Chapter 1

      Seawater soaked Bree up to the waist. When the rocky shore slammed into her knees, she wasn’t sure if she’d fallen or if the choppy waves had thrown her. Her arms automatically folded around the child sheltered against her chest. Jonathan whimpered, his voice achingly small in the darkness. She scrabbled forward, hauling him with her in a one-armed crawl until she reached a scruff of grass and ferns. It was hard going, half stumbling, half climbing as the shore rose sharply from the beach.

      Bree tried to look behind her but from where she knelt, she couldn’t see the man below. For a fat, old, whiskery fishing guide, Bob was strong. And a coward. And cruel.

      Curse him! She clung there for a long moment, palms smarting from clambering over the sharp rocks. Vertigo seized her, the tug of the surf still haunting her blood and bones. It’s okay. We made it, at least for now. She cradled Jonathan, trying to give the four-year-old a comfort she didn’t feel.

      They’d left the ocean below, but not water. Rain pounded against her back and shoulders, dripping through her hair and down her face to mix with tears and sweat. The only light came from the boat below, where Bob was turning the craft around. She was still panting, still needed to rest, but she couldn’t let the moment pass. Bree stood and wheeled around, instinctively pulling her coat closer around Jonathan.

      “You promised to take me to town!” she screamed toward the bright light of the boat. It was a useless protest, but Brianna Meadows had never been the demure, silent type.

      “Count yourself lucky!” Bob bellowed back. “I saw you to dry land.”

      “They’ll kill us!”

      “Better you than me. I’m sorry for your boy, but you’re nothing but trouble.”

      “But—”

      He said something else, but the words shredded in the rain and wind. The motor roared as the boat picked up speed.