Survival Instinct. Rachelle McCallaЧитать онлайн книгу.
“What are we looking for?
A trapdoor?” Scott asked.
“No.” Abby chuckled, but it sounded strained. Then she lifted a rock, plucked a slender object from the earth and announced triumphantly, “This.”
Abby wiped the key on her jeans and took the stairs two at a time. She slid the key into the deadbolt and opened the door to the keeper’s quarters.
“I’m glad you came along today,” Scott said.
“Thank me after we’re rescued, okay?”
Scott spotted the radio communications box on the counter just as Abby reached it and began flipping switches, waiting impatiently and then scowling when she didn’t get a response.
“I don’t understand,” she muttered, flipping a toggle up and down.
“I think I do.” Scott reached past her to the lifeless power cord. He held up the severed end for her to see. “It’s been cut.”
RACHELLE MCCALLA
ate seventeen pounds of chocolate while writing this book. She also did 143 loads of laundry during that same time, and thinks folding towels is one of the best cures for writer’s block (the other best cures are exercise and insomnia).
A graduate of Hastings College and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary, Rachelle has lived in Iowa, Illinois, South Carolina (briefly!), and Wisconsin, and now makes Nebraska her home. When she’s not writing, Rachelle spends most of her time at the church where her husband is pastor, or running after their four energetic children. For more information on forthcoming titles, plus fun background notes on the places and characters in this book, visit www.rachellemccalla.com. You can also find Rachelle on the message boards at www.eHarlequin.com.
Survival Instinct
Rachelle McCalla
Two are better than one because they have a good return for their work:
if one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!
—Ecclesiastes 4:9-10
To Ray, without whom there would be no book.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the congregation of Bayfield Presbyterian Church for calling us to Bayfield. I would never have known there was a Devil’s Island if it hadn’t been for you.
Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this book. I’m honored.
Thank you to Emily Rodmell, for believing my manuscript could become a book.
And to Ms. Henre, for making me learn English.
And most importantly, to Jesus Christ, who brought me to this place. Only You know what it cost to get me here. Thank You.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
PROLOGUE
Someone was watching her. Abby Caldwell clutched her keys and hastened her steps, reminding herself that for all the times she’d felt eyes on her over the past few weeks, she’d never actually seen anyone. For all she knew, the feeling was a figment of her imagination. Perhaps she was overworked and in need of a vacation.
Abby reached her back door and jammed the key in the lock. She’d half twisted the knob when a huge hand covered hers. A voice she thought she’d left behind years before rumbled above her ear. “Hey, Abby.”
He must have seen she was about to scream, because his other hand immediately covered her mouth. “Don’t get too excited. I just want to talk.” He pulled his hand slowly away from her mouth.
Abby swallowed her cry and nodded, even though she didn’t believe him. Trevor Price never just wanted to talk.
She tried to make her voice sound light, to play along. “I thought the Coast Guard had you stationed somewhere else. Near Canada?”
“I was.” His voice sounded even more menacing than she remembered it. “I’ve been back for a few months now. I’m surprised you haven’t seen me. I’ve seen plenty of you.”
So she hadn’t imagined the feeling of being watched. If the six-foot-five-inch gorilla hadn’t been holding her wrist so tightly, she might have accused him of stalking her. Instead she asked in a whisper, “What do you want?”
“The ring.”
Her heart beat so hard she thought she’d choke. “I don’t have it,” she told him honestly. She hadn’t had it in years—not since she’d buried it, along with all its bitter memories, in the spot where he’d proposed to her on Devil’s Island.
“Well, then, find it.” Trevor trailed one finger down the side of her cheek, his icy eyes holding hers. “Or I’ll have to come look for it myself.”
Abby pinched her eyes shut. Trevor was a bully, that was all. And he couldn’t bully her without her permission. She opened her eyes and stared him down.
“Why do you need it? Why now? It’s been what—six years?”
His hand loosened slightly at her wrist. “Five. And that ring never should have been yours. I never should have proposed to you.”
Finally, something they could both agree on. Their entire relationship had been the biggest mistake of her life, but she thought she’d put it behind her.
As she watched with fearful eyes wide, Trevor lifted Abby’s left hand up in front of her face. He pinched her ring finger and slowly bent it back.
“It fit perfectly, didn’t it?” Trevor’s mouth hovered close to her ear. He pulled her finger back farther, and she blinked back tears. “Return the ring to me within forty-eight hours, or you won’t have anywhere to wear it.”
“But, I don’t—” she started to protest.
“Find it!” He jerked her finger back until she thought it would snap. “You have two days.” With that, he dropped her hands, let her go and strode away.
Abby hurried to unlock her door and slid inside, locking it after her before Trevor could change his mind and come back. Then she leaned against the door frame and flexed her fingers, the lowest joint of her ring finger throbbing where Trevor had wrenched it.
She wasn’t sure exactly what his threat meant, but she knew Trevor Price enough to know he wouldn’t have any qualms about following through with it. If she didn’t get the ring to him within two days, he’d cut off her finger—or worse.
ONE
The dark gray-blue water faded to the blue sky as the speedboat Helene cleared the western side of Bear Island and entered the open water of Lake Superior. Abby Caldwell