Rock Harbor Series - 01 - Without a Trace
Colleen Coble
PRAISE FOR
WITHOUT A TRACE
“Suspense, action, mystery, spiritual victory—Colleen Coble has woven them all into a compelling novel that will keep you flipping pages until the very end. I highly recommend Without a Trace.”
—James Scott Bell,
author of Deadlock and A Higher Justice
“Colleen Coble hooked me on page one, then reeled me into her story with a cast of characters I can’t wait to meet again, a plot so intricately woven that I marveled at its construction, and a mystery that kept me guessing till the final pages. Without a Trace is a page-turning, eye-misting, don’t-miss-it masterpiece!”
—Deborah Raney,
author of A Scarlet Cord and Beneath a Southern Sky
“Without a Trace is a tautly plotted who-dun-it with a wide-ranging cast of characters that captures the essence of small-town America. Colleen Coble brings Michigan’s Upper Peninsula to life and gives you a whiff of what it’s like to own a Search and Rescue dog.”
—Randall Ingermanson,
Christy award-winning author of Oxygen and Premonition
“Without a Trace offers an intriguing mystery about a disappearance and a murder. But the story is much more than a simple who-done-it as it delves deep into the emotional mysteries of loss, betrayal and guilt, and the redemptive power of God’s love. A powerful beginning for a new mystery series.”
—LORENA MCCOURTNEY,
Author of the Ivy Malone series
“Colleen Coble spins a story of unsettled relationships, deceit, and the frustrations of seeking the lost into a warm tale of the hope of healing.”
—Janet Chester Bly
author of Hope Lives Here
“I couldn’t turn the pages of Without A Trace fast enough. The suspense built with each new chapter, right up to the breathless conclusion. This is a series readers won’t want to miss!”
—Robin Lee Hatcher,
best-selling author of Return to Me and Trouble in Paradise
“Colleen Coble draws such rich characters, you have to force your-self not to pray for them! Her descriptions of the frigid Michigan UP made me shiver. This page-turner kept me up at night, and anxious for book two in the series.”
—Kristin Billerbeck,
Author of What a Girl Wants and Split Ends
“Without a Trace is an absorbing, page-turning read with well-defined characters and all the excitement and apprehension surrounding Canine Search and Rescue. A great read!”
—Lori Copeland,
author of Brides of the West and Morning Shade series,
Co-author of the Heavenly Daze series
WITHOUT
A TRACE
ALSO BY COLLEEN COBLE
Birthday Wishes included in Smitten
Love Between the Lines included in Secretly Smitten
UNDER TEXAS STARS NOVELS
Blue Moon Promise
Safe in His Arms
THE HOPE BEACH NOVELS
Tidewater Inn
Rosemary Cottage (available July 2013)
THE LONESTAR NOVELS
Lonestar Sanctuary
Lonestar Secrets
Lonestar Homecoming
Lonestar Angel
THE MERCY FALLS NOVELS
The Lightkeeper’s Daughter
The Lightkeeper’s Bride
The Lightkeeper’s Ball
THE ROCK HARBOR SERIES
Without a Trace
Beyond a Doubt
Into the Deep
Cry in the Night
Silent Night: A Rock Harbor Christmas novella (available as an e-book only)
THE ALOHA REEF SERIES
Distant Echoes
Black Sands
Dangerous Depths
Midnight Sea
Alaska Twilight
Fire Dancer
Abomination
Anathema
© 2003 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., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version (NIV). © 1973, 1978, 1984, International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible 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.
ISBN 978-1-40168-857-8 (2013 repackage)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Coble, Colleen.
Without a trace / by Coleen Coble.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-5955-4145-1 (ve)
ISBN 978-0-8499-4429-1 (tp)
ISBN 978-1-59554-316-5 (repak)
1. Upper Peninsula (Mich.)—Fiction. 2. Missing Children—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3553.02285W57
813'.6—dc21
2003010150
Printed in the United States of America
13 14 15 16 17 18 RRD 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my wonderful, supportive family:
my husband, David, my son, David Jr., and my daughter, Kara.
I love you all very much!
CONTENTS
DEAR READER
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
READING GROUP GUIDE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears.
—“The Hound of Heaven”
(FRANCIS THOMPSON, 1859–1907)
DEAR READER,
I’m so glad you picked up Without a Trace, book one in the Rock Harbor series! This series holds a special place in my heart. The town of Rock Harbor has become almost as real to me as my own hometown. My sincere hope is that you’ll come to love Bree, Samson, and the rest of the folks as much as I do.
My grandmother used to have a poem she kept in her Bible called “The Hound of Heaven.” I read it so often that I practically memorized it. Through that poem, the idea that Jesus truly seeks us out became so real to me. And so very precious. When I discovered as an adult how amazing trained search-and-rescue dogs are, I knew I had to write about one and use that poetic analogy of the divine Hound of Heaven. Without a Trace and the Rock Harbor series were born out of that desire.
My grandmother was the greatest influence in my life, and I take it as the highest compliment when people tell me I’m very much like her. Writing the Rock Harbor series was like passing on some of the things I learned from her. So, more than any other boo
k I’ve written, Without a Trace is my tribute to her. I hope you enjoy reading the series as much as I enjoyed writing it!
And do email me and let me know what you think. I love to hear from my readers. Email me at [email protected] and visit my website at www.colleencoble.com.
Also, there are more books set in Rock Harbor on their way to you. Watch for my first children’s book, all about my precious granddaughter, Alexa Grace. Her “Punky” book is coming in July 2013—set in Rock Harbor of course! It’s titled The Blessings Jar. And there are more Rock Harbor children’s books in the works. Rock Harbor Search and Rescue releases in April 2013 and Lost and Found will be out in October 2013. They feature Emily, the young girl in Without a Trace. She’s fourteen now and has a search dog of her own.
Happy reading!
Colleen
1
It was days like this, when the sun bounced off Lake Superior with an eye-squinting brilliance, that Bree Nicholls forgot all her qualms about living where the Snow King ruled nine months of the year. There was no other place on earth like the U.P.—Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. With Keweenaw Peninsula to the north and Ottawa National Forest to the south, there could be no more beautiful spot in the world. The cold, crystal-clear waters of the northernmost Great Lakes stretched to the horizon as far as she could see.
But she’d never find those kids by focusing on the seascape. Pressing her foot to the accelerator, she left the lake behind as she urged her old Jeep Cherokee forward along the rutted dirt track. Bree’s best friend, Naomi Heinonen, steadied herself against the door’s armrest and looked over her shoulder at the two dogs still safely confined in their kennels. The Kitchigami Wilderness Preserve lay to the east, past Miser, a drive of only fifteen miles or so, but on this washboard road, it took longer than Bree liked.
“Don’t kill us getting there,” Naomi shouted above the road noise.
Bree didn’t reply. These lost children weren’t some vacationers without ties; they were residents of Rock Harbor, two of their own. And night would be here soon. If Naomi were driving, her foot would be heavy on the accelerator too. The preserve was a formidable tract that could swallow up two kids without a trace.
The wind churned autumn’s red and gold leaves in eddies and blew them across the road like brightly colored tumbleweeds. Equally colorful trees crowded the hills like giant banks of mums. The U.P. in autumn was Bree’s favorite time, except when ever-shorter days put strangleholds on their search efforts.
M-18 headed on east, but Bree made a sharp turn onto Pakkala Road, which would take them into a heavily forested area. In the spring, motor homes and SUVs pulling campers plied the road on their way to experience some of the last wilderness left in the Midwest. Today the road was practically empty.
“Fill me in on what we know,” Bree said.
“Donovan O’Reilly reported Emily and Timmy missing three hours ago. They were on some outdoor nature thing with their school,” Naomi said.
Bree knew Donovan O’Reilly—he owned the local Ace Hardware store. His wife had left him and the kids nearly two years ago, and now his eyes had a haunted look, as though he wondered what fate would hand him next. Bree often stopped by Ace to pick up supplies for the ongoing renovation of her lighthouse home, and a friendship of sorts had developed between them.
“One of the students said she heard Emily talk about seeing a raccoon,” Naomi continued, “so that might be what caused the kids to wander off. It’s not much to go on, but they’ve started searching.” She chewed on her lip. “You remember Timmy has diabetes? I wonder when his shot is due.”
“I was thinking about that.” Bree imagined Donovan was out of his mind with worry. “Donovan asked me out last week; did I tell you that?” she asked. She’d been tempted to tell him yes. Her lighthouse echoed with silence, but she had realized it wasn’t fair to use someone like Donovan to ward off her loneliness. “I said no, of course.”
Naomi didn’t reply, and Bree looked at her curiously. “What? You don’t like him? Didn’t he used to be your brother’s best friend? You probably know him and the kids pretty well.”
A flush moved to Naomi’s cheeks, and she looked out the window. “That was a long time ago. I only see him at the hardware store now, and I like him fine. Why did you say no?”
“I’m not ready. Maybe I never will be.” Bree tapped the steering wheel with impatient fingers, wishing the Jeep could go faster over the bumpy, rutted road. Instead, she slowed and turned onto the access road that would take her back to the campground parking lot.
As she pulled in, Bree saw people fanning out in a search grid. There was an assortment of searchers, ranging from teenagers like Tommy Lempinen to professional types like Inetta Harris, who was still dressed in her business suit. When one of their own was threatened, Rock Harbor residents pulled together.
Bree and Naomi got out, attached leashes to the dogs, and shrugged their arms into their ready-kit backpacks, fully outfitted with first-aid kit, small plastic tarp, energy bars, flashlight, flares, bug repellant, towelettes, compass, Swiss pocketknife, radio, topographic map of the area, canteen, sunglasses, sunscreen, and every other item one was likely to need on a search. A young woman in a brown National Park Service uniform was Bree’s first target.
“We’re the Kitchigami K-9 Search and Rescue team,” Bree told her, though that much was printed on the bright orange vests that both the women and the dogs wore. “I’m Bree Nicholls. Who’s in charge?”
The young woman pointed toward a group of people nearly hidden by a stand of sycamore. “The lead ranger is over there.” Bree looked and recognized Donovan’s ink-dark hair among them.
Bree and Naomi headed toward the group. Donovan saw Bree and broke away. Pain contorted his handsome features. With his black hair and dark blue eyes, Bree had always thought he looked a bit like Pierce Brosnan, though today he was too upset and pale to carry off the James Bond sang-froid.
“Please, you’ve got to find the kids!” His hands trembled as he thrust two small jackets toward her. “They don’t even have their jackets on, and it’s supposed to get to near freezing tonight.” The torment in his eyes spoke of his fear of loss more clearly than his words. “Timmy’s shot is overdue now.”
His voice quavered, and Bree put a comforting hand on his arm. She knew the anxiety he felt. “We’ll find them, Donovan. The dogs are well trained, and Samson has a special radar for children.”
His head snapped up as if mounted on a spring. A dawning hope filled his face. “I’ll come with you.”
How well Bree remembered that overwhelming desire to help. The waiting was the hard part. When her husband’s plane went down, taking their son and all her hopes for their future with it, she had felt a crushing need to do something. In her case, there had been nothing to do but try to move on. With any luck, Donovan probably would not be in that situation.
She shook her head as she took the jackets from his hand. “You have to stay close to base, Donovan. The kids will be scared when we find them, and you’ll need to be in a position to get to them quickly when they’re found. Try to stay calm. We still have several hours before sunset. We’ll find them.”
Donovan nodded, but his gaze flickered from Bree to Naomi with a naked appeal in his eyes. “I want to do something.”
“Pray,” Naomi advised.
His eyes squeezed shut. “I started that as soon as I learned they were gone,” he whispered.
Naomi’s answer to everything was prayer. Prayer had done little for Bree’s own desperate pleas. What use was a God like that?
“Let’s go,” Bree said.
As they approached the tree line, a slim, feminine figure stepped out of a stand of jack pine and came toward them. Bree lifted a hand in greeting. She should have known her sister-in-law wouldn’t be far from the action. She craved media attention the way the mine owners craved cheap workers.
Hilary Kaleva pushed aside the branches barring her way into the clearing as though they
were a personal affront. Hilary, Rock Harbor’s mayor, was having the mother of all bad-hair days. Her hair, blond like her brother Rob’s, was swept up in a formerly elegant French roll, but strands loosened by tree branches now clung damply to her neck. Streaks of mud marred her navy suit, and bits of pine needles clung to the fabric.
“It’s the poodle,” Naomi muttered to Bree. “I’m out of here. I’ll wait with the rangers.”
“Coward,” Bree murmured. She wished she could laugh. Rob used to call Hilary his “poodle sister,” which Hilary found less than amusing, but Bree and Naomi had always thought the description apt. Hilary could be sweet and loving one moment then turn and bite without provocation. And she talked until Bree grew weary of listening. But she could be just as endearing as a poodle when she wanted to be. From the expression on her face, today wasn’t one of those days.
Samson woofed at Hilary in greeting and strained at the leash to meet her. The mayor flinched at the sniffing dog, pulling away with a moue of distaste. As if sensing Hilary’s animosity, Samson lurched toward Hilary then came alongside Bree and rubbed his nose against her knee. Bree tugged him farther away from her sister-in-law. No sense in upsetting her.
Hilary’s scowl eased when Bree pulled the dog a safe distance away. “What are you doing here? I thought you were searching the northeast quadrant today.”
Bree’s smile faltered. Hilary always managed to drain her confidence with a relentless determination to bend her to her will. “I was home when the call came in. The brick is crumbling on the tower, and it seemed like a good day to repoint it. I was just about to mix the mortar when Mason called.” Bree stopped and chided herself for babbling like a kid caught playing hooky. Maybe it was time they both realized Rob’s plane might never be found. Not in the northeast quadrant or any other. The forest had swallowed the Bonanza Beechcraft like Superior could swallow a sinking ship.
Hilary’s eyes flashed. “You have more important things to do than to repoint the brick on your lighthouse. Let a professional do it.”
