Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 #1 (54 page)

FIFTEEN

“H
ey, Colm,” Wendy said as she stepped out of her trailer with her makeup kit, “I was just coming to the house. Is Gretchen up there?”

“No, she's not. And neither is Nate. Have you seen him?” At the shake of her head, Colm scanned the yard to the trailers. Some of the windows glowed softly, but not Nate's.

Colm's watch showed it was nearing eleven o'clock. Most of the crew was eager to get off the island tomorrow, especially after Colm had pushed them full speed ahead to finish the house in time. He knew he'd exhausted them. But it wasn't over yet.

“The final scene still needs to be filmed, and I have someplace to be,” Colm said. The direction of the rock where Gretchen said to meet beckoned him. Unfortunately, the silhouettes of trees blocked any view of her through the darkness.

“Apparently, I do, too. Gretchen sent me a note. I just found it.” Wendy reached into her makeup kit and withdrew a slip of paper that looked just like the one Colm had in his jeans pocket. She opened it just as Colm reached for his. Side by side, they found a nearly identical message. The only difference was the names the note had been addressed to. “What does Gretchen think we want?”

The hope in Colm's heart evaporated. “Not what I thought,” he muttered and looked again in the direction of the rock.

On a sigh, he turned to Sly's trailer, but the lights were out. He knew the old man wouldn't mind if he woke him up to talk. Many nights Colm had done just that, but Sly had given so much these past two weeks to help finish the house. He'd worked long days followed by all-nighters. He deserved this rest. And Colm knew what the man would say, anyway:
There's always a better way.

“So, what is it, Sly? What's the better way to win her?”

“Pardon?” Wendy said.

“Sorry, I'm thinking out loud.” He gave a halfhearted chuckle.

“Is everything all right?” she asked warily.

“Sound as a bell. I'll stroll out to the rock to find out what Gretchen wants. No need for both of us to go. Get some rest.”

“So you don't think you'll be filming tonight? If you do you know you'll need makeup. There are lots of lurking shadows to combat when filming at night.”

“I can't do much filming without a cameraman. And my days of combat are over.” He could only hope. “We'll have to wrap the show up in the morning before we leave. Pleasant dreams, Wendy.” With that he walked past the trailers and headed out to the rock.

With every step though the pine trees, his feet treaded on a ground of soft needles in silence. This would be the last evening he would spend on Gretchen's island. Their paths would most likely never cross again. The way his chest constricted with each step, he thought he might need a puff of her inhaler before he reached her.

Except when he finally cleared the trees, he saw no one waiting for him. “Gretchen? Are you here?” he called to the darkness just as a movement off to his left caught his eye.

A man stood bent over a person lying on the ground.

“Gretchen!” Colm barreled at the man and grabbed him at the midsection. The two went down, but when Colm scrambled over to the body in the grass, he saw it was another man, not Gretchen.

“Troy?” Colm felt for the man's pulse, then swung around to see Ethan gaining his feet. “What did you do to Troy?” A sudden surge of worry about what he didn't see at the scene pushed him to his feet. “Where's Gretchen?”

Ethan rubbed the back of his head. “It would appear I've brought danger to her doorstep.”

“Appear?” Colm closed in on the man with slow steps.

“If she's dead, it's my fault.”

The color red clouded Colm's vision. He grabbed hold of Ethan's denim shirt. Without realizing he even moved, he forced the man up against a tree at lightning speed. “Where...is...she?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I don't know. She was taken. I was knocked out before I could get to her. I thought it was Troy she was fighting off, but he's been knocked out, too. Whoever hit us must have her.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't deck you.” Colm leaned in, but before he could make a move he found the tables turned in a flash. One second he had Ethan in his grasp—the next, Colm found himself on his knees with his arms behind his back.

Fast breaths escaped his lungs. “Wh...where did you learn that takedown?” he asked incredulously. “Are you a ghetto boy, too?”

“No. FBI.” Ethan reached into his pocket and withdrew a wallet. He showed the badge to Colm and let him take it all in. Ethan said, “I'm investigating your crew for works of art that have gone missing from some of your renovations. It's no secret that someone is after a certain piece on this island, as well.”

“You think someone from my crew is involved?”

“Possibly you.”

“Are you mad? If I wanted the painting I would be long gone with it by now. I know where it is.”

“I suppose that's true.” Ethan hummed his indecision. “All right. Because I need your help finding Gretchen, I'm going to let you go. Plus, something tells me you care more about her than you do any painting. Am I right?”

Colm didn't hesitate and nodded once. “More than anything.”

With that, Ethan released him and walked to a place in front of the rock. He knelt and grabbed something from the ground. “She sent notes to my five suspects. You, Sly, Wendy, Nate and Troy. Then I had her wear a wire. A lot of good it did.”

Colm reached for the smashed equipment. “This is what you needed her for—bait?” He felt the roiling emotion that used to lead to an all-out brawl. The man definitely had it coming. Instead Colm turned away and said, “Time is ticking. We need to wake up everyone, crew and town. Whether Gretchen wants our help or not, she's going to get it.”

They ran through the woods and started banging on the sides of trailers. Colm ran straight for Sly's mobile and barged in. “Sly! We need you. Gretchen's missing.” He reached the man's bed, but when he felt around, he found it empty and still made.

Sly wasn't here.

Colm backed away from the bed, sickness flooding his body and raising bile in his throat. Was Sly involved in this?

For his friend to orchestrate Gretchen's kidnapping would mean everything the man told Colm about being forgiven would mean nothing. Colm's new life would be a lie. He really would be a phony.

“Nay. I am not a phony,” Colm stated aloud and refused to let the doubtful thoughts take root. Sly was a friend, but he wasn't the one who gave Colm his forgiveness and new life. Jesus was the friend who laid down His life and saved Colm. And His promises weren't phony.

But if Sly thought stealing artwork from clients was his better way to getting rich, he had some things to pay for.

“And if he took Gretchen, he will answer to me,” Colm vowed to the empty trailer.

“Colm, you in there?” a voice boomed from outside the trailer and the door swung wide. “There you are.” Sheriff Matthews stood in the doorway. Behind him hundreds of people with flashlights filed into the yard. The sight of the whole island in one place nearly knocked Colm over and struck him silent.

“We heard Gretchen's been taken,” the sheriff said. “We've formed search parties, with some heading out to sea and others searching the woods.”

“You've already gathered search parties? How? Ethan and I just found out ourselves.”

“Your electrician came running into town, saying he saw Gretchen being carried into a boat. He'd been sitting on the shore in the shadows and was able to escape unnoticed. He came straight to me. He knew he couldn't overtake the man and it would be better to round up help.”

“Of course.” Air rushed from Colm's lungs with relief. “That's Sly's better way.”

Colm followed Sheriff Matthews out and thanked some people for coming. Fear and worry showed on the many faces, but so did determination. They were ready for a fight, and in that moment Colm looked down at his fisted hands and noticed he was, too. He had been ready since the moment Ethan told him he'd put a wire on Gretchen.

But Colm hadn't belted Ethan as he would have in his former days.

Instead he'd set out to round up help.

The realization struck Colm as he watched the mass of people around him making plans and strategies for the coming evening just as he had in that split-second decision.

That was when it finally hit him.

His old self really was dead. He had no doubt about it now. Jesus had made him a new creation, but definitely not a weaker one. Colm still had his strength, but now he knew how a real fighter fought. It wasn't reflexive; it was responsive. It was strength and power under control, even in the chaos.

Especially in chaos.

Restoration does not take place in an atmosphere of peace
, he realized.
It occurs in the midst of conflict
.

And suddenly Colm could see in the midst of the worst battle he had ever fought, fighting for the woman he loved, he had been restored. Peace flooded over him and allowed him now to fight clearheaded for Gretchen.

“Sheriff, did Sly say if he recognized the man who took Gretchen?”

“Yes, he did. I'm saddened to say it was Billy Baker. It's hard to imagine one of our own would turn on us.”

“Us?”

“Yes. We feel Billy's abuse of Gretchen is an attack on us all. We trust each other, and he broke that trust.”

Colm could see the island was a tight community and loved that Gretchen was a part of it. He meant to keep it that way tonight.

“I never thought he would hurt her at all,” Sheriff Matthews continued as an odor wafted to Colm's nose.

He sniffed the air and turned. “Do you smell smoke?”

Colm and a few bystanders searched the area for the direction of the growing smoke scent. Quickly all noticed black billows mixing with the gray clouds of the evening.

“Fire!” someone shouted.

Colm saw smoke drifting near Gretchen's house. He legged it for the servants' quarters.

Colm passed the medical station wagon with Troy sitting on the back bumper, holding a cold pack to his face. “Stop right there, McCrae! Get Nate. I want this on film, now!” Troy tried to stand but dropped back onto the bumper.

Colm kept running. Flames burst out the back of the house, growing hotter and higher each second. The old wood of the house lit up in seconds.

His first thought screamed,
Gretchen.
Then he remembered she was taken out to sea. To stay and fight the fire would mean not finding her.

Colm growled loudly in frustration. There was no way to save both Gretchen and her house, and right now, she came first.

But just before he turned away, he thought he saw a person running from the house into the woods. And that someone sure looked like Billy Baker.

But if it was Billy, what had he done with Gretchen?

Colm's stomach bottomed out as he took in the growing fire again.

There was no doubt now.

Sheriff Matthews ran up behind Colm and halted at the sight. “This is no coincidence.”

“No, and I think I just saw Billy running from the house. There's a chance she's in there.”

“As soon as the fire crew is ready, they'll check it out. We have two people to find. Troy says his cameraman is missing, as well. He might be in there, too.”

“Nate's gone?”

A quick realization crossed Colm's mind. Gretchen had sent Nate a note, too.

Colm looked at the attic and the location of the painting. “Is that what you want, Nate?” Colm looked to the lawman. “Sheriff, grab your deputy. I'm going in.”

If Gretchen was inside, no one and nothing would be able to stop him. Not a blazing fire or an art thief.

* * *

The rumble of the engine died out. Gretchen felt the boat glide a bit farther, but soon the choppy waves slowed it and bounced it side to side. Water hit the hull in what would normally be a soothing rhythm, but tonight as she lay bound and gagged, the sound only reminded her that she was in over her head. If she went overboard tied up, she'd never resurface. Those very same lapping waves would push her under, her hands useless.

Footsteps sounded beyond where her head lay on the deck. Her whole body tensed for whatever was to come.

Suddenly the rag in her mouth was pulled out and Gretchen screamed. She twisted in her ropes but soon figured if she was allowed to scream, it would do no good. Wherever she'd been taken, no one could hear her.

She asked, “Who are you?”

“I think the correct question is, what do I want?”

The voice was male, but she couldn't place it. It sounded familiar. She needed her kidnapper to speak more or to take off her blindfold.

“All right, then, what do you want?” Gretchen followed his lead and hoped a few more words would match a face to the voice.

“You tell me. Your note said you wanted to give it to me.”

He was one of the five who got her note.

Gretchen deduced that this wasn't Wendy. And it wasn't Troy, and it most assuredly wasn't Colm.

Or was it? Perhaps Colm had changed his voice. But even when he dropped his accent, he still held a tone that was pure Colm McCrae. It was something he couldn't cut out, like dialect, because it was a part of his identity. Little words that weren't used regularly on American soil spilled from his mouth constantly. His Irish phrases made Gretchen feel as though she frolicked in a green meadow with little thatched-roof cottages on a hillside down yonder, as he would say.

Gretchen smiled, remembering such a time, then started when her kidnapper barked, “Well? I don't have all night, and neither do you.”

Not Colm. That she was sure of. Colm would say he had all the time in the world. So, if not Colm, her kidnapper had to be Sly or Nate.

She'd rarely heard either man speak—except when Nate reminded her of the terms she'd signed.