark tint made it difficult to see inside.

  Scott turned to her, his eyes stormy. “What happened? I just left you twenty minutes ago.” His expression looked hard, almost accusatory.

  The exhaustion she’d been ignoring hit Abby like a wave, and she wanted to crumple into a ball and cry. Instead she tugged on Scott’s sleeve, pulled him off to the side, and explained. “I saw a red Escalade parked outside of Greunke’s, so I went inside. When the waitress told me where Mitch was sitting, I waited in a booth out of sight. While I was trying to sort out what to do next, I heard him on his phone. He sounded angry.” Abby tried hard to recall exactly what Mitch had said, and in what order. “Whoever he was talking to, he told them to take your mom back out to the island, but to wait for his signal, because you had to die first.”

  “And then what?”

  “That’s all. When I heard him say he’d cut your brakes, I knew I had to warn you. I got up and ran out of the restaurant so fast I knocked over a chair. Mitch heard me and came after me. That’s all I know.” She watched Scott’s face as she spoke. His brow furrowed, and she could see him struggling to come to terms with the implications of what she’d overheard. Then he turned to her and his face softened.

  “I’m sorry you got caught up in this.” He looked up the drive to her smashed car. “You’ve been through a lot on my family’s account, and it hasn’t been fair to you.”

  Abby met his eyes and saw the sincere regret there. The pit of her stomach felt guilty. Had all of her troubles been on account of some plot Mitch had cooked up to kill off Scott and his mother? No, her troubles had started with Trevor. Abby opened her mouth to speak, but before she could think of what to say, a Coast Guard truck pulled up.

  As if on cue, Trevor Price stepped out from the driver’s seat. He was the Coast Guard official who would be asking her questions? Abby’s stomach sank even further, then gave a hopeful leap when Tracie Crandall exited the passenger side of the vehicle. Though Abby didn’t know Tracie very well, she could be certain anyone else would give her a greater benefit of the doubt than Trevor.

  While Trevor spoke with Sheriff Jacobsen, Tracie approached Scott and Abby. “We’re going to take you guys back to the station,” she said, her expression guarded but faintly welcoming. “It’s late, you’ve got to be tired, and we’ve got a lot of questions to ask.” Then she grinned at them. “And we’ve got coffee there.”

  Abby beamed her appreciation. “Thank you.” She looked warily over at Trevor and the sheriff. “What about…”

  Tracie placed her hand on Abby’s arm. “Mitchell Adams is part of our investigation now. Trevor is going to go with Sheriff Jacobsen to take him in. You two can come back to the station with me. We’ve called in a team to check out Scott’s brakes and investigate the crash, so for right now, this driveway is a crime scene.” Her eyes followed the driveway up the hill. “Fortunately, I believe the snowbirds who live at this address have gone south for the winter, so they won’t mind us blocking their driveway.”

  Abby nodded and started back toward the truck, then remembered something very important. “The phone.” She turned to face Tracie. “We need to get Mitch’s cell phone. He was on the phone with the people who have Marilyn-his phone should have a record of the call.”

  “Of course,” Tracie agreed. “We’ll have a crew out here quickly, and they’ll check the vehicles for anything of importance. I’ll alert them to the significance of the phone. But for right now, I need you two to come back to headquarters with me so I can take your statements.”

  Abby repeated the one-sided conversation she’d overheard as close to verbatim as she could recall. Tracie went over her statement several times. To her understanding, Scott was in another room, giving his version of what had happened. And though she didn’t know i
f Scott would appreciate it, Abby went ahead and explained how his family’s land fit into the picture. She’d only promised to keep it a secret unless his life was in danger. In her opinion, they’d crossed that line. He might be furious with her afterward, but she’d prefer that to him ending up dead. The authorities needed to know what they were up against, or at least be aware of the possibilities.

  To her relief, though her story was slightly confused and certain parts were admittedly conjecture, Tracie seemed to think her theories about Mitch were plausible. More important, the other woman understood Abby’s insistence that Mitch be questioned as quickly as possible. Every moment they wasted put Marilyn’s life in greater danger.

  As Tracie had promised, the Coast Guard station had hot coffee. Abby sipped a little, mindful that she’d want to be able to fall asleep if she ever got the chance. With any luck, Mitch would tell them where they could find Marilyn, and they’d have her back before morning.

  “The good news,” Tracie concluded, after recording Abby’s thorough statement, “is that it sounds as though Marilyn is still alive, and possibly being held somewhere here on the mainland. If her kidnappers are waiting for a signal from Mitch before they act, then we just need to get information on her whereabouts from him before he gives them other instructions.”

  Abby agreed. “I just wish I knew what Mitch was referring to when he told them to wait for his signal. He may have been talking about waiting to take her back out to the island, but I don’t know. It almost sounded as though they were headed out there already, because Mitch was so insistent on making sure Scott died first. I think the signal was for them to kill Marilyn.”

  “In that case, we’ll have to get Mitch back here in a hurry and put the pressure on him to share what he knows. Marilyn’s life may be in imminent danger. I wonder if Trevor and Sheriff Jacobsen have brought him back yet.”

  As the two of them talked, Abby became increasingly aware of activity in the hallway and adjoining offices. Though she couldn’t make out any words, she heard raised voices, and several people hurried past with intent expressions on their faces. Finally Tracie stood.

  “I’m going to see what all the commotion is about.”

  Abby hovered in the doorway as the other woman approached a nearby Coast Guardsman.

  “What’s going on?” Tracie’s question carried down the hall.

  “They’re sending another team out to the scene,” the Coastie explained briefly.

  “To the scene of the accident?” Tracie clarified.

  “To the scene of the shooting.”

  “Shooting?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you hear? Trevor was bringing in a suspect. When he tried to escape, Trevor shot him. He’s dead.”

  At the Coast Guardsman’s explanation, Abby hurried forward. “Shot him? Mitchell Adams is dead?”

  “Yes, I believe that was the name of the deceased.”

  Even as the officer confirmed it, Abby looked down the hall and saw Scott standing in a doorway just beyond her. His expression was hollow. Abby wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him, but he stepped back inside the room and closed the door after him.

  Abby looked to Tracie. “Now it’s more important than ever that we get that phone. It may be the only link we have to Marilyn and her kidnappers.”

  Tracie nodded and turned to the Coastie they’d been speaking with. “Gary, have you heard anything about the cell phone Mitchell Adams had been using?”

  “Cell phone?” Gary looked thoughtful. “The sheriff was talking about that, too. Seems to me they couldn’t find it. Ben and Clint were part of that investigation. I’ll give them a call.”

  “Please do. Let me know right away what you find out.” Tracie led Abby back to the office where she’d taken her statement. “That phone can’t be lost,” she muttered.

  Abby felt a horrid sense of desperation. “He was on the phone at Greunke’s. At least, he was talking to somebody. Maybe I only assumed he was on the phone.” She looked up at Tracie. “We need to get back to Greunke’s and talk to the waitress. I never actually saw Mitch while I was there, but she did. Maybe he wasn’t on the phone. It could have been a radio, or someone could have been there in person, even though I only heard Mitch’s voice.”

  “Sounds like this waitress is the best lead we’ve got right now,” Tracie agreed and looked at her watch. “We’ve got five minutes before they close at midnight. We’d better hurry.”

  As the women stepped into the hallway, the door down the hall opened and Scott stepped out. “What are you up to?”

  “Tracie and I are going to go talk to the waitress at Greunke’s,” Abby explained quickly, taking in the frustrated tension that radiated off her friend. “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “I’m supposed to stick around to identify Mitch’s body when they bring him in.”

  “That won’t be for a while,” Tracie spoke up. “They’ll have to do a thorough evaluation of the scene. In the meantime, we have to hurry before this waitress leaves work. It won’t take long. Why don’t you come with us?”

  “You know, maybe I should,” Scott agreed.

  Once Tracie had notified the others that Scott would be leaving with them, Abby and Scott piled into the Coast Guard truck and Tracie drove them the few blocks to Greunke’s. Abby extended a tentative hand toward Scott.

  He took her hand and squeezed it, though his eyes continued to stare out the window at the spitting sleet.

  A moment later, they arrived at Greunke’s. Tracie pulled into the graveled parking lot, and they hopped out and hurried toward the front door, where the neon Open sign flickered and died.

  Tracie reached the door first, and pulled it open to reveal a startled Deb, keys in hand.

  “Sorry, folks, I was just locking up,” the waitress apologized.

  “Actually, Deb, we’d like to ask you a few questions about a man who was in here earlier,” Tracie explained.

  Abby stepped forward. “The man with the red Escalade, the one I asked you about when I was in here,” she clarified.

  “Oh, you mean the guy who ran out without paying?” Deb opened the door a little wider and stood back for them to come inside. “What do you want to know?”

  “First of all, can you show us where he was sitting?” Tracie asked.

  Deb led them through the restaurant to the farthest dining room. “Right here in this booth, facing this way,” Deb explained, showing them a neatly tidied booth. “He ordered the steak and eggs. Barney had to heat up the grill just for him, and then the guy didn’t eat half of it before he ran off without paying.”

  “I’m sorry. How much did he owe you?” Scott asked, pulling out his wallet. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Deb pulled a slip of paper from her apron and passed it to Scott.

  “Was anyone else with him?” Tracie pressed.

  With a pop of her bubble gum, Deb answered. “He came in with Tim Price, but Tim left before he ordered.”

  Fear jolted through Abby at Deb’s words. Tim Price was Trevor’s younger brother. How odd that Tim was the last person Mitch had talked to before his arrest, before Trevor killed him.

  “Did you overhear any of their conversation?” Tracie pressed.

  The waitress shook her head. “No. They were real quick about it.”

  “No one else talked to him?” Tracie clarified.

  “Not unless you count him talking on his cell phone. He got it out right after I gave him his menu. It looked to me like he tried to call somebody, but he must not have got hold of them, ’cause I no more than got back to rolling silverware than he bellered for me to come take his order. The phone sat right there.” Deb touched a spot on the tablecloth. “One of those real tiny new ones that cost so much. You’d think a guy who could afford a phone like that could afford to pay for his steak and eggs.”

  At the mention of the tab, Scott passed the woman a couple of larger bills. “Keep the change,” he murmured.

  Abby met his eyes. �
��He took out his phone when we were on the island, remember? Doesn’t that sound like the same phone?”

  “Sounds like it,” Scott agreed. “And it sounds like something Mitch would carry. He always overspent on the latest technology.”

  “Was that the only time you saw him use the phone?” Tracie asked.

  “Nah. A little later, after she came in-” Deb pointed to Abby “-I went into the kitchen to run a load of dishes.” Deb gestured to the kitchen door in plain sight just beyond the lunch counter. Through the window in the door, they had a clear view of the dishwashing equipment. “I saw him pick up his phone again. This time he musta got somebody, but it sure didn’t make him any happier. I watched him pretty careful on account of he looked like he might want to hurt somebody, you know? And anybody who hangs out with Tim Price…” She let the words hang in the air, full of suggestion, before she popped another bubble and continued. “And it was a good thing I watched him, ’cause the next thing I knew, he up and ran out. I lit out after him, but he tore off before I even got out the door. Didn’t figure a guy in his kinda shape could move that fast.”

  Tracie nodded as Deb gave her animated account. “Did you see what he did with his phone? He didn’t leave it here, did he?”

  Deb tipped her head back and laughed. “If he’d left me a fancy phone like that, I wouldn’t have been worried about the bill.”

  “Did he leave anything else behind?” Tracie pressed. “Receipts, scraps of paper, anything?”

  “Nope, and I clean up pretty carefully.”

  “Did he and Tim exchange anything?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  Just then, Tracie’s radio came to life. “Tracie, you out there?”

  Tracie radioed back in the affirmative.

  “Have you still got Scott with you?” A man’s voice crackled over the radio.

  “Yes,” Tracie spoke into the device. “Jim, we need to get somebody over to Tim Price’s place. Deb saw him with Mitch just before he chased Abby.”

  “I’ll get some guys right on it,” Jim agreed, then drew in a breath loud enough to carry over the radio. “I need you to take Scott on over to the mortuary. The coroner has the body ready for him to identify.”