CHAPTER ONE
The gun was pointed at Brent Baker’s heart but he felt no fear. No, what he felt was…anticipation. He was prepared to die.
Jake McKoy sat back in his chair and stared out the window. Where did he go from here? He’d started this story three weeks earlier and still had not got past this scene.
Truth be told, he hadn’t written anything of sense in the last three years. And he didn’t know if he ever would.
With a sigh he threw the pen down and got up from the kitchen table. He had to do something to get the creative juices flowing again. Three years was a long time for a dry spell. His publishers weren’t going to wait forever.
He’d set up a writing office in the tiny self-contained studio apartment at the bottom of the garden and equipped it with a desk, a computer, a file cabinet and books. That hadn’t worked. He’d abandoned that and tried the good old kitchen table. His progress so far? Twelve sad pages of drivel. He just could not get into the story. Were his writing days over?
In a last ditch attempt he decided to go down to the basement and dig up a book he used to read – Lighting the Creative Spark. The book wouldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know but maybe, just maybe, it would get him going again.
He’d flipped on the light and was halfway down the stairs when he realized that something was not quite right. There was an unfamiliar sound, a steady tapping against the basement window. He paused on the fourth step then frowned. Who the heck was at his window? He glanced down, looking for some kind of weapon – just in case. His eyes fell on a broom leaning in the corner at the foot of the stairs. It would have to do.
Jake went down the stairs, quietly but swiftly, and grasped the broom handle. Then he peered round the corner.
“What the-”
There wasn’t a soul tapping at the glass. The sound he’d heard was water dripping from a pipe above his head, falling into a massive pool of water below.
Just what he needed. A flooded basement to start his Friday.
He peered up into the shadows at the exposed pipe. That alone could not have done this much damage. It was like he had his own personal indoor pond. There had to be something else going on down below.
He rolled his pants up to his knees and waded into the ankle-deep water and as he did he groaned aloud. Even if he got the leak fixed how the heck was he going to get this place dried out and cleaned up? He shook his head. This was what he got for buying a big old house out in the backwoods.
After four minutes of hunting around for the source of the leak he gave up. Time to call the professionals. With a sigh of resignation he went back up the stairs, barefoot this time, and got the Tonawanda Yellow Pages from the bottom of the kitchen cupboard. He’d meant to throw it out lots of times but kept forgetting to put it out in the recycling bin. Good thing he hadn’t.
He called the first plumbing service that popped up on the page. All-In-One Plumbing and Interior Decorations. Strange combination, but who was he to judge?
“All-In-One, may I help you?” The slightly nasal voice of a woman echoed into the phone.
“I have a flooded basement,” he said. “Could you send a plumber over right away, please? I’m at sixteen twenty-nine Old Spruce Lane.”
“Wow,” the woman exclaimed. “The old Sullivan place. I didn’t know somebody was living there now. Seen any ghosts in the house?”
“Pardon me?” Surprised by her question , Jake’s tone was cool. Who was this woman, anyway? He hadn’t called for a chit-chat.
“Oops, sorry. Just a moment, please.” The woman must have put the receiver down because her next words were slightly muffled. “Sam, Alvin’s stuck in Niagara Falls today. Can you run out to the old Sullivan place?” She was back on the line within seconds. “Sam will be there in twenty minutes,” she said. “Just look out for the All-In-One truck.”
Jake thanked her then hung up. Twenty minutes. Good enough. The damage was already done. What was another twenty minutes worth of water? His indoor pool had probably been collecting for days.
Within eighteen minutes of the call there was the rumble of a truck pulling up in the driveway. They were punctual. A good sign. Jake was on his way to the front door when the bell rang. “Coming,” he said, but before he’d gone another five steps the guy was ringing the bell again. “Hold your horses,” Jake called out, slightly annoyed. It was a big house. Did they expect him to get from one end to the other in seconds?
He flung the door open, still frowning, and froze in surprise. Instead of the burly plumber he’d expected he found himself staring into the wide brown eyes of a sweet-faced young woman.
He stood there, shocked, then realizing he was staring he cleared his throat. “You’re with All-In-One Plumbing?” he asked then looked past her at the big white truck.
“Yes,” she said, her voice sweet and mellow and deeper than he had expected. It was a soft, husky voice. Sort of sexy. “We got a call that your basement is flooded.”
“And you came with Sam?” He glanced at the truck again but there was no-one in it. The plumber must be at the back of the truck offloading the equipment.
The girl laughed, a soft, rippling sound that brought his eyes back to her. “I’m Sam,” she said and held out her hand. "Samantha Fox, at your service.”
This was the plumber? Jake almost laughed out loud. They’d sent him a pretty little thing with long dark hair pulled back, her heart-shaped face rosy and cheerful. And at her feet was a toolkit. She probably was the plumber, after all.
He took her hand in his and was surprised at how soft it was. Definitely not the hands of a plumber.
She was a dainty little thing, dressed in denim work shirt, jeans and heavy work boots. She looked like a child trying to play grown-up, dressed in daddy’s work clothes. All-In-One Plumbing had sent a kid to do a man’s job. He was looking forward to seeing how that would work out.
He felt a tug and that was when he realized he was still holding her hand. “Oh, sorry.” He let go then stepped back. “Come on in.”