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Survival Instinct
Rachelle McCalla
Returning to Devil's Island–the place that haunts her past–is frightening enough for Abby Caldwell. When her ride home mysteriously disappears, terror starts closing in.The island can be deadly, and no one knows that better than Abby. At least she's not alone. Scott Frasier, a former college classmate, is there along with his mother and stepfather. But then Scott's mother goes missing. Scott and Abby are forced to face the truth–all they have is each other… and ruthless enemies determined to make sure they don't leave the island alive.



“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

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
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 shivered and pulled her jacket more snugly around her, glad she’d opted for the fleece-lined windbreaker instead of a sweater. October could be cold in northern Wisconsin, and it was invariably colder on the lake. She’d hoped this Saturday would turn out warm, but it was already midmorning and the sun had yet to peek out of the clouds.
Captain Sal steered the Helene east, at cross-angles with the waves that were higher here away from the protection of the islands. Abby felt the rhythmic slap, slap, slap as each wave smacked the twenty-foot craft, jarring her already nervous stomach. If she didn’t fear Trevor Price so much, she would never be out on the deadly Gitche Gumee this late in the season.
She could see the autumn colors of Devil’s Island in the distance, and though she’d never liked the island, she was glad to see it now. The sooner she got there, the sooner she’d be off the stomach-rocking boat and onto solid ground. And the sooner she’d be able to get the ring and Trevor out of her life for good.
Abby said a silent calming prayer and glanced over at the other passengers. She’d shared water taxi rides with tourists before, and was thankful to find this group less talkative than many. She wasn’t in the mood to chat. To her relief, the three tourists were looking ahead to the island and appeared to have forgotten she was even with them. Abby squinted at the figure in the Northwoods College ball cap, the one closest to the boat’s tiny cabin, the one with the broad shoulders and square set jaw.
She recognized him. It had been nine years since she’d last seen him, and though his face had grown firmer with age, the sight of him still set her insides quivering with awareness. Scott Frasier had been the star quarterback of the Northwoods College football team the year they’d almost won the championship, the only year they’d made it to the play-offs in college history. Everybody from Northwoods College knew Scott Frasier. According to the school’s alumni magazine, he was a psychologist of some sort in the Twin Cities area now.
Scott wouldn’t recognize her. She’d only been a freshman his senior year, and seniors never bothered with freshmen, even if they had been in the same poetry class fall semester, and often ended up in the same discussion group. In some ways, she was glad he wouldn’t remember her, and equally grateful the noise of the boat and wind discouraged conversation. She didn’t want to have to explain what she was doing on this trip.
The other two, a man and woman who looked to be in their early fifties, were probably Scott’s parents. The woman looked like him, anyway, with the same statuesque height and aquiline nose. The man was certainly shorter, softer, rounder, but the way he clung on to the woman’s side, he was bound to be her husband. Her fingers were covered with diamonds, and the particularly huge stone on the ring finger of her left hand matched the setting of the masculine ring he wore.
“Coming about,” Captain Sal announced, his voice thick with a Wisconsin brogue. There had been a time when the accent would have sounded foreign to her ears, but after nearly a decade in northern Wisconsin, Abby would have probably pronounced it much the same way. She watched carefully as he steered the craft well wide of the southern tip of the island, knowing that even on the sandy side, boulders hid just below the surface, ready to scrape their underside and send the Helene sinking like the Titanic.
As soon as Sal had positioned the boat alongside the long wooden dock, Abby stood, ready to get on with her errand. Scott leaped agilely onto the faded wooden planks, then reached out toward her.
“Need a hand up?” he asked, his smile friendly.
Abby already had one hand on the high metal support that held the dock, and she’d never been one to lean on anybody. She gave a shrug and started to pull herself up, hoping he wouldn’t think she was being rude. The idea of being in physical contact with him made her stomach flutter in a different sort of way than it had on the rough water of the lake.
Waves from the Helene’s wake hit the pier, rocking the boat in a dipping, unsteady rhythm. With one foot on the boat and one on the dock, Abby felt her legs wobbling madly beneath her, and she braced herself for the impact of the wooden planks as her face keeled toward them, while she clung to the metal support. The last thing she wanted was to end up in the cold water of Lake Superior.
Scott’s arms were around her in an instant, hoisting her upward effortlessly. They stumbled backward together down the long dock for three or four steps before Abby managed to gain control of her feet. Her face pressed against the soft cotton of Scott’s T-shirt where it was exposed by the open buttons of his quilted flannel shirt. For a moment, she was aware of the strong beat of his heart and the thick muscles that told her he hadn’t lost his college football-player physique.
Then she pushed away, instantly self-conscious, as Sal’s voice carried behind her. “Just wait till I get her tied up, now,” he chided in his thick brogue.
“Are you all right?” Scott asked, peering into her face.
“Yes, fine.” She brushed at her clothes as though she could as easily brush away the feeling of being in his arms. Oh, how the Abby of nine years ago would have swooned at the thought of that moment! “Thanks to you.” She smiled up at him, trying to appear grateful and confident and not the least bit affected by him, though she was. Now she needed to get on with her hike and get away from him before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
She cleared her throat, which had gone inexplicably dry, and started off down the pier. The island drew her attention, so wild and remote, and so deceptively beautiful in its fall colors. Then she glanced back at the other couple, still on the boat, who appeared to be arguing in low tones. The woman grasped her necklace and shook her head firmly. Abby wanted to thank them for letting her share the water taxi out to the island, but at the same time, she didn’t want to interrupt.
Turning her attention back to Scott, she smiled. “Thanks for the ride. I’m going to take a quick hike. I should be back here well within an hour.”
“Take your time. We’ve hired Captain Sal for two hours. Where are you off to?”
“There’s a lighthouse on the north side of the island,” Abby explained simply, “and a road leading up there.”
Scott looked off in the direction she’d indicated. “I might like to see that,” he said in a musing voice, then looked back to the older couple. “But my mother will want to look for driftwood. I’ll have to check it out later.”
Impatient to get on with her search, Abby figured Scott’s plans weren’t any of her business. “Right. Thanks again.” She threw a wave his way and headed up the dock, breathing deeply of the crisp air as the scent of the lake gave way to forest smells, pine and birch and hemlock, and the earthy aroma of wet fallen leaves. She had a mission to accomplish, and the chilling memory of Trevor’s tight grip hastened her steps.
Abby tried to stick to the middle of the path, where a tangle of weeds gave the moist clay-topped drive some measure of traction. The rest of the road was slick from a heavy rain that had drenched the Apostle Islands and most of Lake Superior the night before, so Abby was glad for her thick-soled hiking boots. Still, keeping a fast pace was nearly impossible. When she spotted a sturdy-looking fallen tree branch, she snapped off the narrow end over her knee and used the remainder as a hiking stick, which gave her a greater measure of balance and allowed her to move more quickly.
In six minutes’ time she’d reached the old keeper’s quarters, where Coast Guardsmen had lodged year-round in the decades before the lighthouse had been automated. She’d been a tenant there, too, one summer. But that was a time she preferred not to think about.
The road leveled off and became a narrow, grassmatted path. Glad for the added traction, Abby dropped her walking stick and picked up her pace to a jog. Two minutes later, the woods opened up to the wide sea before her. Had the sky been clear, she could have seen the lake’s northern shore, with Minnesota on the left and Canada off to the right. Instead an uncertain haze blanketed the horizon.
With a glance at the lighthouse to her right, Abby turned off the trail to her left, surprised at how quickly she was able to locate the narrow rabbit run she’d followed only twice before.
Her nervous stomach rose like a lump in her throat, and she realized she’d clenched her hands into tight fists. The ring finger on her left hand still ached, a reminder of Trevor’s threat. Forcing herself to relax, she prayed silently, Lord, please let the ring be there, and please help me find it.
The small clearing hadn’t changed, its brownstone outcropping as solid as the island itself. Abby spied the distinctly shaped rock quickly and dropped to her knees, praying again as she lifted it, her eyes blind to the brassy coiled centipedes and moss-gray roly-polies that fled for cover when she exposed them to the light.
The ring had not tarnished. Its gold was still vibrant, its central diamond brilliant. She grabbed it up, dropped the rock and poked the ring deep into the tiny fifth pocket of her jeans. Then she inhaled a cleansing breath and exhaled a prayer of thanks before heading back toward the dock.
The downhill trek seemed easier now, and though she slowed her pace, the hike of just over a mile passed quickly. As she reached the southern end of the island and stepped free of the woods, she saw Scott heading toward the dock with driftwood in his arms. He smiled as she approached. “Back so soon? That wasn’t nearly an hour.”
Abby shrugged. She didn’t bother trying to fight back the smile she felt at seeing him. He was such a handsome man, and with the ring now safely in her pocket, she could relax a little and enjoy being on the island with him. “How’s the search for driftwood going?”
Scott looked down at the meager pile of wood he’d set on the concrete slab at the head of the dock, then turned his head toward where the older couple walked along the rocky shore, nearly out of sight around the curve of the island. “My stepfather,” he began, his eyes stormy, but then apparently decided against voicing his opinion. His expression softened. “I don’t suppose you’d want to show me the lighthouse?”
His request brought a smile to Abby’s lips in spite of the fear she still felt. He wanted to spend time with her, too? “I thought you were spending this trip with your mother.”
“I have, and I will.” His voice sounded resigned. “But I need a break. You were up there and back so quickly, and they’re busy enough with their bickering I’m sure they’ll hardly notice if I slip away.” He looked imploringly toward her.
Abby’s eyes widened and she looked him full in the face for the first time. From close-up his face appeared more manly than boyish, with smile creases branching out from his eyes. She realized how much they’d both aged since college. “Sure. It’s right this way.” Suddenly self-conscious, she diverted her eyes from his face and focused instead on watching her feet as they made their way up the slick path.
They reached the road and began the steady uphill trek. The woods quickly closed in behind them. Abby felt she ought to make conversation with her hiking partner to break the awkward silence, but the only thing she could think of was the need to confess their shared history, however long ago it had been.
“You probably don’t remember me,” she started hesitantly, “but I believe we were at Northwoods College around the same time.”
“Abby Caldwell,” Scott stated with assurance. “We had a poetry class together.”
Abby’s heart nearly stopped, and one foot took a wild slip on a patch of slimy clay.
Scott grabbed her arm, steadying her. “I’m Scott Frasier, by the way.” His grin was broad, and he looked pleased.
“I remember,” she said breathlessly, far too aware of the stable, comforting grip of his hand on her arm. “You were on the football team. Starting quarterback. I went to every game.”
Scott grinned. “So what are you up to these days?”
“I live and work in Bayfield.” Abby tried to keep both her voice and feet steady as she continued up the road, Scott’s hand still on her arm. “Have you heard of the Eagle Foundation?”
“They’re a conservation group, aren’t they?”
“Yes, that’s right. I represent the northern Wisconsin region.”
“I seem to recall you being active in environmental causes in college,” Scott noted.
Abby giggled. It was a foolish, schoolgirl kind of giggle, and she immediately felt embarrassed, though the fact that Scott Frasier remembered anything about her made her giddy on a level she’d thought she’d left behind years ago.
Before she could make a bigger fool of herself, Scott’s head cocked to one side. He dropped her arm and took a step back in the direction they’d come.
Then Abby heard it—the distinct sound of a motor running, revving higher, much as the Helene had sounded when they’d first left the Bayfield pier. Concern immediately replaced embarrassment. “Is that our boat?”
“I believe so.” Scott nodded and took a few more steps downhill.
Abby moved soundlessly toward him, listening carefully for some indication that would tell them what the boat, now hidden by thick trees, would be doing running its motor when Captain Sal had promised to wait for them.
“Perhaps he’s just going around to the other side of the dock. Maybe it’s a better spot there,” Scott suggested.
Abby shook her head. “No chance of that. The west side of the dock is the only decent anchorage. On the east side the bottom is flat sandstone, which won’t hold an anchor.”
“You know the island pretty well.” Scott sounded impressed as he picked up his pace and began to trot down the hill.
“I spent most of one summer living here while I worked for the Park Service.” She just managed to keep up with him. A second later they cleared the edge of the trees, in time to see the Helene nosing for the gap between Rocky and Otter Islands.
“Hey!” Scott shouted, waving his arms in the air as he raced after the boat. “Hey, where are you going?”
He came to a stop near the end of the pier and Abby trotted up beside him, panting slightly, not just from the run, but from the oppressive fear she felt creeping up from her stomach to her lungs, its cold fingers gripping her, making it difficult to breathe. “He’s leaving us.” She could still see Captain Sal sitting at the wheel of the boat. He looked back twice and had to have seen them but made no move to communicate. Instead he hunched his shoulders, almost as though he was trying to shrink smaller and hide.
“Why would he do that?” Scott stared out in the direction the Helene had gone, though she’d soon be out of sight around Rocky’s southern tip. “Do you think he forgot something? He said he’d give us two hours. It hasn’t even been one.”
Abby shook her head, the fear sending shivers up her arms. She’d never liked Devil’s Island. It had only ever brought her trouble and heartache. And now she had a very bad feeling she was going to be spending far more time there than she ever would have wanted. “There isn’t really anywhere he could go and be back in that short of time. I think he was just waiting for all of us to be out of sight before he left. It looks to me like he’s headed back toward Bayfield but he doesn’t want to be seen.”
“So he’s just leaving us here?” The Helene was out of sight now, and Scott turned back to Abby.
“That’s what it looks like to me.” As she spoke, Abby tried to push back her fear.

Scott didn’t like the helpless feeling that crept over him when he saw his mother, Marilyn, picking her way back across the rocky shore toward the dock with Mitch beside her. He had no idea why Captain Sal had made off with the boat. At least Abby had some familiarity with the island. He could only hope she’d know how to get them back to the mainland.
As he could have predicted, his mother’s face was blanched white by the time she reached the dock. “Please tell me he’s coming back,” she insisted.
“I don’t know,” Scott told her, though he had a pretty good idea, given the man’s body language, that he’d purposely left them.
“Didn’t he say he’d be back in two hours? We did say two hours, didn’t we? Maybe he thought we said ten hours.”
Before Scott could reply, Mitch barked, “Where’s the boat?” He gave Scott a look as though he’d somehow been behind its disappearance.
“Somewhere south of here,” Scott responded vaguely. His mom had been emotionally fragile ever since his father had died four years before. Scott knew the current situation would shake her even more. He wished he knew how to keep Mitch from making it worse.
“Why’d he take off? When’s he coming back?” Mitch’s face turned red from the combined effort of shouting and tromping down the dock. “Where’s your mother’s purse—and her diamonds?”
At the mention of his mother’s jewelry, Scott spun around, taking in Marilyn’s bare wrists and fingers in a single glance. He leveled his gaze at Mitch. “You left her jewelry on the boat?”
“Of course,” the shorter man shot back. “The last time we visited an island, she lost her tennis bracelet. Did you think we were going to take a chance like that again?”
Scott wanted to shake his stepfather, or at least demand to know why his mother had worn the jewelry in the first place, but he didn’t want to upset her further. She was already wringing her hands, and her face had gone as pale as the thickly clouded sky behind her.
Scott trained his attention on Mitch. “So you left all her jewelry on the boat, along with her purse, which contained…what? Credit cards? Cash? Checkbook?”
Marilyn nodded morosely. “And my cell phone, and the keys to the Escalade. Captain Sal said his lockbox was the safest place for valuables.”
At the mention of the cell phone, Scott saw Abby pull hers from the slender canvas purse she wore strapped diagonally across her torso. She flipped it open, blinked at the screen, then made a face and shut it again. “No signal,” she explained when she looked up and he caught her eye. “Didn’t figure there would be. Reception’s patchy enough in Bayfield, and that’s over twenty miles from here.”
As if on cue, Mitch checked his own phone. “Me neither.”
Though he didn’t expect much, Scott pulled out his phone, with the same result. “Fine.” He exhaled loudly, then took a steadying breath and turned his attention to Abby, once again glad she was with them. “We need to get in touch with the authorities, get Mom’s credit cards and checks stopped, tell them to keep an eye out for Captain Sal, and get somebody out here to pick us up. How do we do that?”
Abby looked from him to his distraught mother and back again, then spoke in a low voice. “There’s a radio up at the old keeper’s quarters. The place is probably locked up tight now that summer’s over, but I think I can get us in.” She put on bright smile and raised her voice, clearly for his mother’s benefit. “The Coast Guard should be out to get us in a couple of hours. No problem. We’ll be back in Bayfield in time for a late lunch.”
Scott added an authoritative nod to back up her words, but his mother’s eyes still looked haunted. “Hey, Mom.” He put an arm around her shoulders, and she immediately crumpled against him. “It’s okay. You just enjoy yourself, find some more driftwood. Everything will be taken care of. They’ll have the police waiting for Sal the minute he gets into port. And did you hear what Abby said? We’ll be back in Bayfield this afternoon. You start thinking about where you want to eat, okay?”
Marilyn sniffled and clung to him a moment longer. “I shouldn’t have worn my jewelry. I should have left it all at home. But Mitch said it would be okay, that there’s no point having jewelry if you don’t wear it.”
Scott didn’t bother to give his opinion of Mitch’s intelligence.
His mom finally took a step back and looked him in the eyes, her tears dissolving the otherwise impermeable black lines of makeup around her eyes. “Our accountant has all my credit card and bank information. Have the authorities get in touch with Kermit. His number is…” She pinched her temples and her voice wavered. “It’s on my phone. In my purse.”
Scott pulled her close again and pressed his lips to her forehead. “It’s okay, Mom. Kermit Hendrickson, right? We’ll just have them look him up. No big deal.” He placed two steadying hands on her shoulders and took a step back. “Abby and I are going to go make that call. The sooner we do that, the sooner this is all going to get fixed. You’ll be okay.”
“Yes.” Marilyn straightened and drew in a loud breath, then turned to face Abby. “Thank you for your help.” She extended her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Marilyn Fra—” She stopped herself, cleared her throat. “Adams. Scott’s mother. And this is my husband, Mitchell Adams.”
Abby took Marilyn’s hand and introduced herself, her expression kind but not pitying. “Thanks for letting me tag along with you guys today, by the way.”
“Oh.” Marilyn’s face fell. “Well, let’s hope you still feel that way once all of this gets sorted out. I hope we haven’t ruined your day.”
“Nah.” Abby dismissed her concerns. “I could use a little more excitement in my life.” She smiled and turned to face Scott. “Ready?”
Scott checked with his mother once again to make sure she was okay with him leaving, and then headed back up the road with Abby. “Did you leave anything on the boat?” he asked once they were out of earshot of his mother.
“No.” She gestured to her purse. “I’ve got everything I brought right here—not that I have much anyone would want, probably.”
“I’m sorry we got you stuck out here. I guess Captain Sal couldn’t resist the temptation of running off with all those diamonds. I don’t understand whatever possessed my mom to leave them on the boat, or to wear them out on the lake in the first place.”
“It sounded like Mitch thought it would be okay,” Abby noted, walking carefully beside him. “Anyway, I don’t know how much he’ll get away with, but surely not enough to make up for his trouble. There’s no way he’ll get anywhere near Bayfield again, not without being arrested. It’s not like a big city where people can slip in and out anonymously. Whatever business he had here will be over after a stunt like this.”
Her comment piqued Scott’s curiosity. “Is he well-known in this area?”
“I’d never seen him before today, but if the Park Service concessionaire recommended him to you guys, he has to have been around a while, or at least had legitimate references. I’m just saying it’s a small town, and word travels fast. His reputation will be ruined.”
Scott’s steps slowed, but his heart rate picked up considerably. “The Park Service concessionaire,” he repeated. “Did you find Captain Sal through the Park Service?”
“No. I was going to go by, but I thought I’d stop by the dock first to take a look at the lake and see how many boats were out, and whether anyone was in pier. Several of my friends have boats and I thought I might try to bum a ride with one of them if they were going out. None of them were around, but then I saw Captain Sal pulling in his For Hire sign.”
Scott knew the rest. She’d come walking down the wharf just as they were about to head out, and she’d asked where they were headed. When they’d told her they were going out to Devil’s Island, she’d asked to tag along. Mitch had frowned at the idea of another passenger, but his mother had been excited to have another woman aboard. Scott had cast the tiebreaking vote. Though he hadn’t seen her since college, he’d always liked her easygoing personality and pretty face, and wasn’t about to turn her away, especially since he hadn’t been looking forward to spending the day with Mitch anyway. He’d told her to climb aboard. She hadn’t hesitated.
But now her voice faltered. “You booked him through the concessionaire, didn’t you?”
Scott stopped in his tracks. The road was getting steeper, which hampered their progress on the slippery path. He looked Abby full in the face as he admitted, “I don’t know. My mom and Mitch are planning to drive around the Great Lakes to see the fall colors. They got a room in Bayfield last night, and I drove up from Saint Paul this morning. By the time I arrived, they’d already booked the boat.”
“Did they mention—” Abby began, but Scott shook his head.
“They didn’t say anything about it.” At the look of trepidation that crossed her face, Scott wished he could tell her that Mitch would have done the right thing, but he really had no grounds for such assurances. In fact, in his experience, Mitch tended to get things wrong pretty consistently.
Abby seemed to understand. “If he wasn’t booked through the Park Service, no one else may have a record on him.” Her voice held steady as she explained the possibilities. “There are plenty of places he could go on this lake. He may not go back to Bayfield. He may not even be named Sal. In fact, it seems, just based on what we know of the situation, that the Captain didn’t just fall prey to temptation. He may have planned on pulling a stunt like this, and just got lucky that your mom was so willing to leave her jewelry on board.”
Her words articulated the vague fears Scott had felt ever since he’d seen the Helene speeding away from Devil’s Island. But he took one of Abby’s hands and squeezed it. “That’s all the more reason why we need to get to that radio and alert the authorities promptly. The sooner they get after him, the better chance they have of catching him.”
“Right.” Abby pasted on a smile for him, but he could still see the fear in her sapphire-blue eyes and hear the slight tremble in her voice. “Let’s get going, then.”
They had to pick their way up the slimy road, and it was slow going. Abby nearly wiped out twice, so Scott didn’t let go of her hand until they reached the keeper’s quarters. The sturdy old whitewash and brownstone house looked solid, almost impenetrable.
But Abby seemed to know just what to do. She dropped his hand and immediately began tipping back the large fieldstones that encircled the autumn remains of a flowerbed at the front of the house.
“What are we looking for?” Scott decided to interject a little humor. “A trapdoor?”
“No.” She gave him a chuckle that only sounded a little bit strained. Then she lifted another rock, plucked up a slender object from the earth, and announced triumphantly, “This.”
Abby wiped the key on her jeans and took the front stairs two at a time, explaining, “Seems that once, many years ago, some Park Service staff came out here and forgot their key, then had to turn around and go all the way back to headquarters. They lost a full day’s work. Ever since, there’ve been keys to just about everything hidden on each of the islands. You just have to know where to look.” With that, she slid the key into the modern brass dead bolt and gave it a turn.
“I’m so glad you came along today.” Scott bounded up the stairs after her and had to stop himself before he instinctively gave her a hug.
“Thank me after we’re rescued, okay?” She barely glanced around before heading through the tomblike chill of the old house to the back kitchen.
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 down and up again.
“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.”

TWO
“Cut?” Abby looked from the cord to Scott in disbelief. “But tampering with Park Service equipment is illegal. Who would do such a thing?”
The line of Scott’s mouth was tense and white. “Perhaps the same person who would leave four people stranded on an island just so he could steal their jewelry and credit cards.”
“No.” Abby backed away, bracing herself against the counter for support. It didn’t add up. “No, it’s not worth it. I mean, I don’t know how much your mom’s jewelry is worth, or her credit cards, or—What did you say she drove?”
“An Escalade. Next year’s model.”
“Okay.” Abby nodded. “So that’s an expensive vehicle, but think about the risk. The Apostle Islands National Lakeshore is a national park. That makes his crime a federal offense. And leaving the four of us here, with no way to communicate with the mainland, with no way to get back…” The reality of their situation came crashing down on her in waves, and she crumpled back against the cupboards. “The temperatures get down well below freezing at night. We don’t have any food, we don’t have proper clothing. This island has wolves, foxes, bears—all kinds of dangerous animals. The tourist season was over weeks ago. No one’s likely to come by here until after the spring thaw.” She felt her eyes widen with realization as she lifted her head to look at him. “We could die out here.”
“No.” Scott shook his head and reached for her, his hand warm on her shoulder. “We’ll get off the island. We’ll be back in Bayfield this afternoon.”
Abby wanted to believe him, but she knew the island too well. “How?”
She quickly saw that his words were empty hope.
“I don’t know, but there has to be a way.” He fingered the raw edge of the power cord. “Maybe we could splice this back together again.” He tipped the machine over and looked at the back. “I’m sure whoever cut the cord took the backup battery, too.”
“Wait.” Abby headed to the far wall. “I thought of this just before you showed me the cord.” She flipped the light switch into an upright position. Nothing happened. She flipped it back and forth a couple more times just to be sure, then headed to the refrigerator. The light didn’t come on when she opened the fridge. She checked the freezer anyway, and found two full ice trays, which she pulled out and showed to Scott.
“Look,” she said, staring down at the little rectangles of ice that floated in thawed puddles in each compartment. “This freezer had to have been running until recently. I wonder how long it would take the ice to thaw this much.”
“In this weather, maybe a couple of days, maybe less, who knows? Either way, it looks like Captain Sal went to a lot of trouble to make sure we wouldn’t be able to get that radio up and working.” Scott took the ice trays from her and put them back in the freezer. He was apparently optimistic about getting the power back on.
That thought would have been enough to make Abby smile if it weren’t for the cold dread she felt. She tried to shake the feeling. “Do you think it’s just a weird coincidence?” she posited. “Captain Sal would have had to know somebody wanted to come out to this island, and that he’d be able to steal enough from them to make it worth his trouble. What are the odds of that?”
“What if he had prior knowledge my parents were coming out?” Scott challenged.
As Abby looked into Scott’s face, his I-dare-you-to-deny-it expression made her wonder whose side he was on. But then his eyes crinkled into a smile and she dismissed her fear. “Would he have any way of knowing that?” she asked.
“Who knows? Mitch has always liked to run off at the mouth. He could have been blabbering about their plans all over town yesterday. Anyone could have overheard him and noticed how much jewelry my mom was wearing. I doubt it was some grand conspiracy.” He shrugged. “We don’t know why we’ve been left here. But it seems to me we’re going to have to do something if we want to get off this island.”
Abby agreed. “You’re right. And we need to get back to your folks and let them know what’s happening.”
“No, Abby, wait.” Scott’s hand caught her shoulder, pulling her gently back toward him.
She looked up into his eyes, and for a second, she was a lovestruck freshman again, sitting in a desk next to the coolest guy in school, all too aware of how close she was to him.
“Please don’t let on to my mother that anything is wrong. She’s been through some tough times lately, and I don’t think she can handle all the complexities of our current situation right now, at least not until we have a plan to get us out of here.”
The moment he spoke the words, Abby realized Scott was exactly right. She’d seen how shaken Marilyn had been earlier, and the situation hadn’t been nearly as frightening then. “I’m sorry.” She bowed her head penitently. “I should have thought of that. We don’t even know what we’re up against, and it’s not as though she’s in any position to help. We need to examine our options.”
“Right. What are our options?” He gave her a sheepish look. “You’re the expert here. I’ve never even been to this island before.”
Abby was tempted to ask why he’d come, but there wasn’t time for chitchat. “Well, as far as I can see.” She led him into the front room, where a huge mural of the islands covered one large wall. She reached up and put a finger on Devil’s Island, the farthest north of the twenty-two Apostle Islands. “We’ve got three main options. One, we can get off this island by ourselves. Two, we could be rescued, either by contacting someone on the outside, or if we get really lucky, drawing the attention of a passing boat.”
Scott looked impressed. “What are the chances we could draw the attention of a passing boat?”
Abby took a deep breath. “Have you seen any passing boats?”
“No.”
“There are shipping channels six and twelve miles north of here, where the big ore ships travel. But they can hardly see the island from there. I mean, we could write help in driftwood on the beach, but there’s no way they’d see it.”
“What about airplanes?”
“Ditto. The only thing likely to come close would be a small sightseeing plane, but they’re rare enough in the summer months. The tourist season is over for the winter, and most local pilots are just as wary as the boaters about going out this late in the season, anyway. Storms blow up quickly around here, often with very little warning, and getting caught in one out here tends to be deadly.”
“What about a signal fire?”
Abby had to smile at Scott’s creativity and persistence. “That would be a great idea, if it hadn’t rained last night. Most of the wood around here is probably too soaked to burn. Besides, people burn campfires out on these islands all the time. Unless the fire was enormous, most people would just think it was a campfire, if they could see the smoke at all.”
“So, you said we had three options. What was our third?”
Lowering her hand slowly from the map, Abby tried to remember. What had she been thinking? “Pray,” she said finally in a soft voice.
“I guess we should be doing that anyway.” Scott took both of her hands in his.
It took Abby a moment to grasp what he was doing.
By the time she’d realized he was serious, he’d closed his blue eyes and tipped his face up imploringly. “Dear Lord,” he began, and only then did Abby come to her senses enough to snap her eyes shut and pray with him.
“We’re in over our heads here, and we don’t understand what’s going on,” Scott continued in a confessional tone. “This is way more than we can even begin to deal with, but we trust that You are watching over us, and providing whatever we will need. We need Your help. We need You to protect us throughout this ordeal that’s before us, so we can live lives that are glorifying to You. In Jesus’s name, Amen.”
Abby kept her eyes shut a minute longer, her heart filled with wonder. In spite of the damp chill of the house, she felt oddly warm. She couldn’t recall when she’d last prayed with another person, unless she counted the corporate prayers at church. For her, praying had always been a private thing, so private she rarely prayed aloud. When her eyes popped open, she realized a stray tear had escaped down her cheek.
“I’m sorry.” Scott brushed it away with his thumb. “I guess I didn’t even ask you if that was okay. I seemed to recall from college days that you were a Christian.”
“Yes, I was. I am,” Abby assured him, clearing her throat to raise her voice above a whisper. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed with everything.” Like the ring in her pocket, and how Trevor would react if she didn’t get it back to him. She straightened and pulled her hands free of his, the contact too lasting, too intimate, especially after the prayer. “You’re used to praying with others, aren’t you?”
“I do it all the time in my job as a Christian counselor, usually at the beginning and end of each session, and sometimes right in the middle, too.”
“Ah.” Abby had known he was some kind of psychologist. The Christian kind, apparently.
“I usually make sure my clients are comfortable with prayer before we pray together. I suppose I forgot my standard protocol, perhaps due to the strange setting, or because you still seem so familiar to me, even after all these years.”
Abby felt herself blush. Scott remembered her. He remembered things about her. She found herself wishing they had more than just that morning to spend together before he went back to the Twin Cities. Then she remembered they were stuck on Devil’s Island, and if they didn’t figure out an escape plan soon, they might have far more time together than they’d planned on. But it wouldn’t be pleasant.
She pointed at the island on the map again. “Here we are,” she said, mostly to reorient herself. “The closest island is Rocky, two miles to the southeast. This time of year, both the wind and the waves tend to come from the west, so they’d be more or less in our favor if we headed that way, though we might have trouble keeping a southerly course.” Reciting the facts long-ingrained in her mind helped her keep her thoughts off the way being around Scott made her feel.
“Are we thinking of heading out across the water?”
“Well, if we can’t get someone to come to us, we’ve got to go to them.” She looked at him for just a moment, decided he was still too distractingly attractive, and turned her attention back to the map. “The other choice would be to go with the waves due east to North Twin Island, but that’s a good six miles or more. Depending on what we can round up for transportation, it might work in a pinch. Or we could end up there if we’re unable to stay far enough south to make it to Rocky Island.”
“But Devil’s is the farthest island north. If we drift farther north, we’ll miss landing anywhere.”
Abby swallowed back a lump of fear and stuck to the comfort of physical facts. “The north shore of Lake Superior is about thirty miles from here. If we were able to man a seaworthy craft, and if we weren’t intercepted by a vessel first, we’d end up there.”
“In Canada?”
“Yes.”
“What do you suppose are the odds of us coming up with a craft seaworthy enough to carry us all the way to Canada?”
“I can’t say until we look.”
Scott took a step closer, so close Abby could feel the warmth radiating off him as he stood behind her and reverently touched the mural on the wall. His fingers moved just below hers, to the goose-necked shape of Rocky Island. “So this is our goal, hmm. Rocky Island? And what happens if we make it there? We hope the power hasn’t been cut? We go island-hopping on to South Twin?”
Once again, the teasing-yet-practical tone of Scott’s words caused Abby to smile, in spite of the seriousness of the situation in which they found themselves. “Unless something’s changed recently, Rocky was always one of the few islands with a Park Ranger on duty year-round. There’s a house on the far east side, on the low-lying flats on the other side of the forest-covered bluffs.” She moved her hand to show which part of the island she was referring to, and brushed his fingers. “You can’t see Devil’s Island from that vantage point, so the Ranger’s not likely to see any messages we try to write on the beach, or even spot any fires we make.”
“But if we can get to the island,” Scott said, his hand nestled close to her fingers.
“He’ll be able to help us,” she finished for him, trying to ignore the way the close contact of his fingertips made her thoughts skitter like so many leaves in the wind. She tried not to think about how close behind her he stood, though she knew if she so much as leaned back she’d be in his arms.
“All right.” Scott’s voice broke the spell as he nodded his head with an air of certainty and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Now where are we going to find a seaworthy craft?”
Abby headed toward the door, retreating from the feelings she’d felt. “There are several outbuildings we can check. Who knows what might have been stashed out here over the years?” She fell back on words and action to keep herself from even considering what the emotions stirring in her heart might mean.
Abby locked the door behind them and returned the key to its hiding place before starting off toward the nearest outbuilding, a large shed not far from the house.

They couldn’t find a key to the shed. Abby even ran back to the keeper’s quarters and tried the key from under the rock, but the hole in the lock was too small. Finally she put her hands on her hips and stared at the building, trying to remember what had been inside when she’d worked on the island six years before. The insides of so many sheds and outbuildings ran together in her mind, and she couldn’t sort it out. Somewhere, though, she had a vague recollection of having seen, here and there, aging rowboats, old fiberglass dinghies and all manner of historical marine artifacts that had been kept around for educational displays for the tourists who visited the islands in the summer months.
“We could try that little window,” Scott suggested, pointing to the small wooden-shuttered opening above the main door.
Abby looked at Scott’s broad shoulders and then looked back at the window. “It’s ten feet in the air, and I don’t think you’ll fit through.”
“But you can. Come on, I’ll hoist you up.”
A riot of protests filled Abby’s mind, most of them involving the width of her hips, but Scott looked determined. Abby sighed. They had wasted plenty of time already looking for a key, and she felt desperation rising inside her. She had less than thirty-six hours to get the ring back to Trevor. Every minute counted.
“Come on.” Scott crouched low, his back braced against the door. “Stand on my shoulders.”
“My hiking boots are going to hurt you,” Abby warned him as she moved forward and pulled off her purse, tossing it to the ground before placing a tentative hand on his ball cap.
“I’ll be fine. I’m made of pretty tough stuff,” Scott assured her.
She hadn’t been too worried about how tough he was—she’d been more embarrassed by the idea of such close contact with the man she’d always mooned after. Still, she realized his suggestion was a shrewd one, and relented. Stepping up on his knees, Abby somehow got both of her feet steady on Scott’s shoulders. He held tight to her ankles as he stood, and then she cautiously straightened, crawling upward with her hands against the side of the building until she stood on eye level with the window. Grabbing tight to the sill with one hand, she lifted the old wooden lever-style latch and pulled the window open.
“Good news,” she called down to Scott. “There’s no glass.”
“Great. Can you make it in?”
Though his words sounded steady, Abby was aware of how much pressure her shoes must be exerting on his shoulders. She tried to hurry.
“I think so.” She dipped her head and shoulders inside, but most of her body still hung outside. “Mind if I step on your head?”
“Do what you’ve got to do.”
Abby put most of her weight on her arms and pulled herself up, stepping on Scott’s cap mostly for balance. She felt his hands change position on her ankles as he lifted her higher, supporting much of her weight with the sheer strength of his arms. She scrambled to pull herself through the window and was glad to find rafters within reach of the window sill so she wouldn’t be forced to fall the entire ten feet to the floor.
Her hips wedged in the window, but she barely had time to consider the embarrassment of getting stuck there before she shifted sideways and pulled herself through. Then it was simply a matter of dropping to the floor and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.
She tried the light switch. It was dead. Probably on the same line as the house, she reasoned. With the window open above her, enough overcast sunlight spilled in for her to identify a large lawn tractor, a workshop area, rusting old snow blower, sawhorses and gas cans.
“Are you all right in there?” Scott called.
“Yes,” she answered back. Much as she wished she could tell him she’d found something, there was nothing in the shed that looked like it would float. As she stood there, she realized all the items were for the maintenance of the area around the keeper’s quarters. Boats were more likely to be housed closer to the lake. Thanking God for at least providing her with a way out of the shed, she turned the dead bolt and stepped back out into the light.

Scott did what he could to help Abby with her quick search of the outbuildings, but his enthusiasm for the search began to wane quickly. As Abby scrambled around, peeking in windows when she couldn’t find a key, he felt time and again the contrasting emotions of hope and disappointment as, in building after building, they came up with nothing.
“I don’t want to sound pessimistic,” he offered after Abby shut the door on the last building in the area of the keeper’s quarters, “but wouldn’t someone who’d gone to all the trouble of cutting off our electricity and cutting the line on our radio probably check to make sure they hadn’t left us a boat?”
“I suppose so. But they may have overlooked something. This is still a pretty big island,” Abby told him as they headed back down the road toward the dock. They’d both found decent walking sticks over the course of their searching, and with the extra limbs, were able to move a little faster down the slippery trail.
Scott was glad Abby was keeping a positive attitude. He only wished his mother could be so resilient. He’d hoped they’d at least be able to find a boat so she wouldn’t be utterly crushed by the news they were unable to get in touch with the Coast Guard.
Apparently Abby was thinking along the same lines. “You know,” she offered after they’d gone a couple hundred yards, “we’ll have to tell your mother that we might not get rescued today. I know she’s not going to like hearing it, but she’ll probably take the news a lot better if we tell her while it’s still daylight instead of waiting until it’s cold and dark.”
“You’re right,” Scott agreed morosely. He sighed, unsure how much of his mother’s story Abby needed to hear in order to understand how to deal with his mom. “It’s not that she’s a flighty person by nature. For most of my life I considered her to be pretty hardy, actually. But four years ago, my dad went out hunting and didn’t come back by suppertime. Mom knew something must be wrong, and she called me. I was living in Saint Paul, a good four-hour drive from home, so I couldn’t be there. She went out, alone, and found him on some land my family owns. He was dead.”
“Heart attack?” Abby asked, her voice concerned.
Scott shook his head. “Hunting accident.” He paused on the trail.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Abby came to a stop beside him, her face knit with empathy.
“His death was really hard for Mom to take. She’s had a difficult time ever since.”
“Financially?” Abby’s voice sounded sympathetic.
“No.” Scott thought her question seemed odd, especially given how many diamonds his mother had been wearing that morning. She didn’t look like a woman down on her luck, by his estimation. “Why would you think that?”
Abby blushed bright red. “I’m sorry. That’s horrible of me to ask. I just thought, well, since she and Mitch didn’t seem to get along so well…” She put one hand up and covered her face in an embarrassed gesture.
Trying not to smile at Abby’s embarrassment, Scott filled in the gaps. “You thought perhaps she’d married Mitch for his money.”
At his words, Abby hid behind both her hands. “It sounds terrible when you say it that way. I shouldn’t have even thought it, let alone said anything.”
“No, I understand. It makes sense, and given all the trouble we’ve found ourselves in on account of my mother’s diamonds, I’d say you have every right to ask about them. But those diamonds are about the only thing Mitch has ever given her, to my knowledge. He gave her several pieces of jewelry during their courtship, but since they married last summer he’s been living off her wealth. The truth is, my father left my mother very well taken care of. Father had a large life insurance policy, besides his investments and our family home. And then there’s always the family land.”
“Land?”
“Our family owns a few square miles of virgin forest, which to my understanding is worth several million dollars, and could be vastly more valuable if properly developed.”
Abby scrunched her face up. “Several million dollars, hmm? That sounds like a much better incentive than a vehicle and some diamonds.”
“Yes,” Scott agreed, “but it’s land. It’s not as though someone could easily get their hands on it.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Abby agreed. “But there’s still so much about what’s happened today that doesn’t add up.” She took a deep breath and started moving down the trail again. “So, your mother inherited the land when your father died?”
“Not immediately. Father was my grandparents’ heir. My grandfather had passed away the year before, but my grandmother was still alive at the time of Dad’s death, though she’d been battling cancer for years. My grandfather’s death was a horrible blow to her. When my father passed away, too, she pretty much gave up.” As Scott reviewed his family history, he considered the idea that someone might be after the valuable land.
Clearly Abby was thinking similar thoughts. “You don’t think it’s possible someone would leave us out here in an effort to blackmail your mother into giving up the land?”
“It’s possible someone might try it, yes,” Scott acknowledged. “But my mother won’t sell. That land is the Frasier family legacy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, when my mother dies, all the land will go to me.”

THREE
Abby couldn’t tear her eyes away from Scott’s face. She didn’t know him well enough to read him. All at once, she realized he was essentially a stranger, in spite of the long-ago connection they shared and the attraction she felt toward him. She remembered the sliver of doubt she’d felt earlier. And now he’d come right out and told her he was in line to receive millions of dollars worth of land as soon as his mother passed away. Was it any coincidence that Marilyn now found herself in a potentially life-threatening situation?
Had Scott brought his mother to Devil’s Island to get Marilyn out of the picture so he could claim the land for himself? If so, Abby wondered why he’d confess everything to her. Had she, by joining in the boat trip today, unwittingly sentenced herself to death?
She shook off her fears in a shiver that traveled down the length of her spine. No, Scott was a Christian. He’d prayed with her. She couldn’t believe he’d plot to kill his own mother. The whole idea was completely absurd. She needed to focus on getting off the island instead of letting the place spook her into inventing ghost stories out of nothing.
Scott’s forehead furrowed thoughtfully beneath his Northwoods College ball cap. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“I’m thinking you’re starting to scare me.” She tried to interject lightness into her voice, as though she found the idea more funny than frightening.
One corner of his mouth bent upward. “I’m guessing you don’t scare easily.”
“I don’t.” She forced a smile, then checked her watch. “Anyway, we need to get back to your mom and Mitch. It’s already after noon, and the sun goes down by six o’clock these days. We should try to use whatever daylight we have left to get ourselves off this island, or at least make preparations for keeping warm tonight.”
“Then we’d better get moving.”
Not daring to move any faster on the slick trail even with her walking stick, Abby just managed to keep up with Scott’s long strides. She still felt distinctly uneasy about being stuck on the island, and was no longer as comfortable as she’d felt earlier about being marooned there with Scott. Her top priority was to get back to Bayfield.
They cleared the last of the trees and the dock fell into view. Sure enough, there was nothing on either side but water. Abby felt her heart sink just a little more. She hadn’t expected Captain Sal to come back for them, but she realized upon seeing the empty dock, that a part of her had dared to hope there had been some innocent reason for his abrupt departure, and that they hadn’t actually been abandoned at all.
No chance of that now, so Abby dismissed the thought. Instead she focused on what they would tell Marilyn, who was sitting cross-legged on the dock between Mitch and a large pile of driftwood.
Leaning closer to Scott, Abby told him in a hushed voice, “I have an idea about what to do with your mom.” At the same time, she unzipped her purse and rifled through its scant contents.
“What’s that?”
She found the little white dispenser she’d been looking for and pulled it out triumphantly. “We need to give her something to do so she won’t feel so helpless.”
“Good idea.” He looked at the object in her hands. “Floss? We’re going to distract her with dental hygiene?”
Abby threw her head back and laughed at Scott’s teasing suggestion. She was glad he was able to keep his sense of humor in spite of their circumstances. “No, silly, we’re going to ask her to go fishing.”
At the sound of her laughter, Mitch and Marilyn turned their heads. Marilyn jumped up and trotted up the hill to meet them, her face bright. “Well, how soon are they going to get here? I’ve decided where we should go for lunch.”
Scott put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “We might not make it back in time for lunch,” he said, breaking the news in a voice buoyed by hope, “but we’re working on it. In the meantime, we’ve got a project for you and Mitch.”
As Scott outlined the plan, Abby tied long lengths of floss securely to each walking stick, using the large knots in the wood as a brace to keep the string from slipping off. Marilyn seemed eager to help, especially once Scott explained it was up to her to fish for their supper. Abby felt relieved the older woman was willing to rise to the challenge.
“You’re going to need lures and hooks,” Marilyn noted, handing over two brilliant diamond earrings.
“Oh, no, not your diamond jewelry,” Abby refused.
But Marilyn was insistent. “Captain Sal got the rest of it. Honestly, I’d rather these go in the stomach of a fish than into the hands of a sneaky crook.”
Abby looked at Scott’s mom and realized she wasn’t going to back down. “Well,” she agreed hesitantly, “I guess these would work remarkably well. And we don’t really have anything else.” She felt a twinge of guilt at having Marilyn give so generously to the cause, when in reality the whole fishing bit had only been meant to distract her. But maybe Marilyn felt the need to compensate for her role in their being marooned in the first place.
The earrings had a French hook in back, with three dangling gems of graduated size. They’d be perfect as lures—as perfect as any diamond earrings could be, Abby figured. She knotted the floss several times over to insure they wouldn’t be lost.
While she worked, she observed Scott and Mitch engaged in a hushed conversation farther down the dock. She promptly silenced her imagination when she found herself wondering if Scott and Mitch might be conspiring together. Instead she handed the makeshift poles to Marilyn with words of encouragement and headed over to the men.
“Oh, come on,” Mitch said as she approached. “A strong guy like you? That can’t be more than a mile or two. I used to swim that much all the time when I was your age.”
Seeing where the older man pointed, Abby realized what he was suggesting.
“I really don’t think it would be wise to try.” Scott shook his head. “With the temperatures of these waters, a person could get into deep trouble in a hurry.”
“Are you suggesting Scott attempt to swim to another island?” Abby asked as she approached them.
“Sure! Why not? That island there is pretty close. Scott was a college athlete. I think he’s still got it in him.”
“No,” Abby informed them insistently, “it’s not humanly possible. The average temperatures of these waters are less than fifty degrees, even at the surface on a sunny day. Even with a life preserver, it’s unlikely the strongest of swimmers would make it as much as a mile before succumbing to hypothermia. Rocky Island is two miles from here. Scott would die before he got halfway there.” Abby recited the facts as she had so many times when she’d worked for the Park Service. Everyone seemed to underestimate the deadliness of the frigid waters. Far too often, it turned out to be a fatal mistake.
Mitch clearly didn’t appreciate being corrected. “The waves are going that direction,” he pointed out, “they’d practically carry him there. And I’m sure the surface water isn’t nearly as chilly as the deeper parts of the lake. Why, we’ve gone swimming in Lake Superior before and had a very pleasant time.”
Abby realized she’d touched a nerve, and possibly embarrassed him. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Look, it’s a good idea. If this were a protected cove, and if the wind had been pushing warm surface water into a pool here, I’m sure Scott would have no problem swimming two miles. But this water is coming in from the open sea, where it’s constantly turned over from the cold water in the depths. It’s just not safe.”
In spite of her calm tone, Mitch pulled his arm away, clearly offended. “What other options do we have? Given the circumstances, I don’t think it’s too much to ask Scott to risk it.”
“And given the circumstances—” Abby met the man’s eyes and did her best to stare him levelly down “—it wouldn’t be a matter of risk. Striking out for Rocky Island as a swimmer would be suicide.” She let out a frustrated breath and tried to calm her agitated nerves. She didn’t like Mitch, and could understand why Scott had expressed a desire to avoid him. “Now, Marilyn is already doing her part by fishing to get us some supper. We have two poles. Why don’t you join her?”
With a little more cajoling, Mitch reluctantly agreed. Then she and Scott headed up the shoreline to the two ancient boathouses half-hidden among the boulders farther up the shore.

They found the canoe up in the rafters of the second boathouse. Scott regarded it with disgust. “I’m not so sure this thing is puddle-worthy, let alone seaworthy.” He assessed the ancient birchbark boat once they’d hefted it to the ground.
“If someone really did leave us here to die, it’s quite possible they left this here thinking we’d take it into the open water and drown,” Abby offered, then grinned at him. “But if so, then they seriously underestimated how seaworthy this kind of vessel can be. I believe this was once used as part of an educational display, but before that, it was built to be a functional canoe.” She lifted one of the single-bladed paddles from the bottom of the boat. “We’ve got everything we need. I say we use it.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. He wondered how Abby could possibly be serious. “You mean you would actually consider taking this boat out onto that lake?” He pointed at the choppy waves just beyond them.
“Not if I had a better option.” Abby met his eyes. “Why don’t we take it down to the dock and put it in the water? We can stay close to shore for a while and see how she holds up before we venture out very far.”
Given their lack of alternatives, Scott decided Abby’s suggestion sounded fair. She seemed to know plenty about the islands, and had the facts behind her to keep Mitch off his case. If he had to choose, he’d rather try the canoe than strike out for Rocky Island swimming. “Do you have much experience canoeing?”
“Not on the open sea,” Abby admitted, “but I think I can manage not to tip us over, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Scott appreciated her scrappy attitude, and realized he probably sounded like he was whining. The problem was, he felt responsible for everyone else’s safety, and he especially didn’t like the idea of putting Abby at risk by letting her join him out on the water. But he also realized the two-person canoe would be nearly useless to him if he tried to man it himself.
“Okay, let’s see what this relic can do,” he agreed, meeting Abby’s eyes and sensing apprehension there. So, she felt nervous, too. “I’m going to look for a bucket or something to bail with before we go, though. Even if this thing holds water, it’s not enclosed like a kayak. If we get into some high waves, we could be swamped in a hurry.”
“So you think we should try it?” Abby’s voice sounded less certain now that Scott had agreed to her plan.
Scott crouched down and ran his fingers slowly over the smooth brown birchbark stretched tight across the wooden frame. The boat seemed so fragile, almost paper-thin, and so old. Would they be crazy to take it out on the lake? What if they got far from shore and ran into trouble? Worse yet, what if the waves pushed them out past the islands, into the open sea? There was no way the antiquated craft would make it to the shore of Canada. He looked up at Abby. “What are our other options?”
Abby looked around uneasily. Scott could see their precarious situation was starting to weigh on her. She hunkered down next to him and sat on the cement floor of the boathouse. “Does anybody know you’re out here today?”
Her question made sense. How long would it be before anyone missed them, and would they know where to look for them even then? “I went out with some of the guys from work to celebrate my birthday last night,” he explained. “I told them Mitch and my mom wanted to take me to another island today. I’ve visited seventeen of the islands, and Mitch has gotten it into his head that I need to eventually visit all of them. So they know I’m out here, but they don’t know which island.”
“And they expect you back at work on Monday?”
Uneasiness stirred in his stomach. “Actually—” Scott swallowed, trying to force down the fear that rose in his throat “—no. I’d planned to be back in the office Monday, but the guys said I’d been working too hard lately and had too much vacation time racked up. They told me to take some more time off and spend the week out here. I wasn’t planning on it, but if I don’t show up on Monday, they’ll probably assume I’ve come to my senses and followed their advice for once.”
“And your folks were planning to drive the circle tour around Lake Superior?” Abby clarified. “Do they tend to check in with anyone regularly?”
Scott shook his head. “I doubt it. I suppose they’ve got hotel reservations here or there, but people don’t show up for reservations all the time. No one would raise an eyebrow.” The facts were stacked against anyone coming looking for them, and Scott didn’t like it. “What about you, Abby? How long would it take before anyone came out here looking for you?”

Abby froze. She could feel the cold of the cement boathouse floor seeping in through her legs, into her bones. So much had gone wrong on this trip. At Scott’s question, her fears about his reason for being on the island resurfaced. No one knew she was there. But did she dare admit as much to him?
“I don’t know,” she admitted cautiously. “I have a lot of coworkers at the Eagle Foundation.” She took a shaky breath and avoided his eyes. True, she had lots of coworkers, but they all telecommuted. She was the only one living in the Bayfield area. And though she tended to keep in touch regularly via e-mail, she’d had problems with her Internet connection in the past and been out of touch for days at a time. If no one heard from her for a week, they likely wouldn’t be too concerned. And all of her family lived in the Chicago area. Though she kept in close touch, she’d sometimes gone a week or more without contact. Likely they wouldn’t be alarmed if they didn’t hear from her for that long.
After a long pause, Scott probed further. “Do you think any of them would miss you? Does anyone know where you are today?”
What would happen if she told him the truth? Had Scott brought his mother to the island with evil intentions? And if so, why had he agreed to let her come along? Abby prayed silently in her heart, and felt her pulse rate still. She glanced at the boat, and realized there was no way she’d be able to paddle the lengthy craft on her own. If she was going to get off the island, she had to trust Scott—with the truth, and with her life.
“Nobody knows I’m here,” she admitted in a tiny whisper. “No one will miss me for several days, and even when they do, they won’t know where to look.” She stared at his face as she spoke, hoping for some sign of whether he felt relieved or worried by her admission.
Scott’s brow scrunched ever so slightly under the brim of his ball cap. Whether that was a good sign or bad, Abby wasn’t sure. She looked at the orange-brown wood of the boat, and then to the gray-blue sea. “What do you think? Should we risk it, or wait for help to come to us? We could always wait a few days and then try the canoe.”
“If we wait for help, we’ll only become weaker. We don’t have any food, we don’t have any source of heat, one of us could be injured at any time, and as you said yourself, storms blow up here with little warning. If we wait too long, we might not be able to try the canoe. Our best shot with this thing is to try it right now, before we get any more tired and hungry, before the weather changes and before it gets too close to sundown. After all, once we make it to Rocky Island, we still have to find the Ranger Station on the other side of the island. We don’t want to be wandering around in the woods in the dark.”
His arguments made sense, but Abby still felt so uncertain. She closed her eyes and began to pray silently again. But before she’d hardly started, Scott spoke.
“Do you want to pray about it?” He reached for her hand.
She nodded. It almost felt natural holding Scott’s hand, hearing him praying to God for wisdom and protection. Scott concluded the prayer, and Abby jumped up and brushed dust from the floor off of the back of her pants. “Thank you for praying. I think you’re right. We should try the canoe.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.”
“Okay. Let me find something to bail with.” Scott scavenged around until he found an old plastic bucket that had clearly been a child’s sand toy, but was now faded and cracked. “This probably washed up on shore here, or someone left it behind, but it should work for what we need.”
“Perfect,” Abby agreed. “Now, let’s get his canoe down to the dock and see if she holds water.”
They hoisted up the canoe and found it to be more cumbersome than heavy. After walking a couple of minutes and making little progress with the canoe impeding each step, they lowered it to the ground and Scott suggested, “Why don’t I just carry it over my head?”
“Can I help you?”
“I think it would be easier if I just did it myself.”
Abby stood back as he hoisted the boat up over his shoulders and above his head.
“Have you got it? Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”
“I’m fine.” Scott took a few awkward steps toward the dock, then quickly found his rhythm and increased his pace. “It’s much easier this way,” he explained, his voice only slightly strained from effort, “and I’m afraid you’re enough shorter than I am that it would make it more difficult if we both carried it than if I just do it by myself. Besides, you’ll need to save your arm strength for paddling.”
Abby understood his reasoning, but she couldn’t help thinking he was carrying a heavier burden than he needed to. Still, she had to admit he was moving much faster with the canoe on his own than when she’d been trying to help him carry it.
Marilyn and Mitch pulled in their poles as Scott and Abby approached.
“You found a boat?” Marilyn asked with excitement.
Mitch looked wary. “Will that thing even float? It looks like it’s a hundred years old.”
“Look at it this way, Mitch,” Scott huffed once he’d lowered the canoe onto the soft sand. “If the canoe doesn’t get us to the next island, then I can try your idea of swimming for it.”
At the incredulous expression on Mitch’s face, Abby couldn’t resist chiming in. “Really, the canoe only has to get us halfway there,” she explained in a mock-serious voice. “Once we get within a mile of the island, we can swim for it.”
“Oh, I think the water is awfully cold for that.” Marilyn shuddered.
Abby knew she was right, but she didn’t amend her statement. If anything happened to them in the water, Marilyn would be less concerned if she thought Abby and Scott had been prepared to swim for it.
“Well, I’m not going anywhere in that thing,” Mitch insisted.
“I don’t expect you to,” Scott explained. “Abby and I are just going to take it over to Rocky Island. There’s a Park Ranger stationed there, and he can call for help to come and get you two. This canoe is really only meant to hold two people, and I’d rather not have Mom out on the lake if we have to swim for it after all.” He announced their plans with an air of finality, and then scooted the canoe into the water next to the dock.
“Abby, do you have any more of that floss to tie our bucket to the canoe?” he asked. “I don’t want to lose it once we get out on the lake.”
“I used it all on the fishing poles,” Abby called after him. The floss had been a small sample from her dentist she hadn’t bothered to take out of her purse after her last appointment.
Marilyn handed Abby the two fishing poles. “Here. We won’t need these anymore.”
The waxed floss had already started unraveling from the knots she’d used to tie the earring lures in place. Abby quickly slid the slick string back and pulled the earrings free. “You’ll want these back,” she said, handing them over.
“No, really.” Marilyn crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her shoulders as though to comfort herself. “I’d rather not.”
Unsure whether the woman’s impulse had to do with regret at leaving the other gems aboard the Helene, or if Marilyn simply didn’t want part of her jewelry without the rest, Abby decided not to push her, given her emotionally fragile state. She shoved the earrings deep into her back pocket for safekeeping, and realized at the same time she was acquiring quite a bit of jewelry in her pockets. After all, she still had the ring in the pocket at her hip, its tiny prick a sharp reminder of all that still lay before her.

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