Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 #1 (41 page)

Colm peered past the broken boards into a dark and dank cellar. His eyes adjusted quickly enough to capture Gretchen lying right below. She didn't look to have fallen far, from what he could tell by the low basement ceiling, but he couldn't be sure. “Our home owner has taken a tumble through her foyer floor,” Colm said, trying to play his part for the camera, when really he wanted to jump in after her. “This could be right serious and just woeful. She's not responding to my call.”

Colm stood abruptly, knowing Nate would follow on his heels. After two years of working together on the show, they'd learned each other's movements, even though nothing like this had ever happened on location. Sure, there were mishaps, but those were minor or typically used for commercial breaks. Viewers liked the excitement of staying tuned in to find out what happened. And when the accident had been remedied and all was well again, they sat back on their couches and watched on. Minor mishaps worked great, but a serious injury could ruin him. It could send him back to the place he never wanted to go again.

But it would be so much worse for Gretchen.

Colm ran to the back of the house and located the door to the basement. His boots hit the stairs in a rapid cadence that matched his heartbeat. What would he find below? Her neck twisted in an unnatural way?

Please, God, let her be well
, he prayed again.
Be with me so I can help her.
A twinge of guilt gripped him when he realized he had been worried about his job a moment ago. Gretchen Bauer could have broken her neck in the fall, and he was worried about being fired. What kind of person did that make him?

As if he didn't know.

Nate followed behind, his camera light illuminating the dirt floor as Colm's feet hit the compacted earth. He had been correct about the low ceiling. The way he had to crouch told him less than six feet stood between floor and ceiling. At least it was a short fall.
Thank You, Lord, for old houses.
He ran toward where Gretchen lay.

A groan came from that direction. She was alive. Colm allowed a little relief to come, but only a little. She could still be quite hurt. He prepared himself for the worst and pulled his phone from his pocket, ready to call 911. “Gretchen, hold still,” he called.

The camera light made finding her easy in the dark. He reached her as she pulled herself up to a sitting position. “Don't move!” he shouted and knelt to stop her. “You shouldn't move until emergency personnel have had a chance to check you out. I'm calling 911.”

“No.” Gretchen grabbed his hand, her touch not delicate as he'd imagined, but rough and strong. She turned away from the camera's light, putting half her pale features into the darkness. “Don't call the sheriff's office,” she said. “I just had the wind knocked out of me.”

“Do you need your inhaler?”

She reached behind her, pulling out a smashed container.

“I'm calling,” he announced, his finger about to hit the number 9.

“Please don't,” she whispered. The camera wouldn't have picked her voice up without her hooked to a microphone, but Colm heard it loud and clear.

For some reason the idea of notifying the sheriff's office scared her more than her fall, more than the inability to breathe.

“Are you positive? Sometimes we don't feel an injury until later.”

“I'm fine.”

Colm studied her for a moment in silence, searching for any injury she might be hiding or not know of yet. She flexed her shoulders and moved her head a bit to demonstrate that she was uninjured. Colm's own adrenaline sank back to a normal level and when he looked up at the camera, he saw it continued to roll. Nate had filmed the whole scene. Colm wasn't surprised. He knew Troy would expect it. The director was sure to eat this incident up. Probably use it for pre-ads to the airing to create some excitement for the upcoming episode. Colm also knew what the director expected of him. Troy would want him to wrap up this scene with a nice little bow. The fact that Gretchen was unhurt meant Colm could continue doing his job. He could now add a little of the humor he was famous for without feeling guilty.

Colm grabbed a piece of floorboard that had come down with Gretchen. He lifted it to the camera. “I don't know about you, but I can say for sure it wasn't our home owner's weight that sent her through the floor. I've seen more meat on a chicken's forehead, if you're following my drift. I'll also say her decision to call
Rescue to Restoration
may have saved her life if the condition of these floorboards means anyth—”

Colm stared at the board in his hand, unable to continue with his monologue. He may be just a host for the show, but long before his time in front of the camera, he had spent many hours beside his da in his woodshop. Colm studied the wood.

Sharp angles, rough edges. Too perfect to be a break.

He looked over the piece at Gretchen Bauer. She dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap. Was this why she didn't want the sheriff's office notified? Did she wonder the same thing he did? Or did she already know the answer to his unasked question?

“This was no accident, Miss Bauer, was it? Speak to me, Goldie. Who'd want'cha dead?”

TWO

“D
ead?” Gretchen gasped. “Nobody wants me dead.”

Do they?

No, of course not. She fought with the doubts that had appeared in her head the moment her back had come into abrupt contact with the dirt floor. “Why would you say such a thing?” Her words rose in defiance as she pushed her sore body up to stand, biting back the aches. “I've lived on Stepping Stones my whole life. The people here love me. They would never hurt me.” The statement fell flat even to her ears.

“After seeing these boards
and
the public notice on your front door, I'd say not all of them love you. You've lived here long enough to make a few enemies, and one enemy is really all it takes to cut a few floorboards.”

“How do you know they were cut? Unless...” A breath-halting realization struck her. “You cut them. That's why you know they were tampered with. You probably did this for your show. To up those ratings you were talking about, am I right?”

Please, let me be right.

“Now, wait just a second. You are way off. I would never—”

“You came inside before I returned home and set the scene up. I played right into your plan. Contrary to what people think around here, I do have a brain. I know when someone's playing me.”

“Playing you? Why? Who played you before? Your islanders? The ones you say love you so much? I thought you just said none of them would ever hurt you. Perhaps you want to modify your words. Someone
has
messed with you. Am
I
right?”

Gretchen opened her mouth to deny it but in all honesty couldn't. But that didn't mean she would admit it. Never could she admit it to anyone.

Not when she'd let it happen.

But it didn't matter: Colm McCrae already knew. Maybe not all the details, but he knew. Shame doused her attempt to make sense of the situation. The fact was, when she fell through the floor, she had a good idea who had done this. But instead of admitting to knowing what her ex was capable of and his possible involvement in this incident, she was quick to find blame elsewhere.
Anywhere
. Even the crew that was here to help her get out from under Deputy Billy Baker's hold.

But why? Why couldn't Gretchen just say there was someone who'd want to hurt her and had?

Oh please, you know exactly why.

Deep down she wanted to believe she would never date a man capable of such a thing. Billy may have been controlling. He may have misused the word
love
. He may have gone above and beyond his duty to protect her by smothering her instead. But none of these things meant he would kill her.

But he had hit her.

Gretchen reached again for her right cheek. How could one slap have such a lasting and debilitating effect?

“You're right.” She dropped her hand to her side. “There is someone who hurt me once. I can't say they did this, but I can say that's why you're here now—so I never have to depend on anyone again. I contacted
Rescue to Restoration
for more than a rehab. It's not only the house that's getting a rescue, it's me, too. And when you finish, and I open the front door to my first guests, it will be the beginning of a fully restored me. It will be the beginning of my new life.”

Gretchen released a deep breath, wishing honesty came this easily with her family and friends. Maybe someday when she was stronger, after she'd proven she could succeed with not only the business, but also with the plans she made for her life, she would tell them, too. “Mr. McCrae, as you can see, we have a lot of work to do if we're going to reach our goal in only three weeks. Obviously, the person who did this wanted to halt the project at the get-go. So, what do you say? Can we show them they didn't win and get started?”

Colm's smile widened to deepen his famous dimples. Gretchen let a smile grow in return. Then again, she wasn't sure if she had any control over her lips at all. The man was gorgeous.

“I'm your man, Goldie, love.” He lifted a hand and made a slicing action across his neck. “Cut. That was perfect, Gretchen. The viewers are going to love you.”

“Cut?” she replied, stunned and confused at the same time. She felt her smile droop. The room darkened as Nate removed the camera from his shoulder and took the light with him toward the stairs. “Wait! This whole thing was filmed?” Her confession blared in her mind. The admission she had withheld from her family and friends would now be viewed by the whole country, the whole world, perhaps. But most definitely the island.

“Oh, no! You can't air what I said. Please!” She rushed out to follow Colm and Nate. They gave no response. “Please, listen to me. People around here won't understand.”

“Terms, Miss Bauer,” Nate reminded her. At the time she'd had no idea the show would be insensitive to her wishes. She should send them away. Risk a lawsuit if need be. Obviously, Billy had been right and she couldn't make a good decision to save her life. Calling the show could be the worst decision she'd ever made.

No
. Dating him was.

And Billy would want her to second-guess any decision she made so that she would ultimately fail at this endeavor. Then she would fall right back into her old life, which included all of the ways he pulled her strings.

At the top of the stairs Nate looked back at Colm. “I'm heading to the bluffs for some stills for fillers while the light's good. Be back in an hour or so.”

“Sounds good. I'm going to look around here for a while.” All traces of the Irishman's accent were gone again as the two men carried on with business—as though her future mattered not at all.

“Mr. McCrae!” Gretchen yelled from the bottom of the stairs. He stopped on the top tread and looked over his shoulder. Even in the shadows she could see his perfectly sculpted eyebrows raised in question over the sleepy-eyed stare the camera and his fans loved so much. But Gretchen saw the real, ugly side of Colm McCrae, and as of this moment, he had lost a fan.

“You should know I'm nobody's puppet,” she stated loud and clear. “Don't try that again. And I want this whole scene erased.”

“Or what? You think you can rehab this place alone?”

She huffed at this egomaniac—even though her own mother had asked the same unsupportive question numerous times. “Not alone, Mr. McCrae. On my own,” she shot back with all the vigor pent up from everyone's betrayal. “I will restore this place
on my own
. There's a difference.”

He stood silently, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He gave a quick nod and started to walk away. Before he disappeared around the corner, he stopped. “I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can do.”

Gretchen stared up at the empty doorway.
See what he can do?
Wasn't he the host of the show? Didn't he have clout? It didn't make sense, unless...

Gretchen inhaled sharply.

It would seem she wasn't the only one who had a puppet master. Colm McCrae had to perform for one, too?

* * *

The metal tape measure zipped back into its case after Colm took a few quick measurements of the gaping hole in the foyer floor. He tossed it back into his bucket of tools, figuring he could repair the damage today before his crew and trailers arrived. He also figured Troy would be happy not to have it cut into the strict rehab schedule.

A schedule that didn't include stopping someone with murderous intent, but now just might.

Colm felt the edge of the rough-cut hole. His fingers came away with chewed sawdust. Whoever cut this had used the wrong size blade. Not that it mattered; Gretchen still fell through. It did the trick.

Her ashen face appeared in his mind.

Almost did the trick, if they were looking for death as the outcome. Would there be another attempt?

She'd told him someone had hurt her once. Once was one too many times in Colm's book, but also unrealistic. Most lowlifes came back for more. They thrived on the power they held over someone. Had her lowlife returned to strike again? She apparently didn't want anyone to know.

Textbook response.

Colm felt a deep irritation that had lived in him since he was a wee one. After his da's death, his mother had remarried a real bowsie of a man. Gil Griffin used his hands for things other than carpentry. Emily Griffin hid her bruises well.

What kind of bruises are you sportin', Gretchen?

The ceiling overhead creaked, stealing Colm's attention. Someone was upstairs. He'd just left Gretchen downstairs, and Nate had headed out the back door to walk the path to the cliff's edge for photos.

Colm pushed up from the floor and approached the first stair. He scanned the second-floor balcony for the visitor. Or perhaps it was the hole-cutter still at the scene of the crime, here to witness the outcome of his or her handiwork.

Colm clenched his fists before remembering his promise to God: no more fighting. The Dublin street fighter Colm McCrae was no more. God's saving grace made him a new creation, one who didn't use his fists to settle things. That was his stepfather's way. It didn't have to be his.

But that didn't mean he was going to invite the intruder for coffee. Or approach him or her unarmed.

Colm reached for the hammer in his tool belt. The tool's head was smooth from virtually no use, even though he'd carried it with him for the past two years as the show's host. It didn't matter that the belt was just for show; the tools attached were very real and would do well to strike fear and persuade minds. Colm balanced the weight of the hammer in his hand, testing its potential for use.

With no railing on the open side of the staircase, Colm stuck closer to the wall, each foot lightly placed and centered. Surprisingly the stairs remained quiet and held his weight well. Overall the house seemed sturdy. When he was down in the basement he'd noticed three-by-ten construction. Everything used to be so well built. Gretchen would have a fine home and establishment when the renovation was complete. That was, if she avoided the person who wanted to harm her.

Colm searched the top-floor hall as he approached the final step. The railing was intact here as it encased the hall. A sweep of his palm met smooth, strong mahogany. Beautifully carved spindles caught his eye for a split second, but they would have to wait for his adoration. The person behind one of the eight doors off the hall came first.

Colm stilled with a wall to his back. He listened for any sounds. All seemed quiet. Maybe he'd imagined the creaking floor before.

He heard a door close at his left.

No. Definitely not imagined.

Colm walked head-on to the back-left side door. He didn't wait to be surprised but barreled in at full force, hands and hammer raised.

A person with a mass of golden curls stopped him cold, hammer frozen in midstrike.

Gretchen
shrank back as her arms flew to her face. Her mouth opened and Colm knew she was about to scream. He quickly lowered the hammer and closed in. “I'm so sorry,” he assured her. “So, so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you.” He slowly replaced the hammer in its loop and raised his hands surrender-style. “See, I don't want to harm you.”

Her face had drained of all color. She'd yet to scream, and that was when he noticed air was going in her mouth, but not coming out.

An asthma attack? But she wasn't wheezing. This was more like hyperventilating. But hyperventilating could lead to an asthma attack if not brought under control.

And with no inhaler since her fall, he couldn't let that happen.

Colm searched the box-filled room and found a battered chair. He lowered Gretchen gently into it. On his knees, he looked into her eyes.

“Goldie, breathe with me.” He demonstrated a slow exhale and inhale. She seemed to be trying to match him, but unsuccessfully. “Try it. I promise it will work. Just follow my lead.”

She didn't.

“Let's see, how about we try this? My ma used to hyperventilate and a sweet chewy always did the trick.” Colm opened a compartment on his belt and withdrew some bubble gum. “I'm going to put this in your mouth. I want you to chew once and breathe out. Then chew again and breathe in. Can you do that?”

At her nod, he slowly placed the sweet gum on the tip of her tongue and mimicked a chew.

She did it, along with a short exhale. Slowly, her mind switched gears and she chewed again and again while breathing steadily in and out.

“That's right. Just grand.” He beamed at her. When her breaths quieted down, he asked, “Better?”

She nodded, smiled weakly...then jumped from her chair. “Why would you scare the life out of me like that? You could have killed me if that went into an asthma attack.” She scanned the corners of the room. “Wait. Please tell me I'm not going to find another one of your cameras in here.”

“No cameras. And I said I was sorry. I had no idea you were in here, or even upstairs. I heard someone walking around and thought it might be the person who cut the floorboards. Honest. I had no idea it was you. How did you get up here, anyway? You never passed by me on the stairs.”

Still dealing with the aftermath of her hyperventilation, Gretchen fell back into the chair like a rag doll. “Back staircase. There's a servants' house with a stairwell that connects to the second floor. I had just come through the door behind me when you—”

“You had just come through? You mean you weren't up here for a while? Like at least five minutes?”

She shook her head.

Colm looked back out toward the hall. He looked at the back entrance she had used. “And you didn't meet anyone in the back stairwell on your way up?”

“No.”

“And there's no other way downstairs but by the two stairways?”

“No.”

“Then I'd say someone else is still up here with us.” He touched the handle of his hammer but paused before taking it out. “Stay here while I check it out.”