Against the Tide (18 page)

TWENTY-TWO

G
arret spun the chamber and tried it again. To his relief a shot rang out and Kent dropped to the ground. Whether it was from a bullet wound or just an attempt to take cover, Garret couldn't be sure. But he didn't want to stick around and find out. “Let's run,” he said to Megan. “Keep your head low and go fast. I'll cover you and be right behind you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go across and then turn to your right and go as far as the spit allows.”

As she took off, Garret kept his eyes pinned on the spot where Kent had hit the ground. If he was unhurt, he would probably stand up and take some more shots. For a couple of seconds nothing happened, but then—to Garret's shocked surprise—Kent leaped to his feet and was less than ten yards away. Suddenly, he was running toward Garret with his rifle aimed directly at him.

* * *

Megan had just turned right, like Garret had instructed, when she heard the exchange of gunshots behind her. She stopped in her tracks as a rush of fresh terror ran through her, followed by questions. What if Garret's gun wasn't working properly? What if Kent had shot and wounded Garret? Should she return to help him? Or would that simply complicate things? Or what if Garret was dead? She couldn't bear to dwell on the last question.
Just keep going
, she told herself as she ran along the wet, sandy beach. She could see that this spit was steadily shrinking with the incoming tide. Eventually it would be covered in water. But by then...it probably wouldn't matter, anyway.

Determined to do as Garret had told her, she continued to run. She had no idea where she was going exactly, or what good it would do—besides temporarily evading Kent. But how long could that last? Finally, she saw the end of the spit. She slowed to a walk, catching her breath, and was suddenly shaken by more gunfire. Several shots that split the silence of the fog. What was going on back there? Was Garret okay?

At the end of the spit, she fell to her knees, gasping for air and praying for God to help Garret. “Please, God! Spare him!” she prayed between breaths, hot tears streaking down her cold cheeks. “Keep him safe! For me! Please!” Suddenly, she heard the sound of a boat engine. Peering through the fog, she recognized the silhouette. It was the same dark fishing boat that had shot at them at Garret's house, then later by the bridge, nearly killing Michael. Kent had probably called them for backup.

She knew she needed to look for cover, but her options were the reeds, which were too far away, or the fog, which seemed unlikely. She got down low, wishing her parka wasn't such a bright shade of blue—and wishing she'd thought to remove the package still tucked beneath it. If she was killed, the mob would have custody of the incriminating documents. Her father's story would die with her.

* * *

Garret's shots had managed to slow Kent down, giving Garret the chance to put some distance between them as he ran through the reeds. His plan was to reach the tallest reeds, get down low and reload his Ruger—and be ready for him this time. He'd wasted most of his rounds during their last skirmish, by aiming for Kent's legs, hoping to knock him down and incapacitate him. But Kent had returned fire, forcing Garret to shoot carelessly—using up his bullets. But at least it had waylaid Kent, giving him something to think about. And fortunately, Kent's aim wasn't any better than Garret's.

Breathing hard, Garret thought about Megan. She should've reached the end of the spit by now. But what next? The spit was already shrinking in the incoming tide. They certainly couldn't remain here for too long. But could they possibly survive the swim to land? With the cold, churning water of the incoming tide against the flowing river, he didn't think so.

He strained his ears and realized that the reeds nearby were moving. And not from the wind, since it was completely still. Once again, he got his revolver ready, holding it steady and pointing it in the direction of the rustling reeds. He'd kill Kent—but only to protect Megan. He would rather wound him. It would be more satisfying to see his ex-employee suffer trial and conviction and jail.

As soon as Garret spotted the dark image trudging through the reeds, he lifted his gun and, taking aim at the lower half of Kent's body, released two shots—rewarded by a scream of pain as Kent crumbled to the ground.

Determined not to waste a moment, or give Kent time to respond, Garret took off and, staying low, ran through the reeds toward the other side of the spit. But as he came to the steadily shrinking beach, he could hear the sound of a boat motor. It did not sound like the coast guard—and it sounded like it was on the other end of the spit—right where he had sent Megan.

Garret ran full speed, praying as he went, and knowing full well that his single revolver would be no match for the weapons he suspected were onboard the fishing boat. He was almost there when he heard another sound—more engines, bigger ones—and he realized the coast guard was approaching.

With his Ruger still in his hand, Garret stopped and fired three shots into the air as a distress signal, hoping to get the coast guard's attention. He continued moving toward the end of the spit, reloading his gun, then paused again, firing three more shots—praying that they would figure it out.

Out in the open now, Garret crouched low, making his way toward the end of the spit, praying that he'd find Megan and that she'd be okay. Suddenly, he saw a flash of blue through the fog and then, running directly to her, he fell to the ground beside her, making her jump. “It's just me,” he said as used himself and his black coat to conceal and protect her. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “I am now. But that boat's out there—the one that shot at us—”

“The coast guard is out there, too,” he reassured her.

“Kent?”

“I wounded him. Should slow him down some.” Garret could feel her shivering, probably from both the cold and fear. Hopefully, he could help abate that. She was a sturdy woman, but he knew that anyone could go into shock. And so he began to pray aloud, quietly, but with faith.

* * *

As Megan shivered beneath the layers of heavy wool emergency blankets, she couldn't believe they were finally safe. Was it even possible? Everything had happened so quickly. One minute she thought it was the end—and suddenly it all changed when not just one, but three coast guard boats had shown up. Her memory of the details was even more foggy than the weather, but it hadn't taken long for the coast guard boats to surround the fishing boat and then take the three armed men from the boat into custody. Not a shot was fired.

The only thing she could clearly remember was the kiss. In the same moment they knew their ordeal was over, Garret had gathered her into his arms and holding her close, they had kissed so long and so passionately that she actually began to feel warm again.

They were still kissing when the coast guard sent the surf boat ashore. Their rescuers laughed in amusement as they interrupted the kiss, assuring them they would have time to finish it later. Now, with the coast guard still searching for Kent on the spit, Megan and Garret were nearly back at the marina.

With one arm around Megan, Garret had been telling one of the officers what had happened. But now the boat had stopped and they were suddenly disembarking at the marina, where several cop cars were parked in front of the store. “I'll let you inside so you can get warm and dry,” Garret said as he rushed her toward his house. Detective Greene waved to them, running to catch up, telling them to wait. “I have questions.”

“Megan is nearly hypothermic,” Garret said. “She can talk to you after she gets warmed up.”

Greene looked at both of them. “Yeah, sure, you both should get into dry clothes.” He walked along with them, going inside. “I'll just wait in here, if you don't mind.”

With her teeth chattering uncontrollably, Megan just nodded, hurrying to the master suite, where she peeled of her soggy clothes. The package that she'd kept with her the whole time was a little worse for wear. But, worried it might still disappear, she took it into the bathroom with her and securely locked the door.

After a long hot shower, she emerged into the steamy bathroom. Worried that her dad's precious research would be ruined from the water, she eagerly tore into it. To her relief, inside the soggy yellow envelope, the documents themselves were sealed in an oversize Ziploc bag. She smiled to remember her dad's cautious ways. Of course he'd thought to protect these papers.

Before long, she joined Detective Greene and Garret and together they told him the whole story. Megan held up the papers, still sealed in the plastic bag. “I'm willing to hand these over to you, but only if I can make copies first.”

Detective Greene nodded. “Why don't we go to the station to make them? We'll be safe there.”

“You think we're still in danger?” Megan asked.

“We've got a lot of guys in custody, but we haven't taken in the kingpins yet.” He pointed to the bag. “Hopefully, that will give us what we need to do that.”

“I'm sure it will,” Garret told him.

* * *

By the time they returned to the marina, it was dark. “I think we should both sleep well tonight,” Garret told Megan, pointing to the patrol car still parked in front of the marina. Greene had promised round-the-clock protection until the rest of Marco's mob was in custody—including the brothers.

“I'm so tired I think I could sleep through an earthquake.”

Despite his reassurances, Garret looked all around as they made their way to the house. He suspected he'd be doing that for a while. He took a long look at the dock, noticing the empty slip where his little fishing boat was usually docked. According to the coast guard it was entirely fixable and would be returned to him for repairs on Tuesday. Fortunately, that wasn't his only boat.

Once inside they worked together to make a nice little dinner that they quietly ate at the breakfast bar.

“I can't believe it's over.” She shook her head. “Or almost.”

“Rory really got the goods on the Marco brothers. They weren't just skimming from the casino, although that seems to be considerable, they were trafficking drugs, as well. He had all kinds of proof—letters, photographs, statements, you name it. Valuable stuff. I had no idea he had gathered that much.”

“Dad was always thorough.”

“It was fun seeing Detective Greene so impressed.”

She smiled. “That would've pleased Dad.”

“Seeing all these guys being arrested would've made him pretty happy, too.”

She looked into Garret's eyes. “Thanks so much. I never could've done it without you.”

“We made a pretty good team.” Garret longed to take this relationship further, but knew he needed to pace himself. She'd been through so much today. They both needed a good night's sleep. “It's the Memorial Day parade tomorrow,” he said as he gathered up their dishes. “Do you want to go?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “Wouldn't miss it.” Now she frowned. “Well, if it's safe. Do you think the police will have taken in the others by then?”

“It sounded like they were rounding them up tonight.”

She closed her eyes with a deep sigh. “I sure hope so.”

Garret wanted to ask her about what would happen after tomorrow, after her dad's memorial service on Wednesday, after everything was all wrapped up for her in Cape Perpetua. Would she still put the newspaper and Rory's house up for sale like she had said originally? Maybe the last few days would make her glad to leave...glad to get back to a calmer, quieter life in Seattle. He wanted the answers to all his questions, but he knew she was weary. This was not the time.

* * *

Megan felt like her old self the next morning. And, after receiving news from Detective Greene—that six more men had been taken into custody, including Kent and the Marco brothers and two of their sons—she was eager to go to the Memorial Day parade. And it was fun watching it with Garret. The festivities reminded her of her childhood. Dad had always loved this parade, often participating with a float representing the newspaper.

In the afternoon Megan excused herself from Garret, explaining that she had work to do at the newspaper. “My car's there,” she told him. “And Arthur offered to come in to keep me company.” She slipped the new flip phone Detective Greene had loaned to her into the bag that had been retrieved from Kent's impounded boat. “I'll probably be there most of the day working on Dad's article.” She smiled at him, realizing she didn't really want to be away from him for that long, but knowing there was work to be done.

“I've got work to catch up on here at the marina, too,” Garret told her. “But if you finish the article in time, maybe you'd let me take you to dinner.”

“At The Bridgeview?” she asked hopefully.

He nodded. “To make up for our interrupted lunch the other day.”

“It's a date.” She looked slightly embarrassed. “I mean, yeah, I'll meet you there. Want to say 6:30?”

“It's a date.” He grinned.

As she drove to the newspaper office, she was already working on the first article in her head. She knew that it would take more than just one article to tell the story of what had gone on in Cape Perpetua these past couple of years. She planned to do exposés on the casino, the Marco mafia, the restaurant used for money laundering, as well as the drug-smuggling ring. With only two days before publication day, she knew she'd have to write fast. But she thought she could do it. And her final article would be a piece about her dad, her family and their commitment to bringing the news to Cape Perpetua for nearly a hundred years. A tradition that was coming to an end this week.

TWENTY-THREE

M
egan was happily exhausted after two solid days of writing articles for the paper. Plus, she'd accomplished much more than expected in that short time, only leaving for dinner dates with Garret—the highlight of her day. She knew her writing progress had to be due to the lack of distractions—that and the comfort of sitting with her laptop in Dad's old office. But with only Arthur on Monday, and then Barb, as well, on Tuesday, she was able to keep her nose to the grindstone as Dad would say. And she felt certain he would be pleased with her. Maybe even proud. She hoped so.

“You done good,” Arthur told her as he prepared to put the paper to bed on Tuesday evening. “You're your father's daughter.”

She thanked him with a hug. Then she thanked Barb for her moral support and multiple cups of coffee as well as homemade lunches and snacks. “You're the best,” she said as she hugged her. “I wish I could take you to Seattle with me.”

“So you're really leaving us?” Arthur frowned with dismay.

Megan pursed her lips. She really wasn't sure about this decision. Despite her promise to be back to work by next Monday, she was torn. Not only in regard to the newspaper. She was torn over her strong feelings for Garret, as well. The problem was that she just wasn't certain that he shared those same feelings. Oh, she knew he liked her well enough. He'd never made a secret of that. But despite the one kiss they'd shared, he hadn't made the slightest attempt toward romance over the last two days. And she had given him opportunity.

On one hand, she respected him for that. She'd never been a fan of those guys who came on too strong. Plus, she'd had a lot going on emotionally. But last night, after a late dinner at The Bridgeview, she had stood in front of him in the parking lot, longing to be kissed. She almost said something to that effect, and maybe she was old-fashioned, but she'd never been secure enough to make the first move. Especially with someone she respected as much as Garret. But perhaps it was for the best.

When the newspaper came out on Wednesday morning, as usual, Megan worried that, thanks to the small town rumor mill, it would be old news. And yet people kept coming into the office for newspapers, showing up even after they were completely out. And Arthur, following her directions, had printed twice as much as normal.

“That never happened before,” Arthur said as he turned off the lights. It was only midday, but because of her dad's memorial service in the afternoon, they were quitting early.

“Francis Moore just told me that the whole town was out of papers, too,” Barb said as she put the security code into the alarm system.

“Rory would be proud,” Arthur told Megan. “And that editorial you wrote about him really got to me.” The crusty old guy actually started to tear up.

“I'll say.” Barb picked up her purse, pulling out a key ring. “I cried long and hard when I read it.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “I guess we'll see you at the service later.”

“Yeah.” Megan nodded as they stepped outside. “Thanks again, you guys.”

They all shared a group hug and then Megan got into her car and drove back to her dad's house. She'd been staying there since hearing the news that most of the Marco mob had been taken into custody with bails so high that no one had managed to get released as yet.

As she went into Dad's house, she had an imaginary conversation with him. “What do you think I should do?” she asked as she went into the kitchen to fix herself a bite of lunch. She stood by the kitchen window, looking out over the ocean, and felt such a sense of comfort and peace that she could almost imagine her dad's hand resting on her shoulder as the words
haste makes waste
went through her mind.

Yes, that sounded like Dad. But then she'd grown up hearing his adages. As a teenager she'd made fun of them. But now she liked them. So if haste made waste what was it that she was hurrying and how was it wasteful?

Selling the newspaper. Selling his house. She remembered what Garret had said to her, about how his grandmother was advised not to make any major decisions after her husband's death. Maybe it was better to wait.

She gazed out over the ocean, feeling the old connection that she'd loved so much as a girl, longing to go out in Dad's fishing boat one more time. Not that it was possible since it was probably out there at the bottom of the ocean somewhere. But even that brought a bit of comfort to her. It seemed right that Rory McCallister's boat had been put to rest like that. Her dad probably liked that.

Worn out from two long days of work, Megan ate her lunch then sat down to relax. When she woke up, she realized she was now running late. Mad at herself for being late to her own dad's service, she tried not to speed into town. At least the tourists were gone now. It was nice to see the sweet little town returning to normal.

As she turned down the church's street, Megan didn't have high expectations about her dad's service. She was well aware that his opposition to the casino and a few other things had put him on some of the locals' hate lists. For all she knew, there would just be a handful here. And that was fine. But to her shock, the parking lot was full and she was forced to park several blocks away. Running to the church, she hoped that they hadn't started without her.

Garret was waiting for her at the front door. “Glad you made it,” he said as he linked his arm in hers. “I told the pastor to wait.”

“Thanks. I fell asleep.”

“I tried your phone and was about to go looking for you,” he said quietly as he led her to the front of the church.

The service was even better than she'd hoped for. Afterward, people greeted her, sharing sweet memories of Rory and expressing appreciation for today's paper. Their stories were truly heartwarming.

By the time she was leaving the church she felt almost happy. Almost. But as Garret came over to walk with her, her happy meter tipped even more. “Thanks for your help,” she said quietly.

“I made you a promise,” Garret said as he walked her to her car.

“What's that?” She paused to unlock her door.

“I said I'd take you out to spread Rory's ashes in the ocean...if you like.”

“Oh, yeah.” She nodded eagerly then frowned. “But what about your boat?”

“I have another boat—a bigger one. It's the one I take on the ocean. The boat in the shop is only big enough for river fishing.”

She felt a rush of joy. “I'd just been wishing I could go out on the ocean.”

“Tomorrow is Fisherman's Thursday.” His teal-blue eyes twinkled like the sea on a sunny day. “And the weather is supposed to be good. Although there's a storm system coming Friday.”

“I'd love to go out.”

“Great!”

* * *

As Garret got his boat ready on Thursday morning, he felt a mixture of anxiety and hope. Part of him was preparing for the worst. But another part of him was optimistic. He had made up his mind last night. No matter how it turned out, he was determined to tell Megan—once and for all—how he really felt about her. This would be a first for him. But then he'd never met a woman like Megan. And despite having only been reacquainted with her for a week, he knew that she was special. He honestly believed she was his soul mate. The question was—how did she feel? Today he would find out.

But not until they'd taken care of Rory's ashes. As he gave the chairs a wipe-down and moved some fishing junk out of the way, he wondered if he was pushing it. But he also knew that Megan had been planning to return to Seattle this weekend, maybe as soon as tomorrow. That left little time. And somehow, the idea of being out on the ocean together felt right. And he felt certain that Rory would approve.

Garret heard a cheerful greeting from the dock and looked up to see Megan waving. She had on her blue parka, which looked like it had been washed, as well as an old fishing hat that he felt certain he'd seen on Rory. In her hand was a small metal canister.

“Ahoy!” he called out as she came up to his boat.

“Nice little skiff you got here.” She looked from bow to stern, giving it a nod of approval. “Impressive.”

“Thanks.” He grinned as he reached for her hand. “Your dad used to give me a bad time about having such a big fancy boat. But like I told him, it was my grandpa's. I just haven't had the heart to trade down.” He helped her into the boat, slipping his arm around her waist as she landed—and wanting to keep it there.

“And why should you? This boat is absolutely beautiful.” She ran her hand over the railing. “She's a jewel.”

“And she can handle the ocean nicely, too.” He leaned over to pull in a bumper from the stern area and, just like a seasoned sailor, Megan set down her canister of ashes then went for the other bumpers. Pulling them out of the water, she gave each one a firm shake then tucked it inside. Meanwhile, he untied the lines and started the engine and, just like that, they were on their way. It all felt so right. So much so that he wondered if he was deluded. Maybe this was a bad idea, after all. He glanced grimly at the canister now sitting on the dash. Maybe he was pushing it.

“What a perfect day,” she declared as he headed downriver, observing the speed limit as he passed by other docks in town.

“Fisherman's Thursday,” he said loudly to be heard over the engine and the slapping of the waves.

She let out a big sigh. “I feel like Dad's really with us.”

He nodded. “I'd had similar thoughts.”

“I've been thinking about him a lot these past few days,” she said. “It's like I've finally had time to really do that.”

“Yeah, you had a pretty busy few days when you first got here.”

“I know. In a way it was good. It kind of helped me to get past the worst of the pain. It's like I can be happy for his life now and remember all the good times. You know?”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“I mean, I still get sad. But not like I was. I was so devastated at first. And then it just got worse the more I learned about what was going on here. But now it sort of feels like his life had real purpose.”

He agreed with her then continued to listen as she reminisced about Rory. It felt like she needed to talk. And he was relieved to hear her. As they passed beneath the bridge she told him about the first time Rory had taken her deep-sea fishing. “I was sick as a dog and Dad was so disappointed that I felt even worse. It took me a whole year before I went out again. But Dad had me take a seasick pill and eat the right kind of breakfast and I was just fine. Never been seasick since.”

“You seem like a natural sailor,” he said as he navigated the river between the jetties.

“And I've missed it,” she confessed. “You'd think I'd have been out since living in Seattle. And really, lots of people take boats out on the Sound. But I haven't been in a boat since the last time I went salmon fishing with Dad. And that was three and a half years ago.” She shook her head with dismay. “I do regret that.”

“Well, Rory would be pleased to see you out here today.” He glanced at her. “Hold on, it might be a little rough crossing the bar. They said there might be some six-foot swells. But nothing to be concerned over in this boat.”

“I feel perfectly safe.” Even so she held on to the dash handle in front of her. “I think swells are fun.”

He smiled as he gunned his engine. She was his kind of girl! Before long, they were in the open sea and when they reached the area where the coast guard had said Rory's boat had gone down, Garret slowed to a crawl and Megan unscrewed the lid to the canister.

“I know this isn't really you, Dad,” she said as she leaned over the railing. “I know that you're with God in heaven. But it's symbolic of you.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Thank you for all you did for me. I love you, Dad. I always will.” And then she poured the ashes out into the waves.

Garret wasn't sure what to do and so he continued aiming directly into the waves, which were actually getting a little bigger. Nothing dangerous, but maybe the predicted storm was coming sooner than predicted. Megan stood up straight, refastening the lid to the canister and setting it on the deck by her bag. “There,” she said with satisfaction, wiping tears from her cheek. “It feels good to have that done.”

Garret held out his left arm as he held on to the helm with his right hand. “Need a hug?”

She nodded with a trembling chin. “Yes, that'd be good.” She came over to stand next to him and he securely held her with his left hand, giving her a sideways squeeze and holding her close. After a bit, he almost expected her to step away, but when she didn't, he thought maybe this was it—his big opportunity.

“Megan,” he began slowly. “There's something I need to tell you.”

She looked up at him with troubled eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I mean, I hope not.” He swallowed hard, wondering why this was so difficult. “Megan, you've come to mean a lot to me this past week.”

She just nodded. “Yeah, I feel the same way.”

“It kind of took me by surprise,” he confessed. “But it was a good surprise.”

She nodded again, and now he felt encouraged.

“Megan,” he said firmly, “you walked into my life a week ago and turned it upside down. And now you plan to leave it. But I'm begging you to rethink that.”

“Rethink that?” She studied him closely with a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“Megan McCallister, I love you,”
he declared. “And although I know it might seem sudden, I am not willing to part with you. I'm asking you to stay here, Megan. Stay here in Cape Perpetua and please consider marrying me.”

She blinked. “Is this a proposal?”

He was shocked at himself. He had planned to declare his love for her. As much as he wanted to marry her, he hadn't meant to bowl her over with a premature proposal. And yet he had done just that and it was too late to take it back. Not that he wanted to. But at the same time, he didn't want to scare her away, either. But he was in too deep and had no plans to back off. Garret nodded his head firmly. “Yes. I'm sorry for making such a giant leap. But it is a proposal.”