Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 #1 (56 page)

Gretchen realized then that something could be free only when it was in the care of someone who demanded nothing from it. And she had her answer about the painting.

Rescue it.

She also suddenly wanted the same for her life. Colm had proven that real love did exist and she could have it without strings. That in fact his love rejoiced in her living freely.

But that meant Gretchen had to have a life in which to live freely. That meant she had to get out of this dangerous situation alive. She would have to do whatever was necessary to escape.

“Nate, I have to get the crowbar from my room. It's the only way to open the latch.”

“Hurry up!” At first she thought he might let her go in alone. She hoped to break a window and call for help.

But Gretchen turned and saw him right on her heels. She stretched her mind to think of another tactic. No time to dwell on the losses.

And that was when she had an idea and let out a choking cough.

The smoke was pouring around her more rapidly now, and in a few minutes the cough wouldn't have to be faked. But if she could convince Nate now that she was incapable of going farther, she might escape.

Gretchen reached for the crowbar by the door. She wheezed and clutched her chest. “My asthma... I'm getting...an attack... Smoke...too much.”

He ripped the crowbar from her with one hand and grabbed her upper arm with the other. “Nice try.”

“Really. Can't breathe.”

“Doesn't matter. You only have to live until I have the painting. So be quick about it, so I can get out and you can get to dying.”

“No!” She struggled to free her arm as he pulled her through the hall and to the attic door. “Please! I want to live.”

“Suddenly your asthma's gone. How convenient! Get upstairs
now
.”

She led the way, realizing her slip. She wouldn't be able to escape from the attic again. And now she would have to give him the painting, too.

“Where is it?” he demanded when they entered the room at the top of the stairs.

Gretchen hesitated but soon felt the crowbar pushing into the side of her head. On a whimper, she led Nate to the spot. “It's in the floor. There's a hiding place, but I have to bend down to feel for it.”

“Then do it.”

She knelt and with trembling fingers she found the raised board. “Right here. Use the crowbar to lift this piece.”
Then my life will end
, she thought.

The hinges creaked and she heard Nate rummage around in the dark. “Where is it?” he shouted. “I don't feel anything.”

Gretchen leaned forward to feel inside the compartment. “I don't understand. It was right inside here.”

Pain exploded from her scalp. Nate had a fistful of her curls. “I told you I didn't want any more of your games. Now, where's the painting?” he shouted.

“Someone else must have stolen it.”

“Then I guess I have no reason to keep you alive.”

Gretchen held her breath and waited for the crowbar to find its mark. She let out a whimper of a prayer, but before she finished saying
Please, God, help me
, she heard a click and a lightbulb burned bright.

The first thing she saw was Nate with the crowbar held high over her head.

Then she heard an Irish voice that sounded better than music to her ears: “Looking for this, love?” Colm stood with the painting in his hands.

Gretchen let out a wail and tried to crawl around Nate to get to Colm, but Nate wasn't having it. Gretchen ducked her head and covered herself with her hands, expecting Nate to hit her.

“Don't do it, Nate,” Colm said quietly, but she didn't miss the lethal tone in his voice. “Take the painting and go.”

“And leave you two alive to tell? I don't think so! The both of you will disappear tonight and all will think you stole it together.” Nate lifted the crowbar higher.

Gretchen grabbed her chest and gave a painfully loud wheezing sound. She fell at Nate's feet.

Nate kicked her as she gripped her chest, giving short, loud breaths.

“Look, Colm, your weak little girlfriend is having her final asthma attack. I'm surprised you like her so much. She would never have survived on the streets. And she would've definitely kept you down. But knowing how much you do like her, I'm tempted to let you watch her writhe on the floor until she takes her last breath.”

Gretchen's whole body convulsed and shook against the wood floor.

“Let me help her, Nate!” Colm yelled, his voice rumbling through the rafters.

Gretchen peeked up to see Nate holding Colm back. But she also saw the way Colm's muscles were tensed. He could easily take Nate down, but if he did that, he might kill the man. Colm was that angry. For weeks he said he would never fight again, but in this moment, she knew if he did, it would be to the death.

Gretchen couldn't let him make such a sacrifice, especially when she was faking the asthma attack. But their lives were still in danger.

Before Colm could make his move, Gretchen lifted her legs and jammed them into Nate's gut. The man lost his balance and his hold on Colm. Gretchen jumped to her feet just as Colm threw the painting to her.

“Take it and go!” he shouted and shot out an arm to grab the crowbar from Nate.

Nate held fast. The two men locked hands on the tool, faces inches apart. Two street fighters with the smarts to fight dirty...and lethally.

“Go, Gretchen!” Colm said through gritted teeth, holding Nate back with all his might.

“And let you kill him?” she shouted. “No! You'd never forgive yourself!”

“Not if I kill him first,” Nate answered and crashed his forehead against Colm's.

Colm yelled out in pain, and Gretchen thought he might fall back and lose his hold. But his arms stayed strong and the next second he pried at Nate's wrist and got a hold strong enough to twist it in an unnatural way. Nate screamed as his arm followed his hand to near breaking. Then Nate rammed the crowbar into Colm's kneecap, and a loud crack echoed through the attic.

Colm went down on his good knee with a grunt.

“Colm!” Gretchen yelled. She wanted to go to him but getting in the mix would only complicate matters. No, there was only one way to help him. “Fight, Colm! Fight him! He'll kill us!”

Colm didn't take his eyes off Nate, especially with the burly man standing over him with the crowbar still in his hand. Gretchen couldn't miss the change in Colm's expression at her words. Her permission set him free.

Colm went for one of Nate's legs, yanking one forward at the same moment his other hand jammed the man's rib cage. The crowbar flew out from the man's hands as he grabbed his broken ribs and fell to his knees.

But Nate wasn't out yet. With both men now on their knees, he reached for Colm's throat and Gretchen stepped forward to stop him. Before she could interfere, Colm blocked the assault with an elbow to Nate's arm and another hand to Nate's nose. The impact sent his head back in a snap. He quickly brought it back, ignoring the blood spurting from his face, but Colm dealt another blow, fast and furious.

Colm was prepared to kill tonight, and he would.

Unless she interfered.

She noticed that Colm leaned in to his attacker to give himself more leverage and to weaken Nate's blows, but that didn't give her a clear opening to any part of Nate's body.

Then she remembered the crowbar had fallen. She moved around the wrestling men to search the floor for the tool. She couldn't find it. It must be in a dark corner, she figured, and she didn't dare turn her back on the men.

Gretchen looked down at the painting in her hands, then looked up and saw Nate held Colm back by the neck. Colm's throat gurgled. Nate was choking the life out of him.

Without a second thought Gretchen lifted the painting and brought it down on Nate's head. The corner of the canvas bent on impact.

Nate stilled for a second, and his choking hold on Colm's neck loosened. Then he lost consciousness and fell to his side, right into the open trapdoor.

All was quiet in the attic as shock set in. Then as Gretchen took a step toward Colm, he, too, crumbled to the floor.

SEVENTEEN

I
t was the worst dream he'd ever had. He was filming on some location, but there wasn't a house, just a lot of fog swirling around him. Troy was there, taunting him about losing the fight.

What fight?
Colm pondered as he heard a distant and familiar voice. “Goldie, is that you?” He turned around and saw nothing through the fog. “Where am I? Gretchen!”

He felt a strong pull on his arm, but no one was beside him. The world started to fade to black, but Gretchen called and pulled him back to the scene. As absurd as this dream was, he had no intention of waking from it. Not with Goldie in it. She was talking to him again, and he didn't want to do anything to ruin it. One wrong move and she might turn away. One misconstrued attempt at being helpful, and she might think he was usurping her independence again.

Not that he ever meant to do any such thing.

They would make a great team, he just knew it. She was strong on her own, but they could be so much stronger together. If only she would see this. If only she would listen. And if only she would stop yelling.

Her rising voice showed a mounting hysteria. Something was wrong. This shouting was so out of character. Colm twisted around to find her, but the movement sent an excruciating pain radiating from his left knee. The agony invaded the dream and tore him away from Gretchen.

“No! Stay with me, Gretchen!”

Panic welled up as he attempted to hold on to her with all his might. Colm searched through the fog until it choked him and cut off his strength even more than the aggrieved knee. His lungs burned, but the pain only magnified knowing Gretchen lived with this looming threat of stolen air daily, when so much of her life had already been taken from her. He wouldn't call her a victim—Gretchen would go a row with him if he ever insinuated such a thing. No, she was a fighter, just as he was. But that also meant he would fight to the death for her.

Suddenly a camera appeared in front of him and Nate's face leered from behind it. And just as quickly, Colm remembered he had been doing just that—fighting to the death for her.

On a long wheezing inhale, Colm coughed his way back to reality. As he opened his eyes, the fog from his dream clouded his vision.

Not fog, but smoke.

“Gretchen!” He felt the pull on his arm that he had felt in his dream, only now he saw her hand. She was pulling him with all her might.

“Help me! Somebody help me!” she shouted.

“Gretchen!” He called to her again, now more pronounced. He tugged back on her arm to get her attention, and the next second, her face broke through the smoke.

Colm reached for her stricken face and hoped she wouldn't turn away from him again. His palm rested against her cheek.

“Oh, Colm, thank God you're awake! I need to get you out of here. The fire is getting closer.”

Fire
. Colm jerked to alertness and pushed up on his arms. The pain from his dream shot to his knee again. He reached for where the throbbing tormented him. “My knee,” he said.

“It's broken.” She touched his neck where another sting emanated. “But I thought he had choked you to death. I thought you were...” She dropped her forehead to his and he noticed the shortness of her breath and the way air barely filled her lungs.

“I have to get you out of here.” Colm clenched his teeth and ignored his pain. He hated to use her last strength to assist him.

On his feet, she put his arm around her shoulder and led him to the top of the stairs. A look below at the closed door with smoke seeping from the gap on the bottom caused Colm to pause. “Goldie, I'm going to assume the fire is behind that door. I want you to promise me you—”

“No, stop it. Just focus on getting downstairs. We'll figure the next step when we get there.”

“There won't be any time.” He forced her to look at him. “You're to leave me. You understand? Get out of the house and save yourself. You need to do as I say.”

“You know I have a hard time doing that.” Her smile trembled into a frown, but Colm chuckled at her attempt to make light of her strong will. “After tonight, you can go back to being in charge.”

At her nod, he hobbled down each tread, the smoking door looming closer and closer. When they finally reached it, Colm felt the door and was surprised it wasn't hot. The doorknob was the same.

“Stand back,” he instructed, but before he could turn the knob, the door flung wide and Ethan nearly plowed him over.

“Colm! Gretchen!” When Ethan noticed that Gretchen was holding him up, he reached for Colm. “I had hoped you were up here. I didn't want to believe— Come on. The fire's contained in the servants' quarters, but it's dangerous out here with the smoke.”

“Still? I thought for sure by now the fire would have reached the main house,” Colm said as the man led them out into the hall. The sight there told them what had held it back, or rather who.

The islanders formed a water system of various means of buckets and hoses and manpower to keep the flames from coming any farther. But as much as Colm was surprised, it didn't come close to the wonder on Gretchen's face.

Ethan ushered them down the staircase alongside the townspeople busy saving Gretchen's home and straight out the front door. A woman filling buckets to hand off saw Gretchen and ran up to her, arms stretched wide.

The sight of Gretchen enveloped by a friend allowed Colm to get back to business. He said quietly to Ethan, “Nate's in the attic. He's your man. He might need a little reviving. Gretchen knocked him out with the painting, of all things.”

Ethan smiled. “I'm on it.” He turned to head back into the house but stopped when Colm reached for a bucket to join the islanders. “What do you think you're doing? You should get checked out and off that leg.”

“I will, after. But as long as I have breath in me, that fire won't come any closer to the main house.”

Ethan looked at Gretchen hugging another woman. “Hate to break it to you, but she's an on-her-own kind of gal.”

“I wouldn't want her any other way.”

“Yes, but the question is, would she want you?”

* * *

Gretchen sniffed and swiped at the tears running down her face, partly caused by the burning smoke, but more from the outpouring of love by her islanders.

“I don't understand,” she said to Miriam Matthews. “Why is everyone doing this? Why are they helping me save my house when they were all so against my restoring it in the first place?”

Miriam read Gretchen's lips and lifted her hands to sign her reply. “Simple,” she said. “You never asked for our help.”

These words of truth seeped into Gretchen's mind. She had been so bent on claiming her independence that she left the islanders, her family, out of her plans, never thinking they might want the same thing for her. And now here they all were helping to put the fire out and save her home and business. They didn't want to keep her down—they wanted her to succeed.

More tears rolled down Gretchen's face, but Miriam thrust a bucket into her hands and said with her loving smile, “Those won't put the flames out. Time to get busy.”

Gretchen sniffed one last time with a nod, then jumped in to assist. It felt like hours before the fire chief said the flames were officially out. The roar of applause gave Gretchen shivers. They were so excited and happy for her. But with a quick glance around the mayhem of hugging and cheering, Gretchen looked for one person.

She spotted him across the front lawn, leaning against the porch railing, his injured leg impeding him from going anywhere. She began to walk to him, but as she closed in, her throat tightened against all she needed to say.

Colm's face was blackened with soot and his eyelids drooped with exhaustion, but when she stepped up in front of him, his face broke into a huge smile, his white teeth a stark contrast to his face.

“I can't believe you went back in to help put the fire out. No, wait.” She held up a hand. “Actually, I can believe it. You've been nothing but helpful to me since day one. I'm sorry I didn't recognize this most honorable trait in you. I was so focused on establishing my identity I neglected to honor you for yours. Can you forgive me?”

Colm's eyebrows hitched up. “Nothing to forgive,” he said with a shake of his head. “But you know, Goldie, you could have just asked me who you were. I would have told you.”

Gretchen tilted her head a bit. Did she really want to know who he saw? What if he saw her as some wimpy girl, trying to play grown-up? “I'm afraid to ask.”

Colm reached out and lifted her chin. She hadn't even realized she'd lowered it—an old habit. “I see a wise fighter,” he said, and that was when she noticed he was speaking with his accent, thicker than ever. Before she could mention it, he continued, “I see your beautiful inner strength, Gretchen. Your
neart istigh
. It's your power, and I pray you always let it lead.”

His finger stayed beneath her chin. She didn't dare even blink in case he pulled away. “I want what you see to be true.”

“Aye. It is.”

“But it hasn't been. I've confused strength with independence, pushing away all my loved ones to prove I could make it on my own. I haven't been very wise. But that's all going to change, starting right now.”

Colm smiled, his eyes sparkling. “You are so loved, Gretchen.”

Gretchen's heart expanded in her chest. Was Colm telling her he loved her? He'd implied it in the attic when they'd kissed. But it was his actions that spoke even louder than his kind words.

With every whack of his hammer and every curtain he hung for her, he showed his love. It was selfless and never smothering or controlling. The fact that he never asked anything from her revealed this, and Gretchen let this proof push her to a place she had vowed never to go again.

“I love...your accent.”
Whoa
. This was harder than she thought.

“My accent? Oh, I didn't even realize I was using it. I'm exhausted. I'm sorry. I can't control it well when I'm weak.”

A laugh erupted from Gretchen's throat. “You? Weak? Never. And, Colm, your accent is part of who you are. Don't change it for anybody. Be proud of your heritage. You're a handsome, rough and tough Irishman who loves to help others.”

“You're blessed to have a whole island of people who want to help you. Look around you, Goldie. I meant what I said. You're loved. Every single one of these people wants to help you. Let them.”

Gretchen felt disappointment sink through her. He hadn't been speaking about his feelings for her after all. He'd meant only the islanders' love for her.

Gretchen kept her chin up. She knew she still had to tell him how she felt. Even if he didn't love her back, she would always know she'd told him.

“So, I guess this is farewell,” he said. “I'll be going on in the morning. Don't worry about Billy. Sly told me Sheriff Matthews has him in custody. He'll never bother you again. You're free, Gretchen. Free to live your life to the fullest, making your own decisions and calling all the shots.”

Colm leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. He lingered there and she felt his eyelashes flutter on her skin. She took a deep breath and said into his ear so close to her lips, “I love you, Colm McCrae. I love you.”

At first Colm stilled. He didn't pull away, but he didn't say anything. Gretchen waited for any sign of a response, their cheeks flush against each other's.

Slowly Colm pulled away, but he wasn't looking at her. Instead, he looked beyond her, then above her. He twisted to steal a glance behind him. He came back around with wide eyes stark white in his black face and asked, “Am I on camera?”

Gretchen laughed aloud and shook her head. “No, it's just the two of us. And my islanders, of course.”

“Just the two of us. And your islanders. I really like the sound of that. Marry an island woman, and you marry the whole island, as they say in Ireland.”

“Is that what you want? To marry me?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “I want you forever. I love you, Gretchen Bauer, and I want to grow old with you right here on Stepping Stones Island at The Morning Glory B&B. I want to sit on the back porch and watch every sunset, cuddled up with you in my arms.”

He paused and grew serious. “I want you, but I don't want you ever to feel like you don't have choices in your life.”

“I do have a choice. I choose you.”

Colm exhaled and filled his arms with her. He whispered in her ear, “I must be dreaming.”

“Then I am, too, and I don't want to wake up.”

“Then it's a good thing we'll own a bed-and-breakfast, aye?”

“Aye.” She smiled. “A very good thing.”

“You won't be sorry, Goldie.”

“How could I be? You've brought me peace, Colm. That's all I ever wanted. Oh, and I also want a fall wedding right here at The Morning Glory. I want to walk down that beautiful staircase you poured your heart into and made for me with your strong hands. I want—”

“All right, all right.” Colm pulled Gretchen close into his chest, his arms wrapping around her in a great big hug. “I see you have everything all planned out. Silly me for thinking you might need my help.”

Gretchen lifted up on her tiptoes. Their lips were close, but it wasn't a kiss she was looking for. She met him eye to eye and with a look so determined he would never doubt her again, she said, “I'm no fool. I will always take your help.”

Colm smiled and leaned in, their lips inches apart. Apparently, he
was
looking for a kiss. He stopped just before they touched and said, “I always knew you were a smart woman.
Tabhair póg dom
.”

She raised her eyebrows. “More of your sweet talking?”

“Aye. The sweetest in all the land, in fact.”

“What does it mean?”