Rock Harbor Series - 04 - Abomination

by Colleen Coble

  Praise for Abomination

  “Abomination is a chilling tale of an elusive serial killer . . . that will keep you guessing up until the end.”

  —Infuze Magazine

  “[Colleen Coble] imbues this novel with the deep and gritty choices facing her characters, choices that often hinge on faith. She does not flinch from the fanaticism of her villain, yet she brings the question of guilt, remorse and finally, the promise of redemption to her characters.”

  —Foreword Magazine

  “From the very first page, Abomination is packed with drama, mystery, and intrigue. It will keep you turning the pages as fast as you can, begging for the ending to come so you can figure out how all the pieces fit together.”

  —epinions.com

  “Coble again delivers a suspense-packed story that is hard to put down. ”

  —Debbie W. Wilson, ChristianBookPreviews.com

  “[A] heart-pounding suspense where the plot twists and turns in unfathomable directions that hold you spellbound to the very end!”

  —Dianne Burnett, Fiction Editor, Christianbook.com

  “[C]rackles with an ominous electricity, pulling you inside the mind of a killer who is terrifyingly twisted . . . and terrifyingly real. The pages will race by as you read, but I guarantee your heart will race even faster.”

  —T.L. Hines, author of Waking Lazarus and The Dead Whisper On

  “[R]ichly layered . . . high-paced . . . Abomination is the best yet.”

  —Cara C. Putman, author of Canteen Dreams, coming October 2007

  “[A]nother suspenseful offering from the artistic mind of Colleen Coble. Abomination reminds us that her talent and creativity know no bounds!”

  —Shelia Rhoades, Wabash Plain Dealer

  “Colleen Coble's books just keep getting better and better. I didn't want to put Abomination down. I read it in one day.”

  —Bethany Dubois, Wabash Carnegie Library

  OTHER BOOKS BY COLLEEN COBLE

  The Rock Harbor Series

  Without a Trace

  Beyond a Doubt

  Into the Deep

  The Aloha Reef Series

  Distant Echoes

  Black Sands

  Dangerous Depths

  Alaska Twilight

  Fire Dancer

  Midnight Sea

  © 2007 by Colleen Coble

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., books may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.

  Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version, © 1979, 1980, 1982, Thomas Nelson, Inc., Publishers.

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Coble, Colleen.

  Abomination / Colleen Coble.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-59554-141-3 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-59554-478-0 (trade paper)

  I. Title.

  PS3553.O2285A64 2007

  813'.6--dc22

  2007012829

  Printed in the United States of America

  08 09 10 11 RRD 5 4 3 2 1

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  31

  32

  Acknowledgments

  Reading Group Guide

  To my parents, George and Peggy Rhoads.

  Your faith in me has never wavered.

  Prologue

  NIGHT CREPT OVER THE HILLS, SMOTHERING THE LANDSCAPE in a cocoon of darkness that would hide him in a few minutes. He’d abandoned his real name for one more fitting of his strength and intellect. Gideon was what he called himself when clouds hid the moon and the shadows gathered. Gideon, the Destroyer of Evil.

  Before the moonlight could fade completely, he flipped down the sun visor and stared into the face of his wife, Miranda—a photo of her as she had once been.

  As she would be again.

  The blare of a horn startled him, and he slapped the visor back into place as a gray SUV careened past where his car sat on the narrow shoulder. The vehicle splashed water from a mud puddle over his car. He bit back an expletive, knowing such words ill befit a man of his intellect. He twisted the key and heard the car engine purr to life. Easing onto the road, he hunched over the wheel and stared into the fog. The turnoff to the lake was just ahead. No car lights illuminated the road ahead or behind. He turned the vehicle onto the muddy track and rolled down the window to let in the fresh scent of the water. The lane was meant for tractors, and visitors rarely trespassed. The owners would never even know he’d been here.

  The lake reflected the golden orb of the moon. He parked and turned off the car. The cacophony of crickets and tree frogs paused, then started up again as he stepped into the mud and went around to the trunk. The lid sprang open at his touch, and he looked down into the woman’s face. As with the others, preludes to the grand finale, he’d stripped her of beauty. This one would never lash a man with her tongue again.

  Securing the gray wool blanket around the body, he hauled it out and dumped it on the ground. He tucked a partial peanut butter sandwich under the sinner’s blouse. He took hold of the end of the blanket and pulled the bundle down to the water.

  Reaching the small pier, he paused and listened, then stepped onto the rickety boards. The body slid easily across the worn wood. Once he reached the end of the dock, he dropped the end of the blanket and settled onto the weather-scoured boards to wait. He pulled his GPS from his pocket and noted the coordinates. Close enough. He didn’t plan to go far from shore.

  A hint of pine mingled on the night air with the scent of water. The chilly night began to creep into his bones. Loons called, and he straightened and stood to stamp his feet.

  Then the angels came.

  Gideon held his breath as they glided into the shaft of moonlight. Silent and beautiful, they moved as one along the placid surface of the water. He counted one, two, ten. The largest one’s wings spanned at least eight feet.

  He shoved the body into the bottom of a small boat, where it lay amid the flotsam of tackle boxes, tarps, and fishing poles. Gideon hurried to the shore, where he gathered rocks in a bucket. Carrying his burden, he went back to the boat and set the bucket into the boat as well. The boat tipped when he stepped in, but he was quick on his feet and moved to the center, where he settled onto the seat.

  Years of use had worn the oars smooth, and they fit into his palms as if they’d been carved for his hands. His musc
les flexed, and he dipped the oars into the water. The boat moved smoothly through the ripples. They barely noticed his approach. Their voices raised the hair on his arms and back.

  About five feet from them, he laid the oars back against the sides of the boat, then crouched beside the body. Opening the blanket, he piled rocks from the bucket inside, then tied the ends with the rope he’d brought.

  They moved around him. One bent her neck and looked at him. Something about the way she held her head made him catch his breath. She glided nearer. They would wait with him, patient, long-suffering, until he secured the ultimate prize. Then one rose into the air. The others soared heavenward as well, and he was left alone with a single feather wafting toward him on the shifting fog. He caught it in his hand and brought it to his face. He brushed it over his lips like a kiss. A benediction.

  His gaze lit on the body. Frowning, he put the feather in his pocket. He balled his fists, then stooped and heaved the bundle over the side. The water rippled, then closed over the space. He turned around and began to row back to shore.

  The house was quiet when he got home. He peeked in on his daughter, Odette. Seventeen years old with a soul as old as Moses, she slept with one hand on her cheek. So innocent the sight made his heart swell in his chest.

  What would happen to her if he were caught?

  His lip curled. They weren’t smart enough to find him. Besides, he was surrounded by a mantle of protection. He was invincible as long as his angels stayed with him. Pressing a kiss on his daughter’s hair, he went down the hall to his office and entered, shutting the door. The computer screen lit as soon as he lifted the laptop’s lid. He launched the browser and went to the geocaching site.

  After he put in the GPS coordinates, he typed:

  ABOMINATIONS WILL FIND YOU.

  1

  SHE DIDN’T KNOW HOW FAR SHE’D DRIVEN—ALL SHE KNEW was that it wasn’t far enough. The lights on the dash moved in her vision, growing and receding as she gripped the steering wheel and struggled to hang on to consciousness. Nothing but the moon illuminated this lonely stretch of highway. The digital clock read 8:03.

  Panic beat in her chest like a bird trying to escape her rib cage. She had to get away, had to find a place to hide. Her hand touched her ribs and came away with sticky wetness. How much blood had she lost? Her fingers probed the spot again, and she discovered a six-inch gash. Had she been in a car accident?

  Her gaze wandered to the rearview mirror, and she moved it so she could see the child in the car seat in the back. Confusion clouded her mind. She struggled to put a name to the little girl who looked to be about two. Her child? Her gaze took in the worn backpack beside the sleeping child, but nothing looked familiar.

  A green sign flashed past as the car weaved. Rock Harbor, ten miles. She had no idea where this town was located, not even what state. Maybe she was just tired. Too frightened to think, to plan. Her head ached abominably, and her vision continued to waver.

  Headlights haloed with distorted rings of color sprang into view behind her, and the panic surged into her throat again. She pressed her foot to the accelerator.

  He couldn’t find her.

  The car responded to the acceleration at first. Her tires zoomed along the road, their hum sounding loud inside the car. The other vehicle receded in her rearview mirror. But her elation faded when the wheel shuddered in her hands. The engine coughed.

  “No, no,” she moaned. “Not now.” He would catch her. She struggled for a name to put with the danger, but it wouldn’t come. If her head would just quit aching, she could think.

  The car convulsed again, then began to slow. The warning lights on the dash blinked, then held steady, glaring their threat into the night. She fought the wheel as the power steering failed with the engine. The sore muscles in her arms screamed.

  She managed to steer the car onto the shoulder of the road. Glancing behind her, she saw the lights were no longer following her. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t back there somewhere. Every moment that ticked by brought him closer.

  Cranking the key, she tried to start the engine. “Come on, come on,” she whispered. “Oh God, please help me!” The engine turned over slowly but didn’t catch. She tried again, and it coughed to shuddering life. It wouldn’t run long the way it missed. She had to get the car out of sight, throw him off her trail.

  A small path opened between thick, ice-frosted brush. Though it wasn’t a real lane, she pulled onto it and caught the glimmer of moon on water. A plan sprang to life, but she found it hard to think through all the ramifications. She put her hand on her pounding temple, and her fingers brushed a bump on her scalp, a lump so big and tender that her misery increased.

  Her stomach convulsed with nausea. She stopped the car, opened the door, leaned out, and threw up. She couldn’t remember ever hurting so much. She could still feel the knife slicing through her flesh.

  A knife. Where had that thought come from? Surely she hadn’t been stabbed. Had she? She groaned and laid her forehead against the steering wheel. Someone had tried to kill her. Somehow she knew this.

  The car engine still sputtered. He would find her, kill her, finish the job he’d started. She got out and inhaled the cold night air tinged with moisture. The fresh, clean scent penetrated her mental fog and gave her hope. Staggering and dizzy, she managed to get the toddler out, car seat and all, and set the seat with the sleeping child on the ground. The child’s parka lay inside the car by the backpack. She tucked it around the little girl.

  Her vision blackened, and she thumped down beside the child and put her head between her knees. Once her sight cleared, she crawled to the car door again and hauled herself to her feet. She took out the backpack, then sat on the edge of the seat with her feet on the ground. Unzipping it, she checked the contents: a small purse, changes of clothing for the child.

  She dropped the backpack beside the child, then staggered back to the driver’s door and got in. She pulled the transmission lever into drive, then guided the car toward the lake. The water showed under a light coating of ice, so the car should plunge right through.

  The speedometer showed 25 miles per hour. She shoved open the door and sprang from the car. Her shoulder slammed into the ice-slicked knoll. The impact knocked the air out of her.

  She lay facedown in mud while the pain thundered in her head and her side. The agony pushed out all other thoughts. The blood running down her side and pooling under her felt warm.

  With a groan, she welcomed the darkness that blotted out her pain and terror.

  Her dreams were punctuated with screams and the sound of crying. Gradually she became aware that the cries were real. She moaned, then sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. The level of pounding in her head had eased off, maybe enough to think. She lurched to her feet.

  The car.

  Glancing around, she saw the vehicle was gone. How long had she been unconscious? Staggering, she started toward the toddler. “It’s okay, baby,” she crooned, her voice hoarse and sore as if she’d been screaming. Maybe some of the screams in her dreams had been her own.

  The little girl held up her arms. “Mama,” she sobbed.

  Lifting the toddler into her arms, she cradled the child’s head against her shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she whispered into the child’s soft blonde hair. Had a child’s hair ever smelled so sweet? It felt strange and familiar all at the same time.

  “Mama.” The little girl nestled close and popped her thumb in her mouth.

  A wave of maternal love rose in her chest. This was her daughter, even if she didn’t know the little girl’s name. “What’s your name, sweetheart? How old are you?”

  The little girl took her thumb out of her mouth. “Two,” she said. She held up chubby fingers. “Two.”

  “You’re two,” she agreed. “But what’s your name?” The little girl didn’t answer. The wind kicked up, and she realized she needed to put the child’s coat on her. The toddler cooperated by sticking her arms in
to the sleeves.

  Now that she was shivering, she dimly remembered seeing her own coat on the seat. How stupid not to grab it.

  The backpack she’d pulled from the car before she disposed of the vehicle lay at her feet. Her purse was in there. Surely she had a driver’s license. Still holding the child, she knelt beside the backpack. She rooted out the purse she’d seen and unzipped it. One by one, she examined the contents by the bright light of the moon.

  There was no identification in the purse. It actually seemed to be the child’s play purse. She found cherry ChapStick, a broken green crayon, a tiny doll, and a bib. Where was her own purse? She should have checked the floor and the glove box before sending the car into the lake.

  She touched the ring finger on her left hand. A ring had worn a groove there, but her finger was bare. Was she divorced? Was it her husband she was fleeing from?

  Struggling to think, she pulled a bulky shape from the dark shadows of her mind and shuddered. He couldn’t find her now. Surely she’d come far enough. She touched the goose egg on her head. It had started to bleed.

  “Mama has to put you down a minute,” she told the little girl. The child didn’t complain when she set her on the frosted grass.

  She started to shoulder the backpack, then felt something swing along her chest. Her fingers touched a necklace. Fumbling with the latch, she managed to get the necklace off and held it up to the moonlight. Small ballet slippers swung on a delicate chain. She turned it over and noticed something engraved on the back, but it was too dark to make out the word.

  Clutching the necklace in her palm, she shouldered the backpack, then lifted the child into her arms. Holding the toddler on her right hip with her right arm steadying her, she picked up the car seat and went through the trees back to the road.

  She set her feet on the deserted road and began to walk in the direction she’d been traveling. An owl hooted from a tree overhead, and other night sounds rustled in the brush. Were there bears here? Wolves? She tried to quicken her pace, but she was weak and unsteady.

  Her breath fogged the air, but carrying the little girl warmed her. One bare foot in front of the other. Where were her shoes? There were no lights in the distance to beckon her, but desire to protect the child drove her. Her ears rang, and it was all she could do to hang on to her senses.