BUYER BEWARE

When Gretchen Bauer begins renovating an old Victorian house to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast, she barely escapes several dangerous “accidents” at her home. Colm McCrae, host of the home improvement TV show helping her renovate, refuses to believe these aren’t on purpose. Could this be a harmful ploy by his boss to boost ratings? Yet with Colm’s Irish brogue and handsome face, Gretchen wonders whether he could be involved. But with a whole town full of neighbors disgruntled about the inn bringing strangers to their shores, Gretchen has a list of more likely suspects. Now she must trust Colm if she wants to keep her new business venture from turning into a five-star death trap.

Gretchen reached her hand out to grab the pipe.

But just as the tips of her fingers brushed against it, a spark zapped her and sent her flying back onto the floor with a thud.

Shocked silence descended upon the room, everyone trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Gretchen had dropped the pliers somewhere along her flight and lay still against the tub. She held her injured hand close to her body, shaking and remaining dulled and speechless.

“Gretchen?” Colm dropped to his knees, grabbing her hand. He looked up at her pained expression, eyes tightly sealed. “Goldie, look at me.”

He reached for her face with his free hand, shaking her cheek to get her attention. He needed to know if she could comprehend what happened. Her eyes opened but looked so stunned, he didn’t think she did.

Which could only mean this shouldn’t have happened.

KATY LEE writes suspenseful romances that thrill and inspire. She believes every story should stir and satisfy the reader—from the edge of their seat. A native New Englander, Katy loves to knit warm wooly things. She enjoys traveling the side roads and exploring the locals’ hideaways. A homeschooling mom of three competitive swimmers, Katy often writes from the stands while cheering them on.

Permanent Vacancy
Katy Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Those who trust in themselves are fools, but those who walk in wisdom are kept safe.

—Proverbs 28:26

Finally, brothers and sisters, rejoice! Strive for full restoration, encourage one another, be of one mind, live in peace. And the God of love and peace will be with you.

—2 Corinthians 13:11

To my husband, Bill. I love you and I thank God for you.

Acknowledgments

I am a great believer that it takes a village to publish a book. First and foremost, it takes readers. I’m so grateful to you all. Thank you for picking my book up and not putting it down. Thank you for your dedication to the Love Inspired series. I write for you.

I’d also like to thank David Bond, electrician and author, for helping me put a little zap in the book. I’m usually a safety-first kind of gal, so thank you for the help with deadly hazards.

I’m so blessed to have a family that cheers me on. Not a word would be written without your support and help. Thank you, guys, for understanding a closed door doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It means I love you enough to show you what going after your dreams looks like. And that it’s worth it.

And finally, thank you, Emily Rodmell. With you as my editor, my writing has your special touch that makes it shine.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Three things stopped Gretchen Bauer dead in her tracks: the smashed pots of her morning glory seedlings splattering her porch steps, the Public Hearing Notice, aka Notice of Betrayal, nailed to her door frame, and the paint-chipped front door of her old Victorian standing ajar.

Someone had been here—and still might be.

Broken terra-cotta pieces crunched beneath her sneaker treads as she took the first tentative step up. The new beginnings of her signature bed-and-breakfast flowers were strewn about the landing, their futures dashed in an instant.

A sign of her own future?

The answer awaited her at the door.

Her gaze fell to the shadows of the rough interior of her house that she could see through the crack.

Then she saw again the white piece of paper posted to the door’s right. Its crisp black type stated details of a town meeting set to discuss the future of her renovation of the abandoned home she’d recently purchased.

But she knew what the message really meant.

No matter what she did to move forward in her life, a certain someone would always yank her back. The words read Public Hearing Notice. They may as well have said You Will Never Be Free.

Gretchen craved freedom more than air, and since she was asthmatic, that said a lot. But in four weeks, she would hang her own message from her lamppost. The shingle for her business would read The Morning Glory B&B, Stepping Stones Island, Maine.

The true meaning behind it would read, I’m free.

From then on she would be free to make her own choices without asking for permission. She would be free to pick her friends without obtaining background checks and approval. She would be free of being manipulated by words—and actions.

The stinging memory of where she had felt his last action spread across her cheek. She touched it protectively and vowed it would never happen again.

“Welcome home, love,” a male’s voice called from behind her.

Gretchen inhaled and whipped around, her hands raised in front of her face and ready to fight her bully. How dare he—

A huge video camera closed in on her instead, catching her off guard. Gretchen shrank back a step, unable to see who stood behind the huge piece of equipment. “What’s going on?” She changed her battling fists to palms straight up to say Stand back. “Who are you? This is private property.”

“You invited us, love. Don’t you remember?” An Irishman’s voice pulled her attention away from the camera and down to where he stood on the walkway. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m C—”

“Colm McCrae,” she answered for him on an exhale of relief. Her hands dropped with her shoulders. She immediately thanked God that it was he and not— Never mind. “Of course I remember,” Gretchen replied. “You’re the host of the cable television show Rescue to Restoration. I did invite you to help with my renovation. Thank you so much for coming.”

She put her hand over her chest. “You just surprised me. I wasn’t expecting you. I was told you weren’t arriving until late this afternoon.”

“Aye,” he answered in his suave Irish accent that brought him his fame on his home improvement show, especially with the lady viewers. “My cameraman and I rented a boat. We came over from the mainland on our own to get started. It’s right deadly, don’t you think?”

“Deadly?”

“Oh, apologies, Dublin lingo. I meant to say ‘fantastic news.’ Aye? What do you say you give me a gander around the place?” He stepped up onto the porch. His long legs skipped the two stairs of broken pots with ease as he pressed in close to her. She stepped back again and hit the door frame.

Then she noticed the camera moved in, too.

Gretchen looked in every direction, unsure of where to rest her eyes. The presence of a camera brought on a whole new feeling of intrusion she hadn’t counted on when she applied for the show to assist her in her rehab. At the time, it felt like a smart idea, but right now smiling for the camera didn’t seem possible. She was still too tense from finding her home vandalized and had barely caught her breath. Plus, this program host came across as a little domineering. She hadn’t expected that, either.

But then, after eight years of being with someone who dominated her whole existence, she might be judging this TV personality too soon.

“You want a tour now?” Gretchen grappled for words while acclimating herself to her guests. “I didn’t expect you to be filming today. May I have a moment to prepare, please?” She put her hand up in front of her face and used her mass of curls to hide behind.

“The light looks good on you, Goldie. It would be a shame to waste it.”

Colm’s sudden nickname for her unnerved her further. It made her think of that other smooth talker in her life.

Check that: old life.

“Gretchen,” she corrected the host and turned from the lens in her face to see him step close to her. He was more real than he’d ever appeared, even in high definition, in her living room. She lifted her head, then lifted it some more to meet his eyes. He towered nearly a foot over her five feet.

Just breathe, she told herself, but when she opened her mouth, Colm McCrae asked, “Did the public notice bring you a wee bit of bad news?” His accent slowed her understanding, although the reddish streaks glinting through his wavy chestnut hair also distracted her. That and the concern filling his blue puppy-dog eyes. Was the concern legit? She shook her head to clear it.

It didn’t matter.

“Trouble? No,” she answered. Her days of trouble had ended when she’d sent a certain heavy-fisted deputy in the sheriff’s department packing. “Just a little misunderstanding with the town. I’ll get it taken care of—” Her voice trailed off as she noticed Colm and the cameraman pressing in even closer. The two seemed to work in sync to invade her private space.

A red flag hoisted high and waved in her mind’s eye. Had she escaped one bully only to sign on with another? She’d send them right away if that was the case.

But renovations took money, and Gretchen had already spent every dime she’d earned from waitressing and doing odd jobs around the island to buy the house and to update the plumbing and electricity. She had to if she wanted to live here. To turn away the crew would mean returning to her waitressing life and serving her ex when he came in for his weekly bratwurst at her mother’s German restaurant. The thought of her old puppet master winning caused her breath to catch and wheeze. The man wasn’t even here and he still tainted her dreams from the crew’s first take. She reached into her jeans pocket for her inhaler and took a quick pull of the medicine to open her lungs. Disgust filled her at this ailment that weakened her.

“Asthma?” the host asked.

Gretchen nodded and pocketed the inhaler behind her. She straightened her pink short-sleeved polo with conviction. “I’ll be fine now,” she stated. Billy would no longer be her puppet master, she determined again. And the television crew would be staying.

But that also meant showing them they couldn’t push her around. “Where is your director, Troy Mullen?” she demanded. “I met him three months ago when he visited the island to interview me. He assured me he would be a part of the production from day one.”

“He’ll be here later with the rest of the crew and supplies,” Colm answered.

“Then you can turn off your camera and wait for him.”

“No can do, ma’am.” A black-bearded face popped out from behind the camera. It was her first glimpse of the cameraman. He looked nice enough with his round head and big cheeks, even if his words weren’t what she wanted to hear. “You signed the release and accepted the terms. We determine what to film.”

“Terms?” A sudden flash of the stack of papers she signed: lots of liability or lack thereof on her side. The camera lens reflected her wavering image. As she stared at herself she watched resignation take over. She’d have to get used to it, beginning now. “Yes, I remember. Let’s just start over, then.” She looked to the host. “Mr. McCrae, would you like that tour now?”

“Call me Colm.” The host leaned in even more. The red flag waved again. Then Gretchen saw that he wore a small black microphone clipped to the lapel of his denim shirt. A sudden realization hit her. Her voice wouldn’t be recorded properly if she wasn’t speaking into a microphone. That had to be why he stood so close.

Gretchen almost laughed aloud at her misplaced paranoia. What was wrong with her? Just because one man in her life had been a bully didn’t make all men bullies.

“Actually, Gretchen,” Colm said, “I’d love to hear more about this town meeting. A bit of tension in the town about a B&B opening on its island could be grand for ratings, wouldn’t you say, Nate?”

The cameraman, who could only be Nate, grunted. “I don’t think that’s what the boss has in mind. He’ll want something more exciting than a town meeting to spike ratings.”

Gretchen searched Colm McCrae’s face. Nate’s was hidden again behind his equipment. “More exciting? Ratings?” she said. “Please don’t tell me you’re looking to fabricate a problem just so you can spike your rankings. I thought this show was about educating people to renovate their homes. I thought you were above such manipulating tactics.”

Nate and Colm laughed, Colm’s more rich than the cameraman’s. “I’m not sure there’s a show out there that isn’t concerned with ratings, Miss Bauer.”

“Well, there’s no big story to tell here, so you can get that out of your head. Now, do you want the tour, or don’t you?”

Colm leaned down mere inches from her face. He put his arm over her shoulder. She felt his cool, minty breath on the same cheek that held a memory of a hot, searing pain. She held stock-still and gave nothing away. The door squeaked behind her as Colm pushed it wider and said, “After you, love.”

Gretchen swung around to enter, welcoming the space between them. Colm’s boots hit her wooden floors with heavy clunks as he followed her in. She flinched with every stomp, still a bit unnerved.

He passed her and surveyed the foyer with a growing frown on his clean-shaven face. His gaze fell on the pitiful staircase and stopped. Where once a grand flight of stairs had curved up to the second-floor balcony, now only stair treads remained, the railing gone.

“The door needs a little oil and it’ll be right as rain,” Colm announced. “But the interior is a whole other story. Three weeks to completion? We won’t have the house done this side of Christmas.” He covered his mic and whispered, “Troy’s lost his mind.”

Gretchen’s ears perked to Colm McCrae’s last words. Not so much the words but how he said them.

He’d dropped his Irish accent.

“Wait,” she interrupted. “You’re not really Irish?”

He swung a quick look at her. “Of course I’m Irish.” He flashed a smile of straight white teeth. “You want to kiss me?”

“What? No!” She shook her head to clear the image he’d conjured up in her mind. “I know I just heard you speak with no accent. Or at least not an Irish one.”

Colm’s grin deepened. “Good catch. I suppose I slipped. Don’t tell anyone. I have an image to uphold.” At his wink Gretchen pressed her lips together. The past eight years of her life were about upholding a man’s image. She wasn’t about to start again for another, not even the famous Colm McCrae.

She folded her arms. “I can’t believe this. You’re nothing but a big phony.”

Colm’s smile evaporated. “Don’t worry about the tour, Miss Bauer. We have a lot of work to do. I’ll inspect the place today myself and decide what projects to start with. You’re welcome to check in periodically.”

“Check in? Mr. McCrae, I live here.”

“You live here? Kind of dangerous, don’t you think? Especially with your asthma.”

“My asthma is under control as long as I have my inhaler, not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Does this place even have running water and electricity?”

“Surprise, surprise, Mr. McCrae, I not only have good ears, but I’m also pretty handy.” She wished she could have handled the whole renovation, but that would have taken years, and money she didn’t have.

“Pretty.” He looked right at her. “Aye, I see that.”

Gretchen opened her mouth at his gall.

He held up his hands. “Look, Goldie, I’ll admit I’m impressed with your skills, but even still, it’s not customary to have the home owner on-site during renovating and shooting. It’s a work zone. It could be right dangerous. Murder, really. Troy would never allow—”

“Too bad, because I’m not going anywhere. I have a vested interest in the outcome of this project. This is my home, but in four weeks, it will also be my business and my future.”

Colm sputtered, “Love, I hate to tell you, but there’s no way you’re opening in four weeks.”

“Your director promised me three. I’m holding you all to it. Now, if you’ll follow me upstairs, I’ll show you the guest rooms you’re to start with. Once you’re finished upstairs I can begin decorating.”

“Seems like you have things all planned out.”

“I’m in charge now, if that’s what you mean.” Gretchen stepped past him. “This way, Mr. McCr— Aaah!” Splintering wood smothered her scream. One moment she stood in her foyer, the next, her floor swallowed her whole.

* * *

“Gretchen!” Colm dropped to his knees and approached the gap in the floor where less than a second ago the home owner with her mass of golden curls fell through. “Are you all right?”

“McCrae, Irish accent,” Nate said from behind. A quick glimpse showed the camera still rolling. Colm clenched his fists and jaw. The show was the last thing he cared about at the moment. Nate’s raised bushy eyebrows reminded him what he cared about didn’t matter. He wasn’t the boss.

“Goldie, love, are you all right?” He pushed out the thick brogue, hating it more now than ever—but not as much as the fact that she didn’t respond. Please, God, be with the young woman.

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

“Dead?” 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.”

She bounced back up. “No way. This is my house, and if someone’s in here, I want to know who it is. Besides, you won’t be able to identify the person—I will.”

Her idea didn’t sit well with him. She could have broken her neck once today. He didn’t like her putting it out there again. He’d rather she leave the house while he searched it, but judging by the tilt of her chin, she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Stay close, and if I tell you to run for the hills, you better leg it.” Colm withdrew the hammer up and out of its loop again. Heading back out into the hall, he stopped at the first closed door and swung it wide. Empty, except for a bed and dresser placed against the far wall. Obviously Gretchen’s makeshift room for the time being. He shut the door to move on, but a sound came from two doors down.

Colm brought his arm up to stop her. She didn’t balk, which told him she’d heard it, too, and understood the danger of the situation. He made his way to the room, shoving the door wide.

Before he could say anything to the man standing there, Gretchen let out a quick gasp behind him and said, “Seriously? How could you?”

THREE

The picture before Gretchen was ludicrous. Len Smith held a crowbar in his withered hand. The ninety-five-year-old man could barely stand up straight, never mind raise the tool above his slumped head to fight Colm, who couldn’t be older than twenty-eight.

“Colm, put the hammer down,” she instructed the younger, very ruggedly strong man who was no match for the elderly, declining one. “This is Len. He’s like my grandfather. In fact, he’s a grandfather to everyone here on the island. I would say he would never hurt me, but lately those words have lost their weight when it comes to the islanders.”

Len grunted, but remorse traced his droopy eyes. “I’m sad to say it, but I would have to agree. It pains me to see such upheaval in Berlin.”

“Berlin?” Colm repeated.

“You mean Stepping Stones, Len, don’t you?” Gretchen asked.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Len looked at the corners of the ceiling. “All because of this house? I don’t get it. You have a fine home, Gretchen.”

“Well, I appreciate that, Len, but it’s going to be a whole lot better when I’m done.”

“I don’t doubt it, and I don’t doubt you. You have to believe that I am on your side.” He smiled. “I hope you don’t mind I gave myself the tour. Nobody was around when I came in. That attic is impressive, by the way. Are you going to finish it and claim it as your living quarters and let out the rooms on this floor to guests?”

“I would have loved that, but I think I’ll make a better income booking the attic. I had hopes it might be an extended rental for the whole summer for someone. I’ll make the servants’ quarters out back my home.”

“You’re a wise businesswoman. Always have been, though. The way you helped your mom run the restaurant, it’s no wonder Tildy is bent out of shape for losing you. You were more than a waitress and businesswoman, though. You’re also a fabulous cook. Your guests will go home ten pounds heavier when they taste your handiwork in the kitchen. I might sell my house and move in.” He cackled his oh, so comforting laugh, one that made her want to crawl up into his lap the way she had as a little girl. “Let you take care of me in my last years.”

“You’re practically a fixture at the Underground Küchen restaurant. Mom would never allow you to leave, too,” Gretchen said.

“True enough, especially with the holes in your floor. So many bombs. When will they end?” Len’s eyes flitted around the room and his shrunken shoulders folded in. He looked so forlorn that Gretchen reached for his arm.

“Len, is everything okay? You seem confused.”

“Is he touched?” Colm whispered into her ear. She shot a questioning look at him. He mouthed back, Dementia?

“Of course not,” she replied, but the old man’s behavior said otherwise. “Len, there are no bombs. I think you’re just remembering the war. All is safe here.”

Colm grunted. “Your floor’s been cut. You call that safe?”

“Cut? What’s he talking about? Who cut your floor?” Len snapped back to the present day.

“Everything’s fine, Len. Don’t worry.”

Len eyed them. She was glad to see his keenness restored but wished it weren’t focused on her. “Glad to hear it, but you might want to make repairing that hole downstairs a high priority. Wouldn’t want you facing a lawsuit so close to your grand opening. Could put a damper on your plans.”

“Interesting you should say that.” Colm had brought his hammer down but still held it in front of him, tapping the face of the tool into his palm. “Do you have any other tools on you besides that crowbar? A saw, perhaps? One with power, I’d imagine.” His threatening stance made Gretchen think he cared about her.

For a split second only.

In actuality, he probably thought the camera was still on him, because the show seemed to be the only thing he cared about.

But he had just helped her through a breathing fit, and there hadn’t been any cameras on him then. Unless...

Gretchen’s gaze zipped around the room, but quickly she shook her head at her overactive imagination—or a bit of Len’s paranoia rubbing off on her. Cameras in the rooms would have to be minuscule pieces of equipment. Spy-like even. That settled it. She needed to open for business fast and stop spending her nights watching too many television shows. She zeroed in on Colm’s Hollywood-handsome face. Watching too much TV was what gave her a warped sense of reality in the first place. Did she dare believe Colm McCrae’s show could really help her get on her feet?

“No saw here,” Len responded to Colm’s inquiry. “Found this crowbar on the attic stairs.” He passed it over to Gretchen. “Thought the crew out back might need it.”

Colm darted to the curtainless window. “My crew’s here? They’re early.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about that, but you should have seen that ferry come in this morning all loaded up with machinery and crates and even trailers. That show of yours must be some operation, Mr. McCrae. I’ve never seen the Sunday ferry make the two-and-a-half-hour boat ride out here for anyone on a Monday.”

“Money talks,” Colm said as he turned and rushed into the hall. The sound of his boots echoed through the empty house as they hit each step rapidly. The front door slammed.

“Now,” Gretchen said, leaning the crowbar against the wall and taking a step closer to Len. “Tell me why you’re really here, because it’s not for a tour. You could have asked for that before I bought the home. In fact, you’ve lived on this island since after World War II, so you’ve probably walked the rooms of this house a million times before it was deserted after Hurricane Bob in ’91, and probably after that even. So tell me, Len Smith, what brings you here? More warnings from the islanders? More requests for lengthy dead-end discussions about how I’m ruining the island? How tourists are sure to upset the way of life we’ve had for generations? I’ve heard it all. I’ve listened and taken everyone’s feelings into consideration, but no one has done the same for me. Including you.”

Len frowned. He walked to the window and leaned his bent frame forward to grip the chipped sill. “I’m old, Gretchen. I don’t have much time left.”

“Don’t say that,” she retorted, unable to deny his remark. Especially after she thought how old he looked a moment ago.

He turned toward her, a toothy grin on his cute, wrinkled face. “You want truth? I’m giving you truth. Now listen. You’re not too old to bend over my knee, you know.” He looked at her with grandfatherly eyes, the love in them sobering her.

She smirked back at him and stepped up to the window. “Whether you all want to believe it or not, I’m not a child anymore. I can make my own decisions now.”

Len huffed. “Tell that to your boyfriend.”

She felt her lips tighten. “Billy’s not my boyfriend anymore. And he never will be again.” The television crew down below caught her eye, but her vision was blurred by anger.

“I wouldn’t think so with the way he’s riling up the town by calling all these meetings to stop you from rehabbing this place. If there was a possibility of a bridge, I’d say he’s burned it.”

“That has nothing to do with my reason for ending it with him. I needed something he couldn’t give me.”

“And what was that?”

“Freedom.”

Len grunted before saying, “I figured as much.”

Gretchen shot a look his way. Did Len know? A geyser of shame doused her. No, he couldn’t. There was no way. She averted her gaze back out the window. She caught sight of the director she had met three months ago. He was speaking a little too closely to Colm, although Colm held his ground with folded arms, muscles in forearms flexed. Gretchen wished she could read lips, but by the way Colm’s face took on a reddish tinge, it didn’t look positive. Was Colm asking Troy about putting her fall through the basement on the cutting-room floor? Or at least what she admitted to after the fall? Gretchen looked back at the director. What say you, Troy Mullen?

“No need to pretend with me, Gretchen. I know Billy held on to you a little too tightly. Some would say he meant well.”

“Meant well?” She whipped her attention back to the one man she had hoped to have on her side about this. If she was ever able to tell. “You have no—”

Len held up a gnarled hand. “I said some would say. But still, he’s a deputy in the sheriff’s department. That holds water. The townspeople like him protecting their island from others with agendas.”

“There are no agendas here other than my opening a small bed-and-breakfast to support myself. The crew from Rescue to Restoration isn’t here for any reason but to help me. When they finish they will be gone forever.”

“Are you positive about that?”

“Now you sound like everyone else. Of course, what other reason would there be for them to be here?”

Len shrugged. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Just keep your eyes open. Things aren’t always what they seem. People aren’t always what they seem. Take that TV host for example. I thought he had an Irish accent. When he was in here, I heard no sign of his heritage. What kind of man turns his back on his roots, unless he’s got something to hide or gain? I should know. It was over sixty years ago I fled for my life from a Soviet-occupied Germany. I ran with nothing but the clothes on my back and my—”

“I know. Your family’s heirloom painting. The painting hung above your family’s fireplace for generations and now hangs in my mother’s restaurant.”

“And will soon hang above your fireplace here.”

“What?” Gretchen gasped. “What are you talking about?” Maybe the man was touched, as Colm had put it.

“I’ve told everyone that I’m leaving you my painting.”

“Everyone? Len, the islanders will form a mob against me, my mother in the lead. Why me?”

“Like I said, I’m not getting any younger. It’s time I put my ducks in order. As long as my painting hangs, my heritage lives on.”

“But my mom would never take it down! You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I know, but I want you to have it, and that’s final.”

“That painting has always hung in her restaurant.”

“Before the restaurant was your mother’s, it was mine. The place represented my new beginning when I came here and opened it for business. If I’m correct this home is your new beginning, right?”

Gretchen nodded, her throat tight with emotion.

“Then I chose well for my legacy to continue.” Len looked out the window. “Unlike that television personality down there. What would his father say if he knew his son had let down his family name?”

Gretchen located Colm again below, this time stomping up the steps to a trailer that was placed along the tree line to the woods. Something had made him angry. Had Troy said no to his request on her behalf? Or no to some plan or agenda Colm had on his own? Without knowing who the real Colm McCrae was, she couldn’t be certain.

“Maybe you’re right,” she told Len. “I shouldn’t be speaking for people I don’t know. I would like to say the crew is only here to help me renovate, but I may be wrong.” She reached for Len’s hand. “Will you pray for this whole situation? I hate being at odds with the islanders. But I also can’t go back to the way things were.”

“That bad?” Len squeezed her hand and brought tears to her eyes. She bit the inside of her lip to stop the flow threatening to spill. All she could do was shake her head. If she opened her mouth to speak, only wails of pain and betrayal would come.

“Okay, sweetheart, you don’t have to tell me today.” Len cupped her cheek so gently it nearly erased the memory of pain there. “But don’t wait too long. Nothing can be resolved if you hold it in. Plus, my days are numbered, and I have those ducks I mentioned.”

“I said, don’t talk like that,” she mumbled, wiping away the few spilled tears. “You’re going to make me cry again. Plus you’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Thank you, Len, for being here for me. I really thought the whole island was against me. I don’t feel so isolated anymore.”

“I’m just sorry you had to feel that way in the first place. So much is changing on my island. And it’s not for the better. I just hope I can change the tides back before I take my final breath. Remember what I said, Gretchen—be careful of whom you trust.”

“That’s easy. From now on, I only trust myself.”

* * *

“The scene stays?” Colm mumbled in disbelief as he snatched his yellow hard hat from the cabinet inside his trailer. Troy really was mad. Did he want the safety and health administration here shutting them down for unsafe conditions? Ratings were important, but not at the risk of the show—and definitely not at the risk of someone’s life, especially the home owner’s.

Colm adjusted the strap on the hat with a little more vigor than needed, his thoughts on how Gretchen wanted only to gain her independence from—

He stopped, his argument lingering. From whom? It wasn’t as if she was forthcoming with the details. Why should he put his neck on the line for someone so closemouthed? He felt as if he’d spent his whole life helping people who never really wanted his help in the first place. There were only so many hits a guy could take. And yet Colm knew deep down he would take them all, no questions asked. A defender of the underdog he was, through and through.

He resigned himself to asking Troy again to lose the footage, but he knew the only way Troy would consider it was if he got something in return.

Troy had loved that they captured the fall on tape, and he didn’t even know about the possibility that someone had cut the boards. Perhaps he should. Then the footage would be considered evidence and they couldn’t release it. Nay, that wouldn’t work. Knowing Troy he would want it more. And if for some reason he did agree to keep the mishap off the air, who was to say he wouldn’t set up another mishap to replace it?

But the director was the least of Colm’s concerns. Someone had set out to hurt Gretchen. She could be vulnerable for another “accident” that could leave her dead.

Colm studied the shortened strap length of his hard hat and estimated that it should fit her well now. He’d make sure she wore it 24/7.

He would keep her in his line of vision at all times. And he had to have a talk with his crew right away, tell everyone to be extra careful on the site.

If nothing happened, he could chalk up the floor as a bad accident and move on. In the meantime, the extra security wouldn’t hurt anyone, and the view—Gretchen’s lovely face—would be right pleasing.

Colm held up the hat and pictured Gretchen’s golden curls and petite face peeking out below it, her small jaw jutting in determination. The woman had real neart istigh, an inner strength as rare as the near extinct Old Irish Goat. Only prettier.

“What are you smiling about?” The door to the trailer opened wide in front of him, and his newest crew member, Ethan Hunt, crossed the threshold.

“Smiling?” Colm felt his grin drop. “Well, look at that. I guess I was.” He put down the hat and brushed it against his thigh. “Glad you’re here, though. I was actually heading out to find you.”

“Putting me straight to work on my first day, I see.” Ethan plunked his duffel bag on the bunk he would be sleeping on for the next three weeks. “What do you need me to do?”

“No orders yet. Besides, it’s Troy who hands those out.”

“Then why did you want to see me?”

“I’m a little concerned this construction site could contain some unusual hazards. I want the crew to be extra careful. Keep a watch out, especially where the home owner is concerned.”

“Ah, now the truth comes out. It’s that cute blonde that made you smile.” When Colm opened his mouth to negate the idea, Ethan raised his hands. “Hey, I don’t blame you. I’d want to protect her, too. She’s a real looker.”

Colm’s stomach churned. Ethan’s praise for Gretchen was true, but hearing the man voice such things felt offensive. At one time in Colm’s life he would have dropped the hat, then dropped Ethan to the floor. Thankfully for Ethan those fighting days were over.

“Keep things professional, Hunt. We don’t need a lawsuit.”

“Of course, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I guess I’m just excited to be working on the show. It’s a real step up from painting real-estate flips. I’m grateful to you for taking me on.”

“Your credentials were stellar. Troy and I both agreed right away you would make a great fit. I said I wouldn’t have to babysit you, and Troy said you had a great face for the lady viewers to chat about with their girlfriends.”

Ethan laughed. “Glad to hear you really put some thought into it.”

Colm smiled in return, letting his ill feeling toward the man slide away. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought the same thing about Gretchen. She was a striking beauty, and Colm was positive every person she met thought it. What did he plan to do—fight every man who found her pretty? He couldn’t. He’d made a promise that there’d be no more using his hands for anything but hard work, preferably woodwork.

“I heard about Miss Gretchen’s fall earlier today.” Concern replaced Ethan’s pleasant smile.

“You’ve heard already?” Colm gripped the hard hat a little tighter.

“Everyone’s talking about it. She looked well enough when I saw her walking an old man out to his car, but still, it’s disturbing. Are you sure the house is sturdy enough for us to be renovating, or should we demo it instead?”

“It’s safe. The construction is old, but it’s solid. That’s the problem with this whole situation.”

“Problem?” Ethan asked with a quizzical expression.

“The house is too sturdy for a break like that to occur unless it was done on purpose.”

“Whoa. You think that break was more than old floorboards rotting away?”

A rap on the trailer door saved Colm from speculating further.

“Let’s go, Colm,” a female voice called through the flimsy steel. “Troy’s ready to film you introducing the home owner. Now.”

“That’s Wendy from makeup. Not a word. Understand? Just keep an eye out around here.” Colm headed out the door and allowed Wendy to sponge some stage makeup on him.

“No shiny foreheads allowed,” she said in a sweet singsong voice as she gave him a cheeky grin. She looked straight into his eyes when she finished up. “You’re the best canvas an artist could ask for. Just handsome.” She sighed and stepped back to let him pass.

“You’re such a flirt, Wendy. I’m glad I know you’re like this with everyone. Do me a favor, though—go easy on the new guy. I need him focused.” Then Colm caught Gretchen walking in front of the camera and thought of Ethan’s praise of her beauty. “On second thought, have at him,” Colm called back to Wendy and walked forward with the hard hat in hand, getting ready to place it on Gretchen’s head. He smiled again thinking how adorable she would look in his hat. For the camera, of course. It was only for the camera.

Colm saw Gretchen taking Troy’s direction about where to stand. The man had her backing up against a lumber pile. With all this beautiful scenery? The ocean was off in the distance on one side, the conifer forest on another. What about the clapboard Victorian they would be working on? So many places would be great backdrops. What was the man thinking?

Gretchen turned, and that was when Colm saw the hazard. A piece of lumber protruded from the pile, level with her head. Troy wanted her to bump her head?

Colm picked up his step, ready to call her to watch out. Only, the next second she reached up and pushed the wood back.

Colm opened his mouth to yell but the spillage of lumber happened so fast that even Gretchen’s scream was cut short by the tumbling pieces. All he could see of her as he raced forward was a clump of her corkscrew hair fanned out on the ground around the pile.

“Gretchen,” Colm rasped out as he reached her and fell to his knees, not knowing where to start.

“I think it’s too late for the hat.” Ethan appeared beside him and Colm looked down at the hat still in his hands. “Two mishaps in one day. You just might be onto something, McCrae.”

Colm threw the hat aside and dug in. “Help me by clearing some of the wood. Carefully.” Colm found a hand and felt for a pulse. “Gretchen, can you hear me?”

Behind him Nate loudly cleared his throat and whispered, “Colm, Irish accent.”

Colm ground his teeth at being reminded that he wasn’t in charge, but he put his pumping adrenaline into helping Gretchen. “I’m right beside you, Goldie,” he assured her with his native accent, but at the same time he thought that no matter how far he distanced himself from Dublin, he still lived and breathed under the weight of a bully.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.