Survival Instinct Page 9

  “In this wind, you wouldn’t hear her cries unless you were almost on top of her.”

  “So it’s a possibility, isn’t it? We need to consider all the possibilities.”

  “True.” Abby sounded reluctant to accept his theory. A furious gust of wind hit them, pelting them with even heavier rain. “Maybe somebody knows more about where the blowholes are located. But for now, we should get back to the keeper’s quarters. This storm is getting worse.”

  Scott cast one last look around the dark woods. He had no idea where Trevor had slunk off to. “I suppose you’re right. Let’s head back.”

  Tracie waved them over as soon as they stepped into the house. “You two need to get on that copter while we’re still able to get you back to Bayfield. This storm is beginning to look ugly. Most of us are heading in.”

  Scott wanted to protest, to insist on staying to look for his mother, but he knew visibility was next to nothing, making the island a dangerous place for all of them, especially if the storm was getting worse. Reluctantly, he acknowledged the best thing they could do for his mom at this point was get a decent night’s sleep and try again in the morning. Still, he felt his heart break as the copter lifted off the ground. He gripped Abby’s uninjured hand tightly while he prayed silently for his mother’s safety.

  Scott checked his watch. It was just after ten o’clock. There had been a time during his college days when staying out much later on a Saturday wouldn’t have fazed him. Now he felt his exhaustion to his bones, as well as a nagging headache from the wind. But much as his body wanted to turn in for the night, in his heart he knew he needed to find Mitch and sort things out. It bothered him that Mitch hadn’t stuck around to help find his mother. But more than that, Scott felt troubled by the nagging possibility that Mitch might have engineered their abandonment as part of an elaborate scheme to cover up their murder so he could inherit the family land. Though it seemed like a stretch, he had to consider the possibility.

  He turned to Abby, but noticed she was already nodding off. She needed her sleep. He kept silent until they landed at the Coast Guard station in Bayfield, then nudged her awake and draped a supportive arm around her shoulders as they made their way to their cars.

  It was only a couple of blocks from the Coast Guard landing pad to the parking lot nearest the pier. Streetlights illuminated an upscale neighborhood of lakeside condominiums and tidy landscaping. Though the wind blew hard and the rain continued to spit, the weather was much tamer on the mainland, insulated by the buffer of the islands, than it had been twenty miles out to sea on Devil’s Island.

  They reached her car first. “So, what’s your plan?” she asked as she unlocked her door.

  “I thought I might head down to the Seagull Bay and see what Mitch is up to.”

  “Mind if I come with you?”

  “I was kind of hoping you’d offer.”

  “Hop in. I’ll drive.”

  There was no sign of an Escalade in the motel parking lot. “Stop at the office,” Scott suggested. “It’s possible he’s checked out.” He didn’t want to think what that would mean. If Mitch left town while his mother was still missing, Scott would no longer be able to disregard him as a suspect.

  Abby pulled her car to a stop and accompanied Scott into the small office where an older couple sat in easy chairs in front of a small television. The woman worked on a needlework project on her lap. They both looked up when Scott and Abby entered.

  “You folks need a room?” the man asked.

  “Actually, I’m looking for my stepdad, Mitchell Adams. He and my mother were staying at your motel and I’d like to get in touch with him, but I don’t see their vehicle.”

  “To my knowledge they haven’t checked out.” The man looked to his wife.

  The older woman spoke up. “No, but I think I saw him drive past ten minutes ago or so. Don’t they drive one of those big fancy SUVs?”

  “Yes,” Scott confirmed.

  “That’s right,” the woman affirmed, turning her attention back to her needlework. “Saw him drive by not ten minutes ago. Don’t know which way he headed, but he’s paid up for the night and still has his key, so I expect he’ll be back. Care to leave a message?”

  “No, thank you, that won’t be necessary.” Scott waved and followed Abby back into the night. “Well,” he began once they were in her car, “you’re the local expert. Mitch comes back from the island, he’s hungry, where would he go? What’s open at this hour?”

  “Not much.” Abby drove back to the parking lot where they’d left his car. “A couple of restaurants maybe, but now that the tourist season is over, it gets to be slim pickings, even on the weekends. Bayfield only has about six hundred residents in the off-season. He might have headed down the road to Washburn. It’s a bigger town-there’d be more open at this hour. Want to split up and look for him?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Scott agreed. “Since you know the town, you can check out the local hangouts. I’ll head down the highway and see if I can catch up to him. Let’s make sure we have each other’s phone numbers so we can stay in touch.” He pointed to his car in the parking lot, and Abby came to a stop in the empty parking space beside it.

  They put each other’s cell numbers on speed dial, and then Scott reached for her hand. “Before we go, let’s pray. I think we could use some guidance.”

  Abby kept her eyes closed tight while Scott prayed. She felt convinced the next step was to find Mitch. Whether he was somehow behind Marilyn’s disappearance or simply a witness to it, he’d have information that could help them. She silently gave her concerns to God while Scott spoke reassuring words.

  Scott closed the prayer with an emphatic amen and headed to his car. “Call me if you learn anything,” he insisted.

  “You, too,” she called back, then pulled quickly away. There weren’t many places Mitch was likely to be, but it would take a while to check them all. She didn’t want to waste any more time.

  Abby turned out of the parking lot onto Rittenhouse Avenue. One block later, she spotted a huge red SUV in the parking lot of Greunke’s, the tavern that had been a landmark in Bayfield for longer than the port had been a town. Thanking God for his provision, Abby pulled into the parking lot and left her car in the shadow of the Escalade.

  For a fleeting moment she thought about calling Scott. But no, she’d already seen how poorly Mitch and Scott communicated with one another. Scott would raise Mitch’s hackles before they’d have a chance to learn anything. She hoped to get on his good side. If that failed to yield any information, she could always call Scott later.

  Abby entered the restaurant quietly. Given the late hour and the off-season, the usually packed restaurant appeared to be empty. Abby crept in as stealthily as she dared, approaching the first empty table before the long lunch counter that ran the length of the main room. Off to her right, smaller dining rooms branched off, their doorways just beyond her. She recognized the waitress, a woman named Deb, who was stacking malt glasses just behind the lunch counter. When Deb looked up from her glasses, Abby made eye contact with her and motioned for the waitress to join her.

  Deb nonchalantly left her malt glasses and met Abby by the entryway. Abby held one finger to her lips as the woman approached. “I’m looking for the man whose SUV is parked out front,” Abby whispered once the waitress was close enough to hear. “But I don’t want him to see me.”

  Deb smiled and blew a bubble with her gum. When it popped, she said quietly, “He’s in the far dining room, but he’s facing this way. If you go in there, he’ll see you.”

  “Mind if I sit in that booth?” Abby pointed to the spot just before the wide doorway of the far dining room.

  “No problem. You want to order something?”

  After a day of fasting on Devil’s Island, Abby’s stomach grumbled at the thought of food, but since she didn’t know what her plans were, she reluctantly shook her head. “I’ll still leave you a tip, though.”

  “Don’t worr
y about it,” Deb replied, then went back to the malt glasses.

  With a deep breath and another internal prayer for guidance, Abby settled into the booth and considered how best to approach Mitch. Shifting her weight as she sat on the bench, Abby felt a prickle from the earrings in her back pocket. Perhaps that would be her excuse for talking to him-she could approach him on the pretext of returning Marilyn’s earrings. From there, perhaps they could strike up a conversation. She saw Deb disappear into the kitchen.

  Now was her chance to speak to him privately. Abby stood, ready to exit her booth and approach Mitch, when she heard him speak.

  “Yeah, it’s Mitch. Where are you guys?”

  There was a pause, and Abby’s heart began to beat rapidly. Was he on the phone talking to Scott?

  “Yeah, well, wait for my signal and take her back out to the island. I cut the brake line on the kid’s car. The slick roads and the bluffs should take care of the rest. No!”

  Abby jumped at the sound of Mitch pounding his fist against the table.

  “Not until I call you,” Mitch insisted angrily. “I have to make sure he’s dead before you knock her off. He has to die first.”

  Much as she wanted to stay and hear the rest of Mitch’s conversation, Abby realized Scott’s life was in imminent danger. If Mitch had tampered with his brakes, then the winding road to Washburn was a death sentence. Abby had to get in touch with him immediately.

  She leaped from the booth and headed toward the door, simultaneously pulling her cell phone from her purse as she went. In her haste, she knocked into a chair and it crashed to the floor. The last thing she heard before she dived out the door was Mitch’s loud voice carrying through the empty restaurant. “Wait a second, what was that?”

  Abby ran to her car, starting the ignition and pulling on her seat belt while she hit the speed dial for Scott’s phone. As she pulled onto the road, she saw the rear backup lights illuminate on the Escalade. So he’d seen her.

  “Hello?” Scott’s voice answered a moment later.

  “Scott? Oh, thank God. How are your brakes?” Though Abby normally refused to talk on her phone while driving, under the circumstances, she considered not talking to be the more dangerous option.

  “Now that you mention it, they felt a little soft earlier.” Scott paused. “They’re gone. My brakes are gone.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I just passed Port Superior.”

  Abby could place the spot easily on her mental map of Highway Thirteen. For the next several miles, the highway was lined on either side by steep bluffs: to the right, sheer cliffs jutted upward in alternating steep slopes and sharp walls of brownstone; to the left, the land dropped off precipitously to the rocky shores of Lake Superior. She sucked in a worried breath but kept her voice calm. “Try to slow down. Whatever you do, don’t accelerate, and look for a spot to turn off if you can. I’m coming up behind you, but you’ve got a good lead on me. Are you still okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Scott assured her. “But my parking brake isn’t working, either.”

  “Yeah, Mitch probably took care of that, too.”

  “Mitch?”

  “Yes. I’ll explain later.” The bright flash of headlights in her rearview mirror told Abby that Mitch was still behind her-and closing in. “You just keep your car on the road. I’m going to call 911. Bye.”

  Abby didn’t have time to wait for Scott’s goodbye. Instead, she ended the call and then, accelerating to stay ahead of Mitch as they left the town of Bayfield behind, she dialed the number for emergency assistance, quickly relaying her position and Scott’s before explaining, “My friend’s brakes have been tampered with, and the guy who did it is tailgating me.”

  “One moment, please.” After a pause, the voice that had answered spoke again. “I don’t have an officer in the immediate area. Could you give me a description of your vehicles?”

  Abby answered several questions, while at the same time continuing to accelerate to stay ahead of Mitch. The road began to wind around trees and bluffs, its smooth black surface slick from the spitting rain that was starting to crystallize and hit her windshield in filmy chunks of sleet, fogging over the inside. Mitch was so close now, his headlights lit up the interior of her car, making it even more difficult for her to see out.

  “Sorry,” she said finally, cutting off the dispatcher mid-question. “I have to go. Please get somebody out here as soon as you can!” She closed the call and dropped the phone onto her lap before cranking up her defrost and pressing her foot down harder on the gas pedal. She had to get away from Mitch or she would lead him right to Scott. Worse yet, if Scott was going slowly enough on the road, she could end up ramming him and then being rammed by Mitch. She had to find out where Scott was-he was bound to be close. She picked up the phone and hit his speed dial again, then waited for him to answer. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  SEVEN

  Scott eyed the steep driveway as his car approached at a forty-mile-per-hour roll. The sound of the ringing phone barely penetrated his thoughts as his fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Could he take it? The drive was narrow and lined with brownstone boulders on the steep downhill side. With a quick prayer, he turned off the highway and felt his tires scramble to hold on the wet gravel.

  The car eased up the hill, slowing steadily. Scott hoped he’d be able to shove the car into Park once it reached its nadir of speed. If not, once the car exhausted its forward momentum, he’d likely start sliding backward again. And once he slid backward, there was nowhere to go but back onto the slick highway-backward. He’d be in a more dangerous spot than before.

  The ringing phone pierced his thoughts and he grabbed it. “Abby?”

  “Yes. Where are you?”

  “On a driveway, about half a mile past that old abandoned house.”

  “I just passed the house. I should be coming up on you shortly.”

  “Good. I want you to drive up behind me and keep my car from rolling backward. Can you do that?”

  Silence. Scott felt like kicking himself for trusting Mitch as much as he had. If the man was out to kill him, of course he’d resort to more desperate measures once his initial plan failed. And once again, he’d managed to get Abby caught between them. If something happened to her because of him, he didn’t know how he’d ever forgive himself.

  “I-I think so.” Abby sounded scared. “Mitch is right behind me. We’re going really fast.”

  Scott’s car crept to a crawl. He tried the parking brake again, but there was nothing there; no response when he pushed the brake to the floor, either.

  “I see you!” Abby gasped into the phone. “Here I come!”

  Scott looked in his mirror and saw Abby’s car hurtle off the highway. “Don’t hit your brakes until you’ve got traction!” he shouted into the phone, hoping she could still hear him.

  Sure enough, her car fishtailed crazily before he saw the red of her brake lights reflected in the steam and spray they’d thrown up. Just beyond her, his mother’s red SUV streaked by before slamming on its brakes. Mitch apparently hadn’t expected her to turn off. The truck wheeled around and tore up the driveway, but Mitch’s miscalculation bought them time.

  Abby’s brakes squealed as her car careened up the narrow road. Scott braced himself, preparing to escape by opening his door and unlatching his seat belt as his own car reached its zenith and began its backward descent. In another second, he lurched forward at the rough kiss of their bumpers and saw the fear on Abby’s face through the windshield.

  Mitch was less than twenty yards away. Throwing himself out his open door, Scott ran toward Abby as she leaped from her own car. Just before the Escalade slammed into Abby’s car, Scott grabbed her by her shoulders and tugged her over the brownstone ledge into the leaves and underbrush of the sparse woods that tapered off rapidly down the edge of the bluff. They rolled for several yards until Scott felt his back slam into a thick sapling, which shuddered slightly at the impact of their b
odies.

  Above them, the sounds of crunching metal and shattering glass gave way to curses and growling, incomprehensible rage as Mitch jumped from the wrecked Escalade and snapped on a flashlight. The beam swept over their heads.

  “Shh,” Scott whispered against Abby’s ear. “Mitch is looking for us. Lie absolutely still.” He held Abby tight to his chest and prayed silently. Though the falling rain and fallen leaves camouflaged their location, it would only be a matter of minutes, possibly seconds, before Mitch found them. Scott wasn’t terribly worried until he heard a distinctive click, which sounded for all the world like a gun’s safety being taken off.

  Abby buried her face against the quilted softness of Scott’s flannel shirt. She could feel his heart pumping madly beneath her cheek, and heard the crackle of sleet hitting leaves all around them. The earth smelled damp, pungent with fall, and she pondered momentarily the irony of her situation. Had it not been for the deranged would-be killer above them, she’d have considered her circumstances to be rather romantic.

  The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. The Psalm sprang back into her head. She pinched her eyes tight and repeated the lines until they echoed faintly with the sound of…sirens. Drawing closer. She felt Scott’s arms tense around her.

  An instant later another stream of curses erupted above them, and the flashlight beam disappeared. From the scrambled noises she heard, Abby deduced that Mitchell had climbed back into the crashed Escalade and was trying to get away.

  The engine roared to life above them.