Uncontrollable (The Nature of Grace, Book 2) Read online

  UNCONTROLLABLE

  The Nature of Grace – Book 2

  by S.R. Johannes

  Praise for the Series

  Winner of the 2012 Indie Reader Discovery Award (Young Adult)

  2012 Georgia Author of the Year (Young Adult, Nominee)

  2012 Kindle Book Review - Best Indie Book of the Year (Young Adult, Finalist)

  “Grace is a spunky, independent nature girl who doesn't need a boy to save her. With wilderness survival, a juicy love triangle, and more twists and turns than a roller coaster, this fast-paced novel had me holding my breath until the very last page—and still begging for more!”

  –Kimberly Derting, author of The Body Finder series

  “This thrilling story is a dramatic entanglement of mystery, deception and teen romance. The action flows like a brisk mountain stream interspersed with rapids, holding suspense to last page.”

  – Kirkus Reviews

  “Johannes has done a marvelous job of creating a suspense-filled mystery with surprises that keep you guessing all the way to the end. Untraceable is a thoroughly engrossing and riveting page-turner.”

  –IndieReader

  “Untraceable takes readers on a thrill-ride through a beautiful forest full of dangerous creatures. Grace deals with more than her fair share of tensions and surprises as she works to uncover the mystery behind her father's disappearance.”

  – Confessions of a Bookaholic

  “It was high-speed, non-stop action/thriller. Any book that has you biting your nails in the first two pages is a definite winner for me.”

  –Reading Teen

  “A thrilling murder mystery set deep in the heart of North Carolina's Smoky Mountains, Untraceable is a suspenseful page-turner loaded with plot twists, action, and a swoon-worthy romance.” – Mundie Moms

  “Can I just say this book left me going O.M.GAHH! Where to start? Untraceable is a non-stop thrilling ride! You have mystery, blurred lines of who is good and who is bad, animals, totally guy hotness *with accent* ...You have a steamy love triangle and one Kick-Butt, do things for herself, strong-willed girl that is Grace.

  – SupaGurlBooks

  This book was abso-bloody-lutely amazing and like nothing I’ve read before.

  – Step into Fiction (a.k.a. Fictional Distraction)

  “This book made me feel so many different emotions in a short amount of time. S.R. Johannes definitely made it impossible for me not to love Grace’s story. I can’t even explain how much I enjoyed reading Untraceable. It captivated me until the very end, and I cannot wait to read the next book.”

  – The Readiacs

  “Chilling, shocking, and horrifying are the three words that come to mind when Grace finally gets to the bottom of what’s going on with her dad’s disappearance. Some mystery novels are amazing with the build-up of clues and suspense, only to falter anti-climatically in the revelation. Untraceable has no such problem.”

  –Refracted Light Reviews

  “Untraceable has a great ending. I enjoyed the book but loved the ending.”

  – I'm a Reader, Not a Writer

  “Overall, an amazing thrill-ride with real, three-dimensional characters that will have you sitting on the edge of your seat to find out what happens next.”

  – YA Bound

  “I don't know where to start or how to describe this book. It has a mixture of everything from mystery, to investigation, to romance, to murder making this book a fantastic read. Grace reminds me a lot of Veronica Mars, who will stop at nothing to learn the real truth behind her father's disappearance.”

  – Once Upon a Twilight

  A fast-paced thriller, full of interesting characters, and a never ending supply of unexpected turns. As Grace's investigation pulls her deeper in to a much larger web of lies and corruption, the intensity rises and just when you (and Grace) think you have it all figured out, Bam! you get side-swiped with a new twist.

  – Teens Read and Write

  Coleman & Stott

  Uncontrollable: The Nature of Grace series, Book 2

  Electronic Edition

  Copyright © S.R. Johannes, 2012

  www.srjohannes.com

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover model: Leilani Jade Flannagin

  Cover photograph/copyright by Vania Stoyanova VLC Photo © 2012

  Design and typography by GraphicCat.com

  All right reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author.

  ISBN ebook: 978-0-9847991-5-2

  Dedication

  To my husband and soul mate,

  who always believed I could create beautiful things.

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Survival Skill #1, Survival Skill #2

  Survival Skill #3, Survival Skill #4

  Survival Skill #5, Survival Skill #6

  Survival Skill #7, Survival Skill #8

  Survival Skill #9, Survival Skill #10

  Survival Skill #11, Survival Skill #12

  Survival Skill #13, Survival Skill #14

  Survival Skill #15, Survival Skill #16

  Survival Skill #17, Survival Skill #18

  Survival Skill #19, Survival Skill #20

  Survival Skill #21, Survival Skill #22

  Survival Skill #23, Survival Skill #24

  Survival Skill #25, Survival Skill #26

  Survival Skill #27, Survival Skill #28

  Survival Skill #29, Survival Skill #30

  Survival Skill #31, Survival Skill #32

  Survival Skill #33, Survival Skill #34

  Epilogue

  Preface

  Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened.

  Hello…

  The word flashes on my computer screen in time to the seconds ticking away on Mom’s old clock. Hello. Hello. Hello.

  I stare at it as if I’ve never seen it before.

  Stupid spammers. When will they realize pop-ups never work? No, I don’t need a date nor do I want to give you any money for your imaginary hardships. And if I did, I certainly would not send money to an online creepy person.

  Ignoring the message, I close the window and finish reading the news article on the Red Wolf Recovery Program.

  Another Endangered Red Wolf Found Dead on Conservation Land

  Agent Sweeney of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service was quoted as saying, “At this time, we think the deaths were due to natural causes or possibly some kind of accident. I assure you, if I find out this was intentional, I will arrest whoever is responsible for these acts against nature and against wolves.”

  I sit back and sigh, still staring at the type on the screen. Four wolves dead. Two found by me; the other two located by the second team. All in different locations.

  At first glance, it appears to be natural causes, yet Agent Sweeney seems to think otherwise. Even though there’s absolutely no proof, could he be right? After all, being a USFWS agent has blessed him with killer instincts. Then again, why would anyone harm these gorgeous creatures on purpose? And more importantly, who?

  Al Smith’s sneering face flickers across my mind, and scenes play out in my head. How the poacher attacked me. How his knife gleamed in the dim light. And that awful moment when he shattered my family forever. I hear myself gasp, and my chest tightens as I remember how Dad saved my life.

  And
lost his own.

  I shake the haunting images from my brain before they consume me again. If I let myself slide down that path to despair, I’m afraid I’ll never find my way back. Refocusing, I enter the rest of my observation notes from my field research into the database. My fingers skip over the keys so fast they leave behind a trail of typos.

  Agent Sweeney is going to freak out when he sees my latest project entry. Because this time, the wolf I’m documenting – or the Rufus canus as Dad would call it – was alive!

  I scan through my scribble-scrabble to ensure I’ve logged in all the necessary stats on what I observed:

  Healthy male, about seventy pounds, approximately twenty-six inches at the shoulder and four feet long from nose to tail. Presumed to be the alpha male.

  I note the unique markings:

  Four white paws and white circles around both of his eyes (kind of like a mask).

  In the Extra Findings section, I jot down the name I awarded him: Bandit.

  Not many people would find that part very interesting, and it’s hardly scientific. But it’s a way for me to remember the wolf in case I ever see him again – should I be so lucky.

  When I get to the Location field, I stop and stare at the coordinates I logged, indicating the exact place where I saw the wolf pack.

  If Sweeney is right and someone is hurting these animals on purpose, maybe I shouldn’t enter this part. I skip over the fields and submit my report, knowing I can always add in extra data later.

  Just then, another message pops up on my screen.

  I see you…

  I shake my head in disgust. Stupid online pervs. It’s the one thing I hate most about using computers–creepy lurkers and cyberbullies. At least when weirdoes troll around my woods, their tracks give them away. I see them, and they don’t even know I’m there. Online, freaks can hide anywhere–behind pixels, on social networks, or as characters in video games.

  They’re practically untraceable.

  I quickly type jerk, and punch the ENTER key with my index finger – just to make a point – before closing the window again. A few seconds later, a single word fills my screen in extra-large font.

  …Grace

  I freeze. It’s as if this person can see me through the thin screen. I don’t dare move, suddenly feeling totally exposed like a naked mole rat trapped in the bright morning sun. My breath catches in my throat, and I slam the laptop shut – as if that makes everything go away.

  I push back from the table and sit still. No matter how hard I try to control my thoughts, a bad feeling churns in my belly. I glance around the room lit only by a dim lamp and wish Mom was back from her trip to Asheville.

  Most kids my age would love having a parent MIA. Not me. Not now. Having my grandmother Birdee here is nice, but deep down I just want Mom. After all, it’s only been a few months since Al attacked me; a measly one hundred and twenty-one days since I saw Mo, my first love, for the very last time. Not to mention, I’m still reeling from the loss of Dad.

  It’s something I’m still not sure I can ever get over. The guilt hangs on me like Mom’s homemade quilt, cloaking me in shame and sadness. I sigh and wipe my eyes when I realize I’m crying again.

  Maybe I’m being paranoid. Understandable after everything that’s happened. I glance out the window past the snow-covered driveway. Through the fogged panes, I scan the spindly trees for any sign of movement. The wind moans through the mountainous winter scene. It’s just as deserted as always. No doubt about it, I’m alone.

  I stare back at the screen and frown. Why am I letting some backwoods redneck who’s long gone by now and some crazy cyber creep freak me out? They’re not worth my energy or time.

  Come on, Grace, shake it off.

  I roll my neck to try and release the tension. Maybe Mom can snap me out of this funk.

  I pick up my cell phone and notice the missed calls. My hands tremble as I dial, causing me to punch in a few wrong numbers. After a couple failed attempts, the phone starts to ring. I tap my fingers as I wait for someone to answer.

  Finally, a gruff voice pops into my ear. “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” I say. “I saw you called.”

  “Thought we could talk. Don’t like the way we left things.”

  I clear my throat and peer out the window again. It’d be nice not to be alone tonight. “Sure.”

  Wyn’s voice seeps through the line. “Give me twenty minutes.”

  I peek one more time through the flimsy fabric and scan the white world surrounding me. “I’ll be there in ten.”

  Before he can argue, I hang up and exhale a breath of relief at the possibility of company.

  Just as I’m about to close the drapes, something catches my eye. A tiny movement most people wouldn’t notice hidden among the dark shadows. I squint, trying to make out what it is through the falling snow. A faint red glow bobs in the black night like a lightning bug that’s been set on fire.

  Only this is no flaming insect.

  It’s the burning ember of someone’s cigarette.

  A swirling wind sweeps through the naked trees, stripped of their spring leaves. Snowflakes bounce in the breeze and dance in front of the house, blurring my view.

  I rub my eyes and peek again. The red light is gone.

  I sigh a breath of relief. Maybe I’m seeing things. Maybe my brain’s playing tricks on me. Maybe I’m going crazy again.

  That’s when I notice a large silhouette slinking from shadow to shadow up the long driveway.

  This can only be one person.

  Al.

  My mind races, and my heart hammers inside my chest. My hands shake, and my eyes dart around the room, looking for someplace safe to hide. I can’t stay here; I have to leave. If Al catches me this time, he’ll surely kill me. I’ll have a much better chance of escaping if I’m outdoors.

  Better a moving turkey than a sitting duck.

  I snatch my white jacket off the hat rack and strap my hunting knife to my belt. I yank on my coat and backpack, all while keeping my eye on the silhouette creeping closer and closer. Then slowly and quietly, I inch backward down the hallway, keeping my eyes on the front of the house. When my body presses against the back door, I freeze.

  The shadowy figure walks up the front steps. Since the outside bulb is broken, I can’t make out any features, but the build is large. It’s got to be Al. The doorknob rattles, and I hold my breath, praying the lock will hold. We never used to bolt our doors, but that was before Captain Carl ruined my town, and crazy Al managed to escape the law.

  The handle jiggles again as it’s tested. Hopefully, it will hold off Al long enough for me to get a head start. I quietly open the back door and step onto the icy deck. The frigid air pricks my face like little needles and rushes down into my lungs. I gasp loudly as my body adjusts to the extreme drop in temperature. I pull the fake fur hood around my face and inch down the steps.

  A sliver of light from the living room window provides me just enough visibility to see my dad’s snowmobile sitting against the house, covered in a tarp. It’d be much faster to jump on that and go, but the noise would definitely give me away. My chance of escape is better if I sneak off quietly without being detected and get a head start.

  Just as I’m about to bolt across the yard and into the safe arms of the pitch-black woods, I spot a large shadow lingering, pressed against the side of the house. The hair on my neck stands on end, and without any hesitation, I sprint down the steep hill.

  The icy wind tears down my throat. It’s as if I’ve swallowed thousands of sharp, tiny icicles all at once. Huge, white clouds of breath are like beacons in the black night, giving away my position. Heavy footsteps crunch behind me through the new snow, growing closer with every step.

  I focus on the woods ahead, not daring to look back for fear of who I’ll see. If I can make it into the forest, Al will never find me. I know how to hide without a trace, and my white jacket blends nicely into the snowy backdrop.

  F
eeling confident, I push forward. Huge snowflakes freeze my eyeballs, making them water. No matter how sluggish and heavy I feel in the thick snow, I call on every muscle to hop over the high drifts.

  Behind me, the footsteps get faster and louder. Al’s gaining on me. Getting so close, I can practically sense him right behind me.

  I dig my boots into the soft, powdery snow and force myself to speed up, half expecting a hand to grab my hood at any second. Tears spring into my eyes, and I resort to something I seem to be doing a lot of lately – praying. Please, God. Not again.

  When I finally reach the edge of the forest, I veer off the straight path and zigzag into the thick trees. My legs are moving so fast, my foot clips a log, and I tumble face-first into a snowy drift. Without missing a beat, I scramble across the ground on all fours.

  Labored breathing grows louder behind me as someone grabs hold of my ankle and yanks me backward. I try to scream, but the piercing air has frozen my lungs. I grasp at anything – roots, branches, bushes – to keep from being dragged away from the safety of the woods.

  For a few seconds, I flail around crazily, expending all my energy trying to get away. Being facedown is the worst fighting position, especially for a girl. So I quickly flip over onto my back and swing my free leg, hoping to kick the crap out of a kneecap or land a lucky groin shot.

  I hear myself scream, “Help!”

  My attacker pounces on top of me, knocking out my breath. A large hand covers my mouth, blocking air from entering or escaping.

  I buck wildly and throw up my legs, hoping to encircle a neck, but the dead weight on my chest combined with the lack of chilled oxygen is too much. My body slows down, and my vision blurs.