Stranded

  © 2013 by Dani Pettrey

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6273-8

  Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota/Gregory Rohm

  Author represented by MacGregor Literary, Inc.

  To Ty:

  My blond-haired, blue-eyed, full-of-life girl.

  You are amazing, and I hope you never forget it!

  I love you beyond measure.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  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

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Dani Pettrey

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  Prologue

  Abby’s head swam, her vision narrowing as she stumbled into her cabin. What had they slipped her and when? Nausea rumbled in her stomach, magnified by the surging waves created by the brewing storm. How could she have been so foolish?

  They must have figured out who she was and that she was close to exposing them. They were trying to silence her—though if it came down to it, she preferred death to the alternative.

  She lifted the receiver and dialed Darcy’s cabin.

  Please be there. Darcy had said she’d wait in her room, but the phone kept ringing until it rolled over into voice mail. This wasn’t a message for voice mail. Not if they knew who she was. Not if it could lead them to Darcy. She had to find a better way, a safer way to leave a message only Darcy would understand.

  She scribbled a quick note. Now . . . where to put it? She grabbed the Gideon Bible from the nightstand, slipped the message inside, set the Bible on her bed, and headed for the door. Only Darcy would know Abby would have no reason to have a Bible on her bed. Turning, she spotted her purse next to the nightstand, grabbed it, and placed it atop the Bible. Never hurt to have a little added protection. Darcy would still recognize the significance.

  As she walked around her bed, the ship heaved and she stumbled. She needed help. Wobbling with each step, she managed to grasp the doorknob, the metal cool inside her clammy palm. Her breath quickened. Cracking the door, she peered into the corridor, thankful to find it empty. Stepping into the hall, she moved toward the elevator.

  Shadows arched around the bend halfway down the hall, where another corridor intersected it. She halted. Her breath hitched.

  A man spoke, his words angry and heated. A second man responded. Her heart seized in her chest. It was them. They were coming.

  She turned heel, nearly losing her footing, and braced a supportive hand against the wall, hugging it as she moved as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

  The deck door. She’d slip outside and track back toward the elevator, entering on the far end of the corridor. Perhaps the fresh air would help clear her muddled brain.

  Sliding the exterior door open, she stepped out onto the deck. Brisk Alaskan air slapped her face but didn’t bring the clarity she’d hoped for. Heat still surged along her skin. Seriously, what had they slipped her?

  Fighting to remain erect, she gripped the railing as the tumultuous Alaskan waters crashed against the ship’s hull. If she could just make it to the aft door, she’d come out right by the elevator. A few decks up and she’d be surrounded by people.

  She took a tentative step, then another. Only sixty feet to the door she needed.

  I can do this. For them, she’d fight.

  “There.” His voice sent ice water through her veins. They’d found her.

  Sweat drenching her skin, she broke into a run, but her legs tangled beneath her. She flailed forward, her chin colliding with the rough deck surface. Pain and heat shot through her—her hands and face tingling with the loss of skin.

  The footsteps grew heavier, nearer.

  She peered through the haze swarming her brain, struggling to focus on the door a mere thirty feet ahead. Pushing up on her bloodied hands, she shot to her feet and stumbled forward. The deck bobbed with the waves, her vision swirling.

  Please. Tears pooled in her eyes. She grasped the door handle as an unforgiving hand clamped down hard on her shoulder, pinching her in a viselike grip. Pain radiated down her right side.

  “You really thought you could outsmart us, Abby?” He wrenched her back. Grabbing her hair in his fist, he hauled her across the narrow deck.

  She scrambled to grasp onto something . . . anything. She kicked as best as her limp legs would allow, fighting whatever was poisoning her system. She mustered a scream, but the ocean’s roar swallowed it.

  He pressed her against the railing, her back arched over the thick metal beam, her feet dangling in the air. “What a waste.”

  “Please. No.”

  “It’s too late for that.” With a push, he forced her overboard.

  Her feet flailed as the air rushed up to meet her. “Nooo!”

  1

  Darcy strode down the eerily silent corridor, heading for the elevator. Where was Abby? Perhaps, after returning from the day’s excursion, she’d been called in to help with the evening’s bash on Deck 9. Whatever the cause of Abby’s delay, Darcy wasn’t going to spend the rest of the night waiting. She had signed on with the Bering to aid Abby in an investigation—an investigation she still knew very little about.

  Abby’s calls from various Alaskan ports over the past few weeks had been brief—telling Darcy about an adventure journalist opportunity aboard Destiny Cruise Line’s Bering and encouraging her to apply. The last call—the day before Darcy was scheduled to leave California to join the cruise—had been different. It had lasted less than a minute, and there was a heightened urgency to Abby’s tone, true fear—unlike anything she’d heard in h
er former undercover investigation partner before. She wouldn’t give any details, only frantically confirmed that Darcy was indeed arriving. Whatever Abby was on to, it was big.

  For the first time in three years, the hunger of the hunt was back for her. And the beauty of it was that her adventure journalist “cover” was real.

  Her adventure credentials and her ability to be on board the ship within forty-eight hours had impressed Destiny Cruise Line and snagged her the spot. She’d been on board little over twelve hours, and already she was anxious to plunge into whatever Abby needed her help with.

  She pressed the Up button, tapping her foot until the elevator doors slid open. She stepped inside, hit the button for level 9, and leaned against the rail. Who would have thought she’d ever be back on a case? When she left undercover investigative reporting three years ago, she’d vowed never to return. But this was different. Abby needed her help, she wasn’t totally undercover, and most importantly she wasn’t working for Kevin—that fact alone made all the difference. Or, at least, she tried to convince herself it did.

  The elevator moved slowly, or perhaps the anxiety was getting to her. She’d been so restless since she’d left Alaska last December . . . left the McKenna family . . . left Gage. She’d expected to stay in contact, but nothing had come—five months with no phone calls, no e-mails . . . nothing.

  She jiggled her leg as the numbers overhead lit with each deck passed—5. 6. 7.

  The elevator jerked to a sudden halt at 8, jarring her hard against the back rail. An alarm whirred and the lights dimmed.

  You’ve got to be kidding.

  She pressed the 9 button. Nothing.

  “Oh, come on.”

  Depressing the emergency call button, she held it in, trying to ward off the encroaching panic.

  She was trapped.

  He answered his cell on the third ring, irritated at the intrusion. “This better be important.”

  “We’ve got a situation,” Jeremy said.

  He stood and stalked away from the bed. “I thought you were handling the situation.” Isn’t that what Jeremy had promised—to take care of his mistake?

  “I was,” Jeremy mumbled. “I am, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “We’ve hit a complication.”

  There’s a shock. It was always something with Jeremy. Why he’d trusted him to run things this long . . . That was his mistake. “What kind of complication?” He retrieved his whiskey glass from the wet bar.

  “Someone sounded the man-overboard alarm.”

  “Where are you?”

  “There’s no need for you to come. Just tell me what to do.”

  “Obviously following orders isn’t your strong suit.” He finished his drink in a single draught, the golden liquid burning its way down his throat and spreading across his chest.

  “But, boss . . .”

  “Give me your coordinates. Now.” He kept his voice even, tight. No sense losing his temper until the matter at hand was resolved.

  Jeremy gave up the coordinates.

  “I’ll see you soon.” He cut off the call.

  2

  Abby came to, nausea rolling in her belly. The ground purred beneath her. Muffled voices spoke from somewhere nearby. She lifted her head off the cold, damp surface as darkness swirled around her.

  Her sopping clothes clung to her shivering body. Where am I? Peeling the matted strands of wet hair from her face, her view cleared, and reality struck like a death knell. She wasn’t dead. This was much, much worse.

  “I’m sorry, boss. Someone sounded the alarm,” Jeremy’s voice quivered.

  The man whose voice set terror aflame in her blood was afraid? Who was this other man?

  “That’s all I’ve been hearing from you lately. ‘I’m sorry.’ Do you have any idea the strings I had to pull to cover up this mistake of yours? I might as well be conducting a bloody orchestra.” The man speaking stalked into view a mere twenty feet in front of her, but the night masked his features in shadows.

  She looked up, and rain splattered her face. She was still outside. But the purring? A boat. Maybe a rescue boat. No, this certainly wasn’t a rescue.

  “You.” His voice was deep, cut hard with the edge of anger.

  She stiffened, fearful he was addressing her, but he stalked the opposite way, toward someone beyond her line of sight. “Get going. You’ve just been promoted.”

  Whomever he was addressing didn’t argue. Didn’t say a word. A moment later, a small motor sounded and quickly disappeared into the distance.

  She inched toward the ship’s side. If she could reach the water, perhaps she stood a chance.

  “If I don’t go back . . .” Jeremy spluttered.

  A shot pierced the night.

  Fear ricocheted through Abby’s dull limbs, and adrenaline propelled her forward, the rough deck tearing at her already-battered knees.

  “And where do you think you’re going?” A gun cocked beside her ear as the man knelt over her.

  Moisture slithered down Darcy’s back as she sat, sweating, in a stuck elevator. She’d pressed every button on the control panel. She couldn’t reach the elevator ceiling to see if there was a way to climb out. The rising heat . . .

  What if there was a fire on board and she was trapped inside this metal box? Don’t go there, Darcy.

  She was stuck until someone complained the elevator wasn’t working, and the ship’s crew fixed the problem. Malfunction. Maybe if she repeated it enough, it would drown out the panic hissing in her ear. The air was growing stale—suffocating. She hated enclosed spaces. Hated being surrounded by darkness. The dim emergency lighting certainly didn’t count as light—she could barely see her hands balled at her sides.

  Uncurling her fingers, she lifted her arm and depressed the small light button on her watch, illuminating the iridescent face. One hour, eight minutes and counting. She’d loathed every second of it.

  Finally, with a jerk, the elevator resumed rising and the regular lighting kicked back in. She surged to her feet and smoothed out her blouse. She was sweating, flushed, and going to look it when the elevator doors opened.

  The doors slid open, and she was met by a worried crew member—a man, close to her age. He was tall and slender, with wavy chestnut hair and matching brown eyes. “Are you okay, miss?”

  “I’m fine.” She practically bolted from the elevator, gulping in deep breaths of fresher air. “What happened?”

  “The man-overboard alarm was triggered, and I’m afraid when that kicks in, it’s just like the fire alarm has been set off. We have one central alarm system on board, and it automatically shuts the elevators down.”

  “Man overboard?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  People began to get on the elevator she’d just escaped from. Were they crazy? She scanned the crowd, the worried faces, and realized the problem. They were clamoring for the elevators because they wanted to check on their loved ones—make certain it wasn’t them that had gone overboard. Nearly all were elderly. No doubt the younger ones had already taken to the stairs. They moved past her until the elevator was stuffed to capacity and the doors slid shut.

  “Do you know who went overboard?” she asked.

  The man shrugged. “No clue.” He signaled another group onto the next available elevator. “I’ve been busy seeing to the ship’s safety, and then resetting the alarm once the person was secure.”

  “Person . . . secure?”

  “The rescue crew successfully retrieved the person who went overboard.” He looked back at the diminishing crowd, relief finally settling on his brow.

  “That’s great.”

  Refusing to get back on the elevator, she headed straight for the medical clinic. If she wasn’t going to catch up with Abby tonight, the least she could do was investigate the overboard incident.

  Exiting on Deck 7, she headed straight for the medical clinic. Whoever had gone overboard would be brought there immediately to be checked over by a
doctor.

  She rounded the hall and to her surprise found the clinic dark.

  Curious . . .

  She tried the knob. Locked.

  Surely the rescue crew would have the rescued passenger back on board by now.

  She waited, pacing the corridor for several minutes, but no one appeared.

  She scurried back to the ninth level, hoping the man who rescued her might have some answers by now, but he was gone. Nearly everyone was—no doubt having returned to their cabins after the frightening episode.

  Moving out onto the exterior deck, Darcy peered over the side. Rain pelted her face, cooling her skin. The spring storm that had been threatening all day had finally hit.

  She scanned the choppy water, looking for any sign of the rescue crew but finding only blackness. She walked the circumference of the ship, searching all four points—port, starboard, bow, and stern—and saw nothing but the tumultuous sea. Where had the rescue crew taken the victim if not to the clinic?

  She peered across the waves from the aft of the ship, at the lights fading in the distance. They’d been near land. Perhaps . . .

  “This is your captain speaking,” a baritone voice piped over the intercom. “I want to thank you all for complying so willingly with our emergency protocol. I am pleased to announce that the young lady who fell overboard has been successfully retrieved and taken to a nearby hospital. Please rest assured we are back on course and will dock in Yancey shortly before dawn. Now get some rest. It looks to be a beautiful day in Yancey tomorrow.”

  Darcy swallowed. Young lady?

  She stared back at the lights nearly swallowed by the darkness. Could it have been Abby?

  3

  The call had come in at a quarter to one. A group of teens camping in Tariuk Island’s rugged mountains had thought a late-night rafting race on Class IV rapids was a good idea.

  Gage stood at the edge of the foaming waters, the sound of a young female’s sobbing not far away.