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USA Today bestselling author Colleen Coble has written several romantic suspense novels including Tidewater Inn, Rosemary Cottage, and the Mercy Falls, Lonestar, and Rock Harbor series. Visit her website at www.colleencoble.com Twitter: @colleencoble Facebook: colleencoblebooks
Swarms of black flies tried to find a way past the netting around Bree Nicholls's head. Every inch of her body was swathed in some kind of covering in an effort to foil the insects, but from the stinging at her ankle, she knew some had breached her defenses. She paused and swatted at the biting pain. Michigan's Upper Peninsula might be the best place to live at other times, but June was pure misery in the deep woods.
Her German shepherd-chow search dog, Samson, wagged his curly tail in an effort to dispel the clouds of black flies buzzing around his head. He raced ahead of her, pausing occasionally to look behind as if to say, "Are you coming?"
Naomi O'Reilly, Bree's best friend and search-and-rescue partner, panted to keep up. "You think he's dead?" she asked.
Bree didn't pause to answer. It was a useless question anyway. The only way to answer that would be to find the body. She thrashed her way through the clinging blackberry bushes onto a small beach fronting Lake Michigan. The beach had managed to hold back the encroaching north woods and seemed almost hidden by the sunlight-choking tall trees surrounding it. The sandy area was already full of deputies and searchers. She scanned the shore for her brother-in-law, Sheriff Mason Kaleva, and saw his bulky form directing the searchers about to begin dragging the lake.
She almost groaned when she saw who was standing beside him. Ranger Kade Matthews's gaze met hers, and she wished she could leave. But this was a small community, and people already talked enough about their breakup. She tried to smile but feared it was more of a grimace when Kade's own expression darkened.
Samson bounded across the damp sand to greet him. Kade scratched the dog's ears, then walked away to join other rangers and Mason's deputies at the water's edge. As head of security on the Kitchigami Wildlife Preserve, he had every right to be here, Bree told herself, hurrying to join Mason and Samson. At least she wouldn't have to pretend nothing was wrong. But if this breakup had been the right thing, why did it hurt so much?
"Anything?" she asked Mason.
Mason shook his head. "This is a heck of a way to introduce the new residents to Rock Harbor. The chamber of commerce coaxed the lab to open here by painting a pretty picture of all the recreation in the Keweenaw. Now it will look like the area is unsafe."
"He might just be lost," Bree reminded him. "Maybe he never went out on the lake."
"He was due home four hours ago," Mason said. "His fishing gear is still by the water. Besides, he's a no-show at his son's fifth birthday party. Not like him at all, according to his wife."
She couldn't argue with that, and it didn't bode well. She glanced at her watch. Two o'clock. Her son, Davy, was at the party with his friend Timmy, Naomi's stepson. The sound of the waves seemed louder, and a few raindrops hit her arm. "Storm's coming. We'd better get out there."
Naomi and her dog, Charley, hurried toward her. None of the other Kitchigami K9 Search and Rescue members had arrived yet. Bree turned back to Mason. "You have a boat for us?"
Mason nodded his head toward a dinghy. "I thought you'd like something low to the water. It's got an engine as well as oars."
"Perfect. You have the scent article?" Mason handed her a paper bag. She unrolled it and then another paper bag inside the first one. "Come, Samson."
The dog eagerly sniffed the sock inside the bags then woofed softly. Bree handed the bag to Naomi, and Charley sniffed it as well. Both dogs turned and looked out toward the lake. Not a good sign. Bree had hoped the man had put in to shore somewhere. He was a scientist, not a sailor. Only people experienced with Lake Superior had any business out on its capricious waves.
Once they were in the boat, Mason shoved them off. Samson immediately went to the bow. The wind blew his thick, curly fur back from his head. "Find him, Samson," Bree urged. The dog whined, and his tail dropped between his legs. The hope of finding new resident Phil Taylor alive began to wane.
Naomi had the motor barely putt-putting along. She steered it slowly back and forth across the inlet near the beach. The clouds were already turning darker, and a drop or two of rain plopped into the water. Charley and Samson had their noses in the air. Samson gave a howl, then strained toward shore near an outcropping of rock called Three Indians.
"Over there!" Bree pointed and Naomi turned the boat.
Charley whined and turned his head back to look at Naomi. Samson howled again then launched himself into the four-foot swells. Biting at the water, he paddled toward the rocks.
"Samson, no!" The way the waves were pounding the rocks, Bree was afraid her dog would be tossed against the granite and killed. The dog hesitated then turned and paddled back to the boat.
"Over here," Bree shouted to Mason. "Bring the nets here." She tossed the anchor overboard and hauled Samson back into the boat. The average water temperature in Lake Superior was only forty degrees, and she shivered when seventy pounds of cold, wet dog landed next to her. She pulled a towel out of her ready-pack and began to dry him off.
Anything was better than facing what her dog's reaction might mean. Though she'd had her share of searches ending badly, she was never prepared when it happened. Rubbing the towel rhythmically over her dog's wet fur, she prayed for Phil Taylor's family.
"He's got a wife and three kids," Naomi said, her gaze on the boats beginning to drag the lake.
Bree nodded. "I met her at the Suomi last week when she invited the kids over for the birthday party. She seemed so sweet. Poor woman."
"You don't suppose he went swimming here, do you? It's too early in the season to even think of getting in that water. I wouldn't get in it until July."
"I don't know. Some people new to the area just don't know any better." Bree watched until one of the searchers shouted, then she turned her face away as the nets found what they were looking for.
Mason pulled his boat alongside Bree a few minutes later. "It's Phil. Your boys are at their house, right? You might as well come with me to tell his wife. I think she'll need a familiar face. She's so far from her family."
Bree wanted to refuse, but she hunched her shoulders and nodded.
The Taylors lived in a small cottage at the edge of Rock Harbor. A rental, the cottage seemed to cling for dear life to the thick woods behind it as it looked over a small cliff at Lake Superior's seasonal fury. The storm had passed by but the effects still lingered; monster waves crashed against the rocks below.
Children squealed in the yard, and Bree could see Davy stomping in a mud puddle. No matter how often she looked at her son, she marveled at the perfection of his compact body, a miniature version of his dead father. Her vision blurred as her gaze wandered to Adrian. He was fatherless now, too, but just didn't know it. Life seemed so unfair at times.
"Those boys are covered in mud." Naomi's voice was resigned.
Adults mingled with the children, and Bree glanced at her watch. "It's pickup time. Maybe we should wait until most of the people are gone to break the news to Denise."
Mason hesitated, then nodded. "I hope the storm didn't flood the mine where the new lab is set up. It's the craziest thing I've ever heard. Who in their right mind would try to grow plants inside a mine? And for what purpose when there are perfectly good places to grow it outside?"
"They're sure tight-lipped about it," Naomi agreed. "But MJ Pharmaceuticals must know what they're doing."
"You'd think so. Hilary was ecstatic when she heard they'd be employing nearly fifty people. Especially with her reelection coming up in a few months."
Naomi nodded. "She's always on top of everything. I wish she'd slow down."
Bree knew her sister-in-law would never do that. She and Rob, Bree's deceased husband, were as alike in temperament as they were in looks, both focused and driven when they attacked a project. "How is Hilary feeling? I haven't seen her since last week."
"Sick of taking it easy, but feeling pretty good. You should see the bedroom. She's transformed it into an office complete with fax machine. Her secretary comes there every morning. She's nearly four months along now. Just another two months, and we'll all breathe easier."
Denise was giving prizes out for the last game. She turned, and her expression changed when she saw Bree's Jeep. The one-year-old twins clutched her legs, one on each side. Kneeling, she scooped them up and came toward the car. Bree and Mason got out and waited for her.
"Did you find him?" Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together.
"Maybe we should go inside." Mason said.
She didn't seem to hear him. "Phil isn't usually so irresponsible. Did he say why he didn't let me know he would be home so late?"
Little Abby had her thumb in her mouth and smiled winningly at Bree. Alex began wailing, his fists rubbing his eyes.
"May I?" Bree held out her hands for the crying child. To her amazement, Alex came right to her and cuddled against her shoulder. With Davy now nearly five, it was hard to remember when he'd been this small.
"He's not usually so outgoing with strangers," Denise said. She shuffled Abby to the other hip. "Did Phil say what time he'd be home?" Her voice was high and jerky, and she didn't look at either Bree or Mason.
"Mrs. Taylor, I'm afraid I have some bad news," Mason began.
"Oh, don't tell me he wrecked the car." Denise gave a nervous laugh. "I told him he needed to get new tires before we moved up here."
"No, the car is fine. But I'm afraid Phil isn't. We found his body in Lake Superior, ma'am, just off Three Indians beach area."
Denise stared at them, her mouth slack. She blinked through glazed eyes. "Wha . . . what are you saying? Wait, I don't understand."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Taylor... --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.