Rachelle McCalla - Survival Instinct

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.

“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.”