Love Inspired Suspense December 2013 Bundle: Christmas Cover-UpForce of NatureYuletide JeopardyWilderness Peril

by Lynette Eason

  Paula shrieked and scrambled toward Silvio but tripped and went down on the fallen pile of blankets Antonia had dropped moments before. Crawling on hands and knees, Antonia clawed her way to the front door.

  Reuben was also on hands and knees, reaching under the vibrating boards to free Silvio, who emerged dazed, white hair standing on end. Silvio’s eyes widened as he saw Paula on the floor, and he headed to her.

  “Get to the shelter,” Reuben yelled, rain thundering by him in piercing waves.

  Paula scrambled to her feet and helped Silvio hoist the unconscious Gavin over his shoulder.

  Reuben turned again to the plywood, trying to force it back upright against the doorjamb. His muscles bulged under the strain.

  “Leave it,” Antonia shouted. “You can’t fix it now.”

  Reuben ignored her and kept up his battle with the sodden wood.

  She grabbed his shoulder, muscles knotted tight under her fingers. “Stop.”

  His eyes burned. “I can save it.”

  “No, you can’t,” she said, pulling on him as hard as she dared.

  He whirled to face her, mouth taut with anger.

  They stood there, barely maintaining their footing, eyes locked on each other, and she understood so much in that moment, even though the only sound was the shriek of the storm.

  I couldn’t save my brother.

  Isla is all that’s left.

  I can’t lose that, too.

  She wished it were not true, but the groaning of the building all around them told her he would not succeed on his quest to save Isla, like he had failed with Hector. She pressed his wrist. “You have to come to the shelter.”

  Silvio was already hauling Gavin toward the kitchen. “Where’s my shotgun?” he hollered. “Anyone see it?”

  It would be impossible to find in the swirling wreck.

  Paula stopped to scoop up Charley, who had emerged from under the sofa. They both looked at Reuben.

  “They won’t leave without you,” Antonia said. “And neither will I.”

  The anger in Reuben’s face drained away. He left the plywood to the wind and followed Antonia, Silvio and Paula. He stopped for only a moment, retrieving something from the floor that she could not see and stowing the item in his pocket.

  It seemed as though the storm were a live thing; having gained entry, it was now pillaging Isla. When Antonia unfastened the bolt on the kitchen door, it was wrenched out of her hand, slamming open to admit the storm afresh, which began to whoosh through the space, flinging open the cupboard doors, knocking down the chairs and pulling the dishes from the shelves. Crockery crashed to the floor, flinging splinters of glass across the tile, eliciting a wail from Paula.

  “Go, go,” Reuben yelled, pushing Paula through after Silvio and pressing his hand on the small of Antonia’s back.

  She meant to move, to follow the struggling Silvio and Paula out the door, but an eerie, sucking vortex of noise stopped her. The sound was incomprehensible, unlike anything her ears had encountered before.

  As if in slow motion, Reuben tilted his face upward and she did the same.

  The roof.

  Hurricane Tony was prying the roof off the old hotel.

  So great was the shock that her brain was unable to command her body. It was Reuben who snapped to reality first and shoved her through the door. Into a crush of rain, feet sliding, eyes blinded, ears tortured by the wood tearing loose behind her, she stumbled on. Somehow she found herself at the shelter, plowing in behind Paula and Silvio, Reuben pausing as he reached for the door. She turned, too, all of them did, mesmerized by the sight before them.

  It was as if the old hotel were merely a dollhouse, a child’s toy, as the roof peeled away in two sections, flung loose into the wind and hurtling away toward the beach. Fragments of wood and tile eddied in dizzying circles, crashing against the remaining walls and peppering the outside of the shelter. The hurricane ripped the shutters from the walls, lifted furniture and curtains, tearing them out and casting them to the skies. Only the sturdy shelter wall behind them gave them enough protection to remain on their feet.

  Antonia struggled to breathe. She had recently experienced a massive earthquake, but it was a covert killer, unleashing destruction quickly and then retreating, invisible, invincible. This force was unbridled, unhurried, lazily dismantling the island before their eyes, a horrible spectacle of brutal power.

  They watched in morbid fascination as the black sky, which should have been golden with the morning sun, sucked up the spoils and whirled them out to sea.

  When a piece of tile hurtled into the shelter, Reuben seemed to snap out of his reverie.

  He closed the door and secured it.

  No one spoke for a moment.

  After a long pause, Reuben went to Silvio and helped him lay Gavin on the makeshift bed. Paula stroked the sodden cat, who mewled piteously until she put it down.

  Antonia could not believe what she’d seen. Isla, the grand lady of the island, had just been torn to pieces before her eyes. She knew she would never forget the look on Reuben’s face as he watched his mother’s dream, his dream, splinter into pieces.

  Gavin groaned and Paula went to tend to him. Reuben sat on an upended crate, elbows on his knees, while the cat curled in a crescent of wet fur around his feet. He stroked him with calloused fingers, finding the soft fur behind the cat’s ears. “It’s okay, Charley. It’s okay.”

  Antonia stood frozen. She had no comfort to offer Reuben, not the faint hope that some of the hotel might survive, no reason to believe that Hector would outlast the storm or Leland. For that matter, she was not sure they would, either.

  *

  The day passed in a blur for Reuben. He was trapped in a dream, a nightmare, and somehow everyone he loved had been trapped right along with him. He watched Paula and Antonia keep busy with stacking and reorganizing the food and supplies. Paula offered sandwiches she’d made earlier, but no one would eat, much to her dismay. Silvio sat on the floor, arms crossed, a bruise darkening his cheekbone, fiddling with a battery-powered radio. He finally got a news station to come in clearly enough for them to listen to the dire facts.

  Tony was now officially a Category 3 hurricane. Winds were topping eighty miles per hour as the storm battered the coast. On the mainland, power lines were down, streets flooded and rescue workers battled the elements to get to stranded victims. “The storm surge could reach as high as ten feet,” the reporter said.

  Ten feet.

  Low pressure raised the sea level, heightening the surge. Added to that, the wave action and the natural effect of massive water volume funneling in over the gently sloping shores, through the constricting lagoon, would only increase its terrible power.

  A ten-foot wall of water sweeping across Isla would inundate the storm shelter. They would have no choice but to seek shelter on the bluff where the crumbling Anchor lay. It was the only place they might survive. Might. It would also bring them out into crushing winds and within the grasp of Leland and his men, if they had managed to find shelter somewhere.

  He exchanged a look with Silvio, who snapped off the radio. The way Antonia was suddenly intensely engaged in stacking soup cans told him she understood, too. They were in trouble. He wished he could pace, but there was simply no room in the shelter, crammed as it was.

  He checked his phone for a message from his brother, which he knew would not come. He sent a text anyway.

  Hotel gone.

  He wanted to add “Where are you?” or “What have you done, Hector?” but he could not bring his fingers to push through the raw hurt bubbling in his stomach.

  Gavin groaned. Paula went to him. “He’s awake,” she said.

  They gathered around him. Gavin’s eyes were unfocused at first, until he blinked and tried to jerk upright.

  Paula held him down. “Not so fast, Mr. Campbell. You’ve been shot, remember?”

  Reuben saw Gavin put the pieces of memory together. “Where are we?”


  “In the storm shelter. We found you and brought you back,” Reuben said.

  Gavin put a hand to his shoulder, grimacing. “Hector?”

  “Gone.” Reuben forced himself to ask. “Why did you come to Isla? Were you investigating my brother?”

  Gavin flashed a shadow of a smile. “What? You don’t like my landscaping?”

  Reuben would have laughed if he weren’t so close to losing it. “We know you’re a cop. You were taping my brother talking to Leland.”

  He nodded, pain lining his forehead. “Yeah. We’ve been interested in Hector since he began meeting with Garza’s men about nine months back.”

  “Nine months?” Silvio’s eyes rolled in thought. “That’s about when things fell apart with Mia.”

  Antonia’s cheeks flushed. “She was right to run.”

  Reuben ignored the remark. Gavin was the only one who knew the truth, and he had to keep him talking. “So you came to work for me.”

  Gavin sucked in a breath. “Figured a good way to keep tabs on him was by setting up a presence with you. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

  The implication was clear. “I’m not involved with Garza,” Reuben spat.

  Gavin shrugged. “These things tend to run in families, and your brother is in it up to his neck. He’s crafty, I’ll give him that much. I think he put sleeping pills in the coffee to knock us all out so there would be no resistance.” He smiled. “Good thing I’m not a coffee drinker.”

  Silvio snorted. “Could have warned us. Some cop. Ain’t you supposed to look out for people?”

  He hunched painfully. “I was going to dump out the coffee, but I didn’t have a chance. I had to follow Hector.”

  Reuben rubbed his eyes. “What do you have on my brother besides suspicions?”

  Gavin laughed, then winced. “What kind of cop would I be if I told you that?” He grew serious. “Look, Reuben. Between you and me, I think you’re a good guy, so I’m going to tell you that your brother cooked up some kind of deal with Garza, something having to do with Isla.”

  “Figures,” Reuben said, swallowing a wave of bitterness.

  Gavin tried to sit up again, but pain forced him back onto the cushions. “I don’t know the details. I was taping when Leland heard me. I dropped my pack and took off, but not fast enough.” He groaned and Paula put a hand to his brow.

  “He feels hot. I’m afraid of an infection.”

  “Of course,” Gavin said weakly. “That’s the way my life has been going lately.”

  “Antonia,” Paula ordered, “get me the antiseptic from the first-aid kit. I’ll clean his wound again.”

  Another groan.

  “Gavin.” Reuben’s throat went tight. “Who shot you?”

  Gavin’s eyes grew unfocused with the pain and closed. Antonia held the antiseptic bottle while Paula carefully peeled off the bandage, stained with fresh blood.

  “Probably hurt him carrying him over,” Paula clucked.

  “He’d have hurt himself more crawling over on his own,” Silvio grunted.

  Reuben put his face close to Gavin’s. “I have to know what happened.”

  Paula tried to push him away. “Not now, Reuben.”

  She was right, but he could not stop the question. Laying a hand on Gavin’s arm, he pressed close. “Gavin, did Leland shoot you, or my brother?”

  Gavin’s eyes opened and closed again.

  “Gav, tell me. Who shot you?”

  “Don’t know,” Gavin murmured. “Could’ve been Leland or Hector. Hard to tell with the storm.”

  Reuben sat back with a sigh, and Paula edged him out of the way.

  “Hector thinks he’s in control,” Gavin whispered. “He’s wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?” Reuben said. “What is going on? What is Hector trying to accomplish?”

  “Is he trying to get Isla for himself?” Antonia ventured. “To get back into the business and Garza isn’t happy about it?”

  “No…” Reuben broke off. He was going to say that Hector was trying to help him save Isla.

  But was it the truth?

  He did not know anymore. Like the storm was transforming the island, so was his belief in his brother, now changed and morphed into something he no longer held on to with that unshakable faith.

  Whatever the details, Hector had made his choice, and now they would all have to try and survive it.

  THIRTEEN

  Antonia thought she might possibly go mad. Outside the shelter shook with the continued onslaught of the storm. Had it lessened? Were the winds gentling ever so slightly, or was that wishful thinking?

  She’d helped Paula warm up soup on the camp stove and distributed it in paper cups, which Silvio drank straight off. She and Reuben managed a few swallows to appease Paula, and Gavin did not regain consciousness long enough to take any of it.

  The hours wore on. Sometimes Silvio would turn on the radio and they would listen to the devastation played out in report after report until he silenced it. Paula spread out blankets on the floor in the corner opposite Gavin, and she and Antonia laid down to rest. Charley the cat curled up next to Gavin.

  Reuben and Silvio sat on boxes in silence. When Reuben thought she wasn’t watching he would cast a wary glance at the door.

  Waiting for Leland?

  Or the flood of water?

  She thought about the most recent picture she had of Gracie, taken before Mia ran away with her. Scrawled on the back was the caption New Choppers!

  Picturing little Gracie sporting shiny new teeth made Antonia smile. She wanted to tell Reuben about it, but she feared it might add salt to his stinging wounds. Looking at his profile in the dark, slumped shoulders, head down, she had the urge to go to him, to comfort, to put her cheek next to his and mingle their strength together.

  She took a slow breath. Gracie was the important one now, keeping her safe, far away from Hector. Survive the storm and Leland and get away.

  She did not know if Mia was even still in the state of Florida. Maybe Antonia would go join her and they’d start again in a totally new place. Her imagination took her to the mountains, a small country town.

  Away from her beloved ocean that offered up vistas so breathtaking she could never capture it fully in her paintings. And away from Reuben. Finally, with Hector out of their lives, her estrangement from Reuben would be complete. A pang of grief licked at her insides.

  It hurt. It would always hurt.

  God help me to be strong for Gracie and Mia.

  Who would be left behind to be strong for Reuben?

  She closed her eyes to shut out his pensive shadow and slept.

  When she awoke two hours later, the interior of the shelter was humid and stuffy, and the wind still beat angry fists against the outside walls. Paula slept next to her, wrapped so tightly in the blanket that only her face showed. Silvio sat cross-legged, back against the wall, snoring.

  She sat up and blinked the confusion away. Reuben was still perched on the wooden box, the radio held up to his ear, volume turned down low. Carefully extricating herself from the blankets, she went to him.

  He jerked in surprise, standing immediately to offer her his seat on the crate.

  Typical Reuben. Gentleman farmer. She waved a hand. “No, thanks,” she whispered. “I’ll just pull up a cushion.”

  He sat again. “Did you sleep?”

  “Some. Not you?”

  He shook his head. “Silvio needs the sleep more than I do.”

  They listened for a moment to the chatter of the storm.

  “I think the eye is approaching.”

  She let out a breath. “Smooth sailing ahead?”

  He sighed. “You and I both know the worst of the storm comes after the eye passes.”

  “Can we get out of here? Move to higher ground?”

  He didn’t answer, and the silence stirred her anxiety.

  “Leland’s guys…and Hector…will be free to move then, too,” she guessed. “If they survi
ved part one of the storm. That’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m worried about everyone surviving this thing, that’s all.” He looked around. “None of this should have happened. No one should be here on Isla to face this but me.” His gaze locked on hers. “Look, Nee.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry my family problems bled over into your life and Mia’s. I’ve been blind, just like you said, and I truly regret that I led us to this, that you ever became involved with the Sandovals.”

  Her lungs squeezed and she moved closer, taking his hand. “I’m not sorry.”

  He cocked his head. “What?”

  “I’m not sorry I met you, Reuben. We had some amazing times together, and yes, it ended in a big mess, but at least we can hang on to those good memories, right? Sweet and bitter, just like oranges. Isn’t that what you used to say?”

  His eyes glimmered softly, the curve of his mouth reminding her of the tender kisses and gentlest of words. “I don’t know why, but I was thinking of Yeats, from my mother’s old poetry books.” He stroked a tentative finger along her cheek. “‘But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you and loved the sorrows of your changing face.’”

  She closed her eyes against the tenderness spiraling through her nerves.

  “I loved you more because of our trouble, not in spite of it,” he whispered. “I hope you can remember some of those good times someday.”

  Warmth spread through her body, anchored in that touch. “Yes, I will always remember.”

  She felt his lips on her forehead, grazing along her eyebrows and moving to her cheekbones.

  “Will you tell Gracie someday?” he said into her ear. “Tell her that Uncle Booben was a good guy way back when?”

  “You never stopped being a good guy,” she whispered, finally daring to open her eyes. “Things just got in the way.”

  “I let them get in the way. I see the shadows there in your eyes.” He slid a finger under her chin and lifted her face, bending until his mouth was inches from hers. “Love isn’t enough sometimes, is it?” he said, gazing into her eyes. “It wasn’t enough to save my brother, and it wasn’t enough to save us. This storm’s just too big.”