Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (35 page)

But the gift of God is eternal life
. Sam’s words flew into her mind. Thank God he’d spoken to her—led her in prayer. They’d almost been too late. One more day and—

The thought brought with it more thoughts of Sam, and something he’d done that had irked her at the time, but now jolted her with revived hope. There
was
something she could do.

With movement so slight she prayed Kirk wouldn’t sense it, her hand edged across the smooth varnish of the door behind her. She forced a swallow against the pressure of the blade and moved her hand a little more.

Reassured by the placid late-night sounds of the house—the refrigerator motor, the gentle drone of a car going by—she bent her elbow and reached around the door’s edge.

“Goodbye, Tracy.” Kirk leaned in, his breath hot on her cheek. “It’s been a pleasure.”

All at once, the stillness was broken by a drawn out screech from outside followed by a heart-stopping crash. Kirk jarred back as the sound reverberated through the entire house.

The distraction bought her the second she needed to grip the crowbar, unhook it from the doorknob, and raise it up high. He looked up just as she swung it down hard on the top of his skull.

Grabbing his head and shouting in anguish, he staggered backward into the hallway, blocking her path to the front door.

Wasting no time, she took off at a sprint toward the kitchen, thanking God for that Central Park training program.

As she ran through the house, time moved in both slow motion and at double speed. Miraculously, she made it to the back door. Fingers flying, she managed to unlatch it and leapt down the steps into the darkness. Cool air surrounded her. She was outside. All she had to do was get to the front of the house.

Her lungs filled with predawn dampness as she propelled her body through the narrow side yard. As she neared the corner of her garage, she realized that something was wrong. There had been an accident. A truck was smashed into the tree in front of Lucy’s house. Her heart threatened to break free of her ribcage. It was Sam’s truck.

All thought of her own peril lifted as she tried to get to him. Lucy and Bob bolted out of their front door, but there was no movement near the truck. Fear seized her. Why wouldn’t her legs move faster?

Her heart pounded like a kettledrum in her head. She braced herself to jet down the driveway and across the street. Just then an awful awareness hit her like a fist to her solar plexus. There was a car in her driveway.
The rental
.

In a split second, Devon appeared around the corner of the garage, enslaving her arms and squeezing so hard she struggled to breathe.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice grated in her ear as he dragged her back into the darkness from which she’d come. “I have another ‘mil’ coming, and I mean to collect.”

Fighting to fill her lungs with supportive air, she summoned a scream. Devon must have felt her abdomen inflate, because just as she was about to release an operatic bellow, he thrust a hand across her mouth. A pitiful hum sounded in her ears as he maneuvered her around to the backyard, out of sight of anyone who could help her.

Horror filled her as a dark form hobbled down the steps from her back door and approached her. She struggled futilely to pull away from Devon as Kirk’s grunting breath grew louder.

Devon’s voice reverberated in her aching head. “Kirk! Look what I found. I didn’t let her get away.”

Kirk ambled up to her, his vengeful eyes aglow in the pale light. As he neared, he raised a hand above his shoulder.

Adrenaline fired her fight but it was no use. She twisted her head as Devon let his hand slip from her mouth and settle on her throat. Her heart sank. Even if she broke free, what chance did she have? A wisp of air remained in her lungs. She powered it out with a barely audible sob. “Please don’t…”

Kirk let out an angry roar as he brought his palm down across her face with a forceful smack.

“You should have done what I told you.” His voice was like gravel. “It would have been so much easier.”

He raised his arm again, this time high over his head—an ordinary motion made terrifying by the moon-glinted blade in his hand. She opened her mouth, a scream trapped somewhere between her lungs and her larynx. Before she could produce a sound, Kirk’s eyes grew wide and a roar swooshed through her ears. To her amazement, Devon released his grip and she stumbled forward. She swiveled around in a clumsy attempt to get her footing.

There on the ground in front of her, two forms grappled in the darkness. Confusion enclosed her head like a vice as Devon’s panicked cries bit through the night. An unearthly growling sound, the likes of which Grace had never heard, resonated through the darkness and rendered her powerless to move.

“Grace!”

The muted cry of her own name seemed other worldly, like an offstage chorus providing unseen support. Kirk barked out an expletive and backed off, lowering the blade. She lifted her eyes in confusion as the voices grew louder and three figures darted from around the side of the garage. She recognized Bob as he pulled Devon into what looked like a wrestling hold. In a flurry she saw that someone had gotten a hold on the other form.

Her heart leapt.
Sam
. He was alright.
Thank God
.

“Steady boy, steady.” Sam’s voice sounded soft and jittery.

Grace blinked as he soothed the stray dog she had worked so hard to expel from her life several weeks back. Thank God for canine disobedience.

“You’ve got this all wrong!” Devon pleaded. “That animal attacked me.”

Sam made a show of petting the dog’s scruffy back. “Good boy.”

Hearing a thump behind her, she whirled around just as Kirk bolted across her yard. Sam let go of the dog and took off after him, but Kirk had a good lead.

Just as he was about to round the corner of the house, Grace lost her breath.
The trench!
Unless you knew it was there, it was invisible in the dark, and Kirk was headed straight for it.

Instantly, his arms flew up in the air and he splayed forward, moonlight reflecting off the blade as it flew from his hand. He landed face down on the hardened sod with a dull thud. In a second, Sam was on him.

The two men struggled and Grace prayed that the strike to the skull she’d given Kirk a few minutes before would hobble him enough to give Sam the advantage. Letting out an unearthly wail, Kirk reeled back and gave Sam a punch to the jaw that sent him toppling, giving Kirk the momentum he needed to get to his feet and search for his weapon. Sam managed to pull himself up, quickly shaking off the damage and pummeling Kirk in the stomach. Just as Kirk folded forward, Sam’s fist met his jaw with a cracking blow. Kirk’s knees folded and Sam grabbed his arms from behind, gripping him in a hold similar to the one Bob maintained on Devon.

Grace’s nerve dripped away like melting frost. As her body wilted, Lucy’s firm but gentle grasp enclosed her. “Are you okay?”

Grace nodded mechanically, still coming to grips with the actual answer to that question. Her voice found its way out, bathed in surprising control. “No, I’m not. They wanted to kill me.”

“What?” Lucy said with appropriate disbelief.

“Luce!” Sam maintained an unwavering grip on his opponent while tipping his chin toward the pocket of his shirt.

Making a wide arc around the thrashing Kirk, Lucy reached a cautious hand between the two men and managed to retrieve Sam’s cell phone. Punching it with her finger, she stepped to the patio and spoke urgently.

Devon struggled, but Bob had a firm grip on his arms from behind. The moonlight illuminated a trickle of blood down one side of Devon’s face.

“The sheriff’s already on his way.” Lucy returned to Grace’s side, clicking the phone shut and encircling her with a supportive arm. “Apparently Sophia called him.”

Grace lifted her brows.
Sophia?

“I love you, Tracy!” All eyes shot toward Kirk as his pleading screech pierced the early morning. “I love you! Say you love me!”

A wave of pure relief buoyed her as she squared him a hard look. “I remember falling in love, Kirk.” Still speaking to Kirk, her eyes locked with Sam’s. “Just not with you.”

Even in the faint light of predawn, she saw one side of Sam’s mouth quirk. She melted into a smile as the sound of a distant siren grew more distinct.

Chapter 43

Grace wrung her hands. She’d been through more opening nights than she could possibly count, but none as important as this. She flicked a look at her watch and steadied her overzealous heart. It was nearly time for the show to end. Time to get moving.

A quick check of the mirror confirmed that the hairdresser Spritz had recommended really did know her stuff. Grace smiled at her image. It felt good to return to her blonde roots. Stepping from the bathroom to the office with a disgruntled
tsk
, she vowed to organize that space later in the week, once she made it through tonight. She smoothed the front of her lavender-gray silk sleeveless sheath and took one last strengthening breath before descending the stairs.

“That sauce could use just a pinch of nutmeg.”

Grace couldn’t help but smile at the familiar voice drifting up from the kitchen along with the aroma of huckleberry cobbler. She reached the bottom step and put a hand on her hip. “Mom. What do you think you’re doing?”

A perky woman with hair the color of mahogany turned from the stove, her eyes lighting up as they landed on Grace. “Honey, you look beautiful. That dress was worth every penny.”

Grace arched an eyebrow, walking toward her mother with the careful stride necessitated by her two inch heeled strappy sandals. “Thank you, but you’re avoiding my question.” With a wink to the chef, Grace placed her hands gently on her mother’s shoulders and guided her from the stove.

“Tracy, you said you wanted my input.”

“I know, Mom. But tonight you’re a guest.” As they neared the saloon doors that separated them from the evening’s main event, Grace’s nerves reminded her who was boss.

Clearly, it showed on her face.

Her mother enclosed both Grace’s hands in her own. “I’m so proud of you. You have nothing to be nervous about.”

Grace resisted. “But—”

Her mother squared her in the eye. “Anyone who can sing opera at the Met, survive what you’ve survived, and make it down that staircase in those heels should think nothing of running a restaurant. Now let’s go.”

In unison, they reached out to touch the swinging doors. Grace shot up a quick prayer and they made their entrance.

Emotion welled in her throat. They’d actually done it—gotten the place ready in time for the opening of the first show of the new season. Thank goodness for Nancy. Starting two new businesses at the same time would have been impossible for Grace without a reliable artistic director to take care of the theatre side.

She forced her muscles to relax, and scanned the room which, in spite of the fire, hadn’t changed all that much from its days as a rehearsal hall. The high beamed ceiling still sported the rows of hanging antique lights, now on a dimmer switch, thanks to Bob. The soaring front windows gleamed, seemingly pleased to be rid of the years of caked-on grime that Hank and Carl had needed an entire afternoon and two very tall ladders to eradicate.

It had been Lucy’s concept to use the theatre memorabilia from the rummage sale to decorate the walls. The effect was charming, and Grace loved the touch of local history it added.

She tipped her head, pleased that the light jazz music she’d so carefully chosen set the mood perfectly.

Her mother put an arm around her and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Everything looks just right.”

Grace agreed. She stole a glance at her favorite feature of the room. The landing that had been her oasis the night of the fire. Softly gelled Fresnels cast their glow on a tall stool and a mic in a stand. Miss Kitty would have to make her entrance elsewhere.

Reminding herself that she was now an employer, she cast a critical glance at the refinished general store counter which had found new life as a dining bar and espresso stand. She firmed her tone. “Taylor, how’s it going back there?”

“Terrific.” She bobbed with youthful anticipation. “Salvatore’s ready for action. Thank goodness Sam saved him.”

Grace couldn’t help but smile at Taylor’s choice of words. Salvatore’s salvation had been only slightly less opportune than her own.

Her stomach fell into her shoes at the sound of voices. She quickly raised her eyes to the new arched doorway that opened to the lobby.

“Mom, why don’t you grab a seat.” She gave her mother’s shoulders a squeeze. “I need to meet and mingle.”

Grace moved quickly across the room. A surge of relief filled her when Lucy and Bob appeared in the doorway.

“Welcome to the ‘Backstage Bistro’.” She opened her arms with a flourish reminiscent of a Vegas showgirl.

Lucy looked around as they descended the ornate steps. “Grace, you’d never guess this place auditioned for a remake of
The Towering Inferno
. And the candles are perfect.”

“My decorator calls that the ‘finishing touch’.” She gave Lucy a wink. “She’s good. If you’re nice to me, I’ll give you her number.”

Lucy lilted a laugh. “My favorite part is still those squeaky old theatre seats.” She nodded toward the front corner, where she’d set up a conversation area utilizing seating and tables that hadn’t been smoke damaged. “I can’t believe we actually used to sit in those things for two hours at shot. The new ones are so much more comfy.”

“They ought to be, for the price I paid.” Grace chuckled.

Lucy and Bob stepped away just as the gang from the Banque entered, alit with enthusiasm.

“Grace, I love your hair!” Joanne put her hands to her cheeks. “So long, Anne Hathaway, hello Katherine Heigl.”

Grace ran a hand through her locks, grateful that her do-it-yourself cut from early summer had grown into a stylish shag. “How did you like the show?”

They all chimed into a chorus of approval.

“It was my first Shakespeare!” Joanne spoke as if her viewing the show was a component in its success. “I never knew that
The Taming of the Shrew
was a comedy.”