Against the Tide (4 page)

FIVE

G
arret knew it was legal to shoot an intruder during a burglary, but killing this man—no matter what sort of person he might be—was not Garret's goal. But when the intruder jumped him from behind, it was hard to think rationally. The two of them wrestled in the kitchen, tumbled out onto the porch and down the back steps, but when the intruder got away, Garret finally got the chance to take a shot. He aimed below the waist, hoping to get the running man in a leg. But judging by the way the guy kept running, Garret missed.

Garret didn't waste a moment as he took off after him. But in the darkness of the side yard, he lost him in the shadows. Then, as Garret passed by an overgrown hedge, someone jumped him from behind. Once again, they rolled and fought. Garret just about had the guy pinned when he heard the cling of something metallic. Even in the dark, he could see the glint of a switchblade coming toward him.

As he dodged the knife, Garret raised his revolver high, hoping to knock the thug in the head with it, but suddenly someone else jumped into the fray. Garret's revolver was knocked from his hand as he was thrown into the hedge. Just like that, his two assailants disappeared.

Garret scrambled to recover his gun then took off toward the pair who were running toward the road. “Stop or I'll shoot!” he yelled as he sprinted at top speed. He pointed his gun toward them, but knew his chance of hitting either of them in the darkness was slim. Even so, he could not let them escape. Somehow he knew they were connected to Megan's earlier encounter at the newspaper office. And no matter what, he'd get to the bottom of it.

* * *

With a pounding heart, Megan ran into the house and grabbed her purse and phone. But the house was silent. Knowing it was risky, she called out for Garret. Hearing no response, and worried the intruder might still be inside, she scurried up the stairs, dialing 911 as she went. She hit Send as she went into her childhood bedroom and locked the door.

As the phone rang, she hurried to the window and peered out into the front yard. Where was Garret? Was he okay? As soon as the dispatcher answered, Megan poured out her whereabouts, their dilemma and her concern over the gunshots. “I need to go to Garret,” she told the woman. “He might need me.”

The dispatcher continued to insist that Megan remain upstairs, asking more questions about the layout of the house.

“I really should go help Garret.” Megan felt a lump in her throat as she imagined him wounded and in need of assistance—or worse.

“Help is on the way. But if there are armed men out there, you should wait for the police to arrive.”

“But it's possible Garret is hurt and—”

“They'll be there soon.” The dispatcher kept Megan on the line, speaking calmly and soothingly as she asked more questions.

“I'm so worried that Garret needs—”

“Listen! You need to stay where you are until law enforcement arrives,” the dispatcher said with authority.

Megan opened the bedroom window, trying to listen for anyone outside. “I hear sirens,” she exclaimed.

“It won't be long.”

“Can I go downstairs now?” Megan pleaded.

“Wait until the officers give you the all-clear,” the woman said firmly. “Stay put. Someone will come directly to you. They know where you are.”

Megan watched as a small convoy of vehicles with flashing lights pulled in. She could see that at least one was an EMT and wondered if perhaps Garret had called, as well, asking for medical help. Clinging to the windowsill, she prayed silently for his safety. Even though she'd only known him for a few hours—it felt like much more—or perhaps it was simply that she wanted it to be much more. Garret was special. She knew it deep within her. And it wasn't just because he'd been friends with her dad. She knew this was something more—and she couldn't bear to lose him.

As the vehicles parked in front, she could see some of the officers getting out, using their vehicles as a shield, positioning themselves as if to carry out a plan. And then, with firearms drawn and wearing bulletproof vests, several officers cautiously but quickly approached the house.

Megan was almost afraid to breathe as she heard the police entering downstairs. Their footsteps rumbled through the wood floors of the old house and they shouted loudly as doors were opened. And then she heard footsteps on the stairs and someone pounding on her door. “Police!” a female's voice shouted. “Come out with your hands up.”

Although she was surprised to be treated like a criminal, Megan knew this was simply routine. And unlocking the door, she held up her hands and stepped out. “I'm Megan McCallister,” she said. “I called 911.”

“Are you okay?” the uniformed female officer asked, as another officer pushed past them, checking the room to see if anyone else was there.

“Yes.” Megan nodded tearfully. “Is Garret okay?”

“I don't know.” The officer nodded toward the stairs. “Let's get you out of here and into a cruiser.”

Before long, Megan and the female cop were in the backseat of a cruiser, and Megan was answering her questions. As best she could, anyway. Mostly she felt like she was in the dark. “I honestly don't know what happened,” she said for the second time. “We heard someone in the house. I'd already been attacked in the newspaper office. So we were sort of on edge. We ran back to the car. Then Garret got out a gun. He went back inside. Shortly after that, I heard the two or three shots.”

The questions continued and her nerves ratcheted up until finally, after about half an hour, Megan saw Garret by the front porch. “He's all right!” she shouted. Before the officer could stop her, Megan jumped out of the patrol car and raced toward him.

“You're okay,” she exclaimed. “I heard the shots and I was so worried.”

He hugged her, holding her longer than was probably necessary, yet she made no move to pull away. “I was worried about you, too,” he said tenderly, finally releasing her from the embrace.

“What happened?” She looked into his eyes, feeling that they seemed strangely familiar—as a surprisingly warm rush ran through her.

Garret explained about his wrestling matches with one and then another man. “I chased them for a couple of miles down the beach road.”

“So they got away?”

“There was a car with the engine running, waiting for them on Rawlins Road. A dark sedan. Not sure what model or year or anything. Anyway, they got in and took off like a shot. And that was that.”

The police came over, asking both of them several more questions and finally allowing them to leave with the promise to remain in touch regarding their whereabouts. Megan could tell that the officers assumed that Garret had simply prevented a burglary, pointing out that it wasn't uncommon for homes to be broken into along this stretch of bluff.

“You don't think this is related to the break-in at the newspaper?” Garret asked.

“Hard to say.” The policeman was getting a call on his phone now and, tipping his head, he stepped away.

Garret frowned as he walked her over to his SUV. “Guess we might as well get out of here. Can't imagine you'd want to stay by yourself here tonight.”

“Not so much.” Megan pondered over what she'd just heard, trying to put the pieces together. “Do you think it was the same guy—the one from the newspaper office?”

“This guy was dressed in dark clothes. Same as the one at the newspaper office. But, like I said, I barely glimpsed that guy's face. But it might've been him. Right height and build and clothes.”

“Why is this happening?” she asked with tightly clenched fists. “What is going on? What does all this mean?”

He ran his hand through his damp hair, making it curl even more. “I, uh, I have a theory.”

“Really?”

“I told the police about it. Not sure they took me seriously, though.”

“I still want to hear it.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “How about if I get your bags from the house first?”

“Thanks.”

After he loaded her things into the back of the SUV, he explained what was going on with the police inside the house. “Where am I taking you?” he asked as he backed out, maneuvering past the emergency vehicles.

“Oh, yeah, I better call a hotel.” She pulled out her phone, doing a quick search for the largest hotel in town. But to her dismay, the desk clerk informed her they had no vacancies. “Really?” Megan asked. “You have nothing?”

“It's Memorial Day weekend,” the clerk said in a tired voice. “And the weather's pretty nice. From what I hear everyone is full up in town.”

“Oh.” Megan thanked her, hung up and then told Garret.

“Yeah, I was worried about that, too,” he said. “Even my cabins are full. And I had to turn folks away. But I do have a couple of vacant cabins that I'm still working on. I didn't book them out because I haven't had time to finish them yet. You could sort of camp there for the night...if you don't mind roughing it some.”

“Oh...” Megan imagined a dirty old fishing cabin with a lumpy mattress, but was so tired she didn't even care.

“Come to think of it, Cabin A is nearly finished.”

She looked at the clock, surprised to see that it was well after midnight now. “I'm so exhausted, I don't care if the place is a mess, Garret. As long as it's safe.” She looked over at him. “Do you think it's safe there? At the marina?”

“Don't know why it wouldn't be.”

She sighed. “Yeah, but I don't know why my dad's house wasn't safe, either.”

“Good point.” He shook his head. “But I'm sure you'll be safe at the marina. The cabin you'll have is right next to mine and I'm a pretty light sleeper. Not only that, but I'll let you have Rocky, too.”

“Rocky?”

“My Doberman.”

“A guard dog?”

“Well, he
looks
like a guard dog and acts like a guard dog. But he's actually quite harmless. More of an alarm than an attack dog.” He glanced at her. “Do you
like
dogs?”

“Absolutely. And if you honestly don't mind sharing him, I'd love to have Rocky stay with me tonight. That would be reassuring.”

“Great.”

As Garret drove them toward town, Megan tried to wrap her head around all that had happened since arriving at Cape Perpetua just a few hours ago. It was mind-boggling, and frightening and unreal.

Instead of taking the river road directly to the marina, Garret turned into town. “I'm doing a little detour,” he explained. “Just in case anyone wanted to follow us. Although I haven't really noticed any suspicious cars.”

She looked all around, relieved to see that the town was pretty deserted. She didn't see a single set of headlights anywhere. Garret seemed satisfied, too, and, taking a backstreet and a couple more turns, they were soon at the marina.

“Here we are,” Garret announced as he parked next to the boxy building that housed the old store where she and Dad used to buy treats for their fishing trips. “Welcome to Larsson's Marina.” He cautiously looked all around as he helped her out. “I'll get your bags.”

Before long, he was opening the door of one of the small cabins alongside the river. “Like I said, it's still a little rough.” He set her bags inside the door. “I'll grab you some bedding and towels and stuff. But I think you'll be okay for one night.”

She nodded as she looked around the small space. “This will be fine,” she assured him. “I really appreciate it.”

“I'll be right back.”

After he left she examined the cabin more carefully. With new pine floors and pine-paneled walls, the room smelled clean and fresh. The mattress on the queen-size bed was brand-new, too, still wrapped in factory plastic. The tiny bathroom, although missing a door and a coat of paint, had new fixtures, including a large mirror. But she didn't recognize the stranger looking back at her. The pale skin, strained features, dark circles beneath her hazel eyes and that messy long hair—who was that poor woman, anyway? Megan simply turned away.

As she unzipped one of her bags, she noticed that the narrow closet, also missing its door, had no rod or hangers. Well, Garret hadn't promised it'd be the Ritz. She was just removing a T-shirt to sleep in when a knock on the front door made her jump.

“It's just me,” Garret said quietly.

She unlocked the door, opening it to let him enter. His arms were full of bedding and towels, and behind him came a big sleek brown dog, eager to sniff her.

“You must be Rocky,” she said, allowing him to smell the back of her hand. “My new roommate.”

“Yeah, I invited Rocky to come check you out.” Garret dumped the pile onto the mattress. “If you guys like each other, I'll go get his bed.”

She knelt down to scratch him behind the ears, and his tail wagged happily. “You're a good boy, aren't you?” She already felt safer, just having him here.

“Sorry I don't have a curtain up yet.” Garret pointed to the bare window. “But I brought some extra towels.” He handed her a couple of white towels. “Just hang them over the rod for now.”

“Thanks.” She went over to hang and adjust her terry curtains. Rocky followed her, watching with canine interest.

“I'll be right back with Rocky's bed.”

She put some things away and soon Garret returned with a big dog bed, shoving it into the corner by the door. “Sorry not to have the place in better shape, but—”

“I think this is a lovely little cabin,” she assured him. “And I'm happy to make myself at home. Thank you.”

He grinned. “Before I go, how about if we exchange phone numbers? Just in case.” He pulled out a business card, handing it to her. Then she went to her purse and did the same.

“Thanks, Garret,” she said in a tired voice. “For everything.”