Lost (Shifter Island Book 1)
Read Lost (Shifter Island Book 1) Online
Authors: Carol Davis
.
Shifter Island
Book One: Lost
by
Carol Davis
“How long you plannin’ to be gone, honey?” the old man asked.
He and Abby both looked at the little boat bobbing alongside the dock.
Forever
, Abby thought.
I’m never coming back to this stupid, awful place—not ever in a million years. I’m going home and staying there.
But she couldn’t say that. The old man wanted his boat back, sooner rather than later. It was a piece of junk, just an old wooden boat with a motor on the back, but it was
his
piece of junk.
“I don’t know,” she said. “An hour?”
The old man nodded and scratched the back of his neck. “That’s fine, then. Just be careful.”
That made Abby frown a little. “I can handle–”
There, she had to cut herself off, to keep herself from getting angry.
She’d had enough of people telling her what to do. Specifically, with Lane Parker telling her what to do. This was supposed to have been a romantic weekend on a pretty little island a few miles off the coast, the getaway she’d been wanting for a long time. She’d had visions of bubble baths and glasses of champagne, long walks, maybe a picnic in the sunshine. The website for the resort that Lane had picked out showed a beautiful grassy area that was perfect for picnics—it even had a view of the water.
Instead, Lane had spent the last two days picking out other things for them to do together. A lecture on the environmental damage being done by the businesses on the mainland. A class on flower arranging that Lane insisted would be useful.
When he wasn’t doing that, he was complaining about the clothes she’d decided to bring, or picking out her meals.
Yes, he was good-looking, and he had a great job at one of the best law firms in town. He’d be a partner within five years, he’d told her many times. He drove a nice car. Two nice cars, in fact. He was a catch, as her grandmother would say, but he made her feel stupid and useless, just like her dad and her brothers always had. And for that matter, most of the boyfriends she’d ever had.
Abby’s nose started to prickle.
No!
she told herself. She wasn’t going to cry, not here in front of the old man.
But he’d noticed something was wrong. “You okay, honey?” he asked.
She looked past him, up the road that led to the hotel. Lane had still been sleeping when she left, but it was possible he was up now. Looking for her, wanting to tell her what she should eat for breakfast, in spite of the note she’d left him that said,
Going home now. Pls don’t call me. A.
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
The old man paused, then bobbed his head again. “All right, then. There’s a life jacket there under the seat. You got plenty of gas for an hour. Just be sure you mind the rocks if you get in close to shore.” He patted the pocket of his baggy pants. “Call me if you get into trouble. You got your phone?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have my phone.”
He held her hand as she climbed into the boat, holding on firmly when the boat rocked a little. She settled herself on the seat with a smile she hoped looked genuine, half-expecting him to say something about her outfit. Jeans and a sweater would be better for early-morning boating, she supposed, but Lane had insisted she bring nothing on their trip but dresses. She held her breath for a moment, but the old man said nothing. He even took a peek at her legs before he let go of her hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
She felt bad, a little, about stealing his boat. But she’d make sure he got it back eventually, if she could find someone on the mainland who was willing to bring it back to him, so it was really just borrowing, not stealing.
You have to go now
, she thought.
The old man untied the boat and gently pushed it away from the dock. “Go on and start ’er up,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.
What if she couldn’t do it? Would he think she was helpless, too?
But the motor started on her second try. She’d had a lot of practice with those pull-starter things; her dad’s old lawn mower started the same way. That, at least, she could do—though of course Lane wouldn’t be impressed that she could start up a lawn mower, or a boat. Other people were supposed to do those things. Not Abby, who was supposed to look pretty, show a lot of leg, and arrange flowers.
The old man winked at her and smiled. “There you go, then,” he said.
Yup
, Abby thought.
Here I go.
The ride out to the island on the hotel’s big “high-speed shuttle” had only taken about twenty minutes. How far that was, Abby wasn’t sure. Five miles? Ten? Two? But it didn’t matter. She’d be back at the mainland soon. She could call a cab from the harbor and be back home in less than an hour. The cab ride would be expensive, but worth every nickel, and once she was back home, she could start making sure she never saw Lane Parker again.
She started humming as the boat bounced over the waves. The water was choppier than she had expected, but nothing she couldn’t handle. The weather was beautiful, bright and sunny, with just a mild breeze, and the ocean had never intimidated her. As she looked out across the waves, all she could see was freedom.
After what felt like about fifteen minutes, she could see land off in the distance, surrounded by early-morning mist. It didn’t seem as wide as she thought the mainland should be, but maybe the harbor sat out on a little finger of land. She’d see the tip of it first, then more and more as she got closer.
Right?
She couldn’t hear herself humming over the sound of the motor, so she began to sing, louder and louder: her go-to song, “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” She remembered singing it with her mom when she was a little girl, the two of them dancing around the house as they got their chores done. It had always made both of them happy, even though neither one of them could sing very well.
Lane wouldn’t let her sing. Her voice made him cringe, he said.
Just a few more minutes
, she told herself, watching that finger of land grow larger.
Then this’ll be over.
She couldn’t see the harbor there, but she was still a ways out.
But… it was a
big
harbor. People moored their yachts there. There was a huge blue-gray building that housed a restaurant and a boat repair shop and a bowling alley, and across from it, the yacht club. The parking lot was big enough for a hundred cars. She ought to be able to see that, even from out here. She might have other faults, but there was nothing wrong with her eyesight.
That had to be the mainland. It was the only land in sight.
Something got very tight inside her chest as the boat bounced ahead and her big yellow overnight bag rolled onto her foot. Lane had made a comment about that, too, about how she’d rolled up her dresses inside it instead of…what? Packing them neatly with tissue paper, like she was the Duchess of Whodywho? No, it wasn’t fancy-pants luggage; it was nothing more than a very large purse.
She didn’t
own
any fancy-pants luggage.
That tight feeling made it hard to breathe. She was a little queasy, too, from all the bouncing around.
She’d done it wrong, she realized. She’d circled a little ways around the island so she’d be out of sight of the old man when she headed out over the open water. That way he wouldn’t notice that she wasn’t cruising along the shoreline to see the other side of the island, the part that had a bird sanctuary that her boyfriend had no interest in seeing. She was going to take some pictures before breakfast, she’d told him.
And now she was heading for the wrong finger of land.
Okay. No problem. She wasn’t heading for the harbor; she was going to reach land a little farther down the coast. All she had to do was find a dock and use her cell phone to call a cab. They’d pick her up no matter where she was, if she paid them enough.
People would do pretty much anything if you paid them enough.
She sang some more, loudly and off-key, because no one could hear her.
What seemed like hours later, she finally reached a dock, an old, rickety thing that looked like it had been built a hundred years ago. It was weathered and slimy with moss, but its being here meant there had to be something else nearby: a house, or a road, or… something. Either way, she was off that stupid “weekend paradise” island and back on the mainland.
Squaring her shoulders, Abby looped the little boat’s mooring rope over one of the dock’s battered pilings and carefully climbed out, then reached back into the boat and grabbed her bag.
Halfway home. Okay? You made it back to land.
Fourteen cautious steps took her off the slimy dock onto safe ground where she could set her bag down and fish out her phone. She looked back out across the water as she straightened up.
So much water. Miles of it, between her and Lane.
No Signal,
the phone said.
What?
She couldn’t be that far from the harbor. There was cell service there; she’d seen people milling around using their phones, and Lane had used his to check the weather for the hundredth time.
Okay, maybe there were too many trees—she was surrounded by them. Big, old ones. Or there was too much rock. Or something.
“Just a hiccup,” she whispered. “Just… you can deal with this.”
Of course she could. In spite of what anyone else might think, she was a perfectly capable 24-year-old woman with a good job and a car and her own cute little apartment. She’d gotten very good grades all through school, and Mrs. Johns, her guidance counselor, had once told her she was a creative thinker. Her employee appraisals always said she was inventive.
For crying out loud. You’re no dumber than anybody else. Think this through. Take a deep breath and figure out what to do next.
There was a path winding up from the dock into the trees. It had to lead somewhere. She could also get back into the boat and travel along the coast a ways, and look for the harbor. Or some other harbor. This wasn’t the eighteenth century, after all. There was civilization all over the place.
Just to be sure, she tried the phone again, but it still said
No Signal
.
The water looked choppier now. There were some whitecaps out there, a sign that the wind was picking up. She looked at the boat, wondering how much gas was left. The old man had said there was more than enough for an hour, but had he figured in how fast she’d be going? A lot faster than she would have gone if she’d just been trolling along the shore of the island. Frowning, she crept back out along the dock, reached down into the boat and jiggled the gas can.
It was almost empty.
Her stomach rolled hard. What if she’d run out of gas out there on the water?
What if…
No. NO. She wasn’t going to give in to this. She wasn’t going to cry; that was something Lane would expect of her. She’d gotten this far. All she had to do was walk out and find a road, then follow it to the nearest town. She was wearing comfortable shoes, and her bag wasn’t that heavy.
Go
, she told herself.
So she went.