Against the Tide (11 page)

FOURTEEN

M
egan's eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness, but she could still barely see as she fumbled along, trying to soundlessly feel her way to the door. At the same moment she realized that something was seriously wrong out there, and she immediately regretted her doubts about Garret. How could she have questioned him like that? She prayed as she shuffled through the dark room, feeling with her hands to keep from running into something. She prayed that Garret would be safe. Because she just knew—deep inside her—that he truly was her friend.

Finally, she felt the door, but now she was shaking so hard, she wasn't sure whether to open it or just stay put. The office was silent and she had no idea what was waiting on the other side of this door. She cracked it open. Seeing no one, she cautiously stepped out.

Nearby a desk and a couple of chairs were overturned, blocking the aisle that led through the office. Still unsure if anyone was about, Megan crouched behind one of the desks that remained upright, trying to make her way to a desk phone so she could call for help. As she felt around the desktop, she remembered that her dad had finally agreed to cell phones for his reporters. Naturally, they no longer had landline phones on their desks. Only Barb's desk still had one.

Still crouched low, Megan inched her way to the front of the building, finally getting to Barb's desk where she remained tucked into the knee space, taking the phone down to her level to quietly dial 911. In a hushed voice, she gave her location and what little she knew. “There was a gunshot,” she whispered. “And now it seems like I'm the only one in the building.”

“Are you safe?”

“I don't know.” Megan peeked above the top of the desk to see that the front door was open. “But it's Garret that I'm worried about.”

“Can you move to a safer location?”

“I'm going to check on Garret.” Megan dropped the phone and began to creep through the building. Garret could be wounded; he could need her help—she was tired of waiting!

Megan's search of the newspaper office revealed nothing, but she felt a wave of relief to see the flashing lights of the first police car. As it pulled in front of the newspaper office, she hurried outside. When Scott Barnett got out of the driver's side, she rushed over to talk to him, quickly explaining what had happened. “Garret might be hurt. I heard one gunshot, but I honestly can't remember if Garret had a gun on him or not.”

Scott just nodded, talking into his radio and tipping his head to his partner, who was pulling on a bulletproof vest. Scott reached into the car for a vest for himself and then, as he put it on, he turned to Megan. “Get out of here,” he ordered. “Go into Beulah's and stay there. We'll do what needs to be done here.”

“Okay.” She pressed her lips together, knowing she should do as he said, but the newspaper reporter in her wanted to stick around. Plus, she wanted to be nearby for Garret's sake. But when Scott scowled at her, she knew she needed to comply. She ran across the street to the restaurant, taking her post by the door.

“Something wrong at the newspaper office?” Jeanie, the waitress, asked as she paused with a tray of food to look out the window. “Another break-in? I was here last night when the cops came for that.”

“Yeah.” Megan sighed. “Another break-in. I just hope no one got hurt.”

“Oh, dear, were the employees in there?”

“No. A friend of mine.”

“Garret Larsson?” Jeanie asked.

Megan nodded. “Yes. How did you know that?”

“Oh, I noticed him outside of the place last night. With a young woman. Come to think of it, that must've been you.”

“Yeah. That's right.”

“And Garret was good friends with Rory. So it makes sense he'd be friends with you, too. Garret's a good guy.” Jeanie tipped her head to Megan then continued with her tray, taking it to a booth by the window where the party, like most of the customers in the café, was watching Main Street with interest.

Megan appreciated Jeanie's endorsement of Garret. Except that it made her feel even more guilty for the way she had doubted him earlier. She knew her suspicions were partly due to being a journalist—and partly due to fear. But they were still wrong. Garret had not deserved that of her. She prayed silently again, begging God to take care of her dear friend—to keep him safe.

Another police car arrived, followed closely by an ambulance. Did that mean that someone inside had been hurt? Was it Garret? It took all her self-control to remain inside the café like Scott had told her. But then, seeing that a crowd of curious spectators was gathering on this side of the street, she decided that she could probably blend in with them.

She cautiously stepped outside, looking up and down the street to be sure that no one suspicious was lurking about, getting ready to take a shot at her. But everything seemed normal out there. Well, except for the emergency vehicles. Although, to be fair, they were starting to seem fairly normal, too.

Please, God,
she prayed silently,
let Garret be okay. Don't let him be hurt. If he is hurt, get help to him quickly.
As she prayed for him, she wondered what she would do without him. How would she ever manage to unravel this mess and find her dad's yellow envelope and expose the Marco brothers on her own? Furthermore, how would her heart handle it? Because Megan knew already she wanted Garret for more than just a good friend. Garret was the kind of man that she wanted to hold on to. Not just to help her out of this never-ending nightmare—but also to share in her dreams.

* * *

Slowing his jog to a fast walk, Garret rubbed his shoulder trying to determine which street his attacker had turned onto and wondering where the cops were. He was just about to reach for his phone when he heard a scuffling sound from the adjacent alley. Spinning around just in time to see a trash can being hurled at him, Garret dodged out of its path and then leaped toward his attacker.

The two crashed down to the asphalt, fists swinging as they rolled and fought. But the guy was quick and slippery. Garret finally had him by one arm and was just raising his gun to take aim. “Freeze right now!” Garret yelled. “Or I'll—” Before he could finish his sentence, he felt a sharp blow to his head and everything went dark.

* * *

When Garret came to, it was to the sound of sirens. Sitting up, he rubbed his head and, noticing red and blue lights flashing several blocks away, he remembered what had just happened. Suddenly, he remembered Megan and how he'd left her behind at the newspaper office. Seeing that the police cars and EMT truck were now parked there, blocking the traffic on Main Street, his heart began to pound even harder. Had something happened to Megan? It was obvious that Garret's attacker was not working alone—someone besides the man he'd been wrestling with had whacked him in the back of the head. What if they had gone back for Megan? Or perhaps they had another cohort who'd remained in the newspaper office after Garret had been lured into the chase. Despite his throbbing head, Garret began running, praying as he went—desperately hoping that Megan was not hurt.

As he got to the entrance of the newspaper office, he heard someone shouting his name. To his huge relief, it was Megan. Calling and waving, she burst out of a group of bystanders, rushing over to him.

“You're okay,” she said with wide-eyed relief. “I was so worried.”

He hugged her. “I'm fine. And you're okay, too?”

“Of course.” She nodded.

“I felt bad to have left you alone like that,” he confessed. “But I wanted to catch that guy.”

“I was so worried for you.” She looked into his eyes with such tenderness that he really wanted to kiss her. “I didn't know what to do.”

He stroked her cheek. “I'm so glad you're all right.” He wanted to kiss her, but the sound of yelling stopped him.

“There you are!” Scott Barnett exclaimed as he hurried over. Knowing that moment was gone, Garret explained what had just happened.

“No one else seems to be in the building,” Scott told them. “But the officers are still looking around.”

“I don't see how they got in.” Megan told him about setting the alarm.

“You're sure it was on?” he said.

“I'm positive. The red light was flashing—showing it was activated.”

“Let's go take a look,” Scott said.

They went in to see that instead of the red light, it was the green light—showing it had been deactivated. “Someone had to punch in the code,” she told Scott. “At the time I thought maybe it was an employee, but—”

“Which employees know the pass code?”

“Only Arthur and Barb as far as I know. But they obviously didn't break in here and attack Garret.” She frowned. “But I just remembered something.”

“What?” Scott asked.

“Michael called the security company last night. He promised to text me the pass code, which means it's probably in my phone.”

Scott frowned. “Yeah?”

“I lost my phone at my dad's house this morning... I wonder if one of these guys found it.”

“Sounds like you better change the pass code,” Scott told them.

“And maybe I should get over to Dad's house and see if I can find my phone,” she told him.

“How about if I follow you over there?” Scott offered. “The guys will be here for an hour or two, dusting for prints and gathering more evidence. Every piece we get helps to tighten the circle on these guys.”

“Yeah.” Megan gave a weary nod and Garret suspected she wasn't completely convinced of this. Who could blame her? So far it seemed that the bad guys were pretty much running the show.

Garret turned back to Scott. “We'd appreciate your backup.”

Scott nodded. “I'll just let the guys know.”

Garret slipped an arm around her, guiding her down Main Street, toward the funeral home where they'd left his SUV nearly two hours ago. After they got inside his vehicle, he handed his phone to her. “Go ahead and call the security company,” he suggested. “Even if they didn't get your phone, they somehow figured out the code. Might as well change it now.”

“Thanks.”

As he drove, she placed the call. Garret kept a close eye on all the side streets just in case he spotted the jerk who'd jumped him.

Megan let out a long sigh after she hung up. “I need to talk to Detective Greene,” she told Garret in an irritated tone.

“Was he at the newspaper office just now?” Garret asked.

“Not that I could see.” She was digging a business card out of her purse. “Mind if I call him on your phone?”

“Not at all.” Garret turned onto the beach road, driving slowly and keeping a close watch in his rearview mirror. Where was Scott?

“Detective Greene,” Megan spoke slowly into the phone, almost as if she was bracing herself. “We need to talk.” She listened for a moment then spoke more quickly. “Hang on a second.” She turned to Garret. “I'm going to put it on speaker, okay?”

He just nodded. “But first tell him where we're headed and that we want backup ASAP. Tell him Scott was supposed to follow us, but I don't see him.”

“Okay.” Megan relayed this then pushed the button. “You're on speakerphone so Garret can hear you, too. Here's the deal. I want to know about my dad's autopsy.”

“I can send you a copy of the report on the next business day.” Greene's tone was crisp—all business. “After the holiday weekend, I'll have my assist—”

“I want to know about it
now
,”
Megan said firmly.

“What do you want to know?” The detective's tone suggested boredom. Garret could almost imagine him examining his nails with a blasé expression.

“I want to know what tests were actually run.”

“I'm not sure what you're going after, Miss McCallister, but the coroner's report confirms that your father died of natural causes and—”

“How can you possibly
know
that?” she demanded.

“Because I read the coroner's report,” he told her. “There were no wounds or signs of bruising or any indication of struggle or anything out of the ordinary.”

“So what was the cause of death?” she asked.

“Drowning.”

“Drowning?” She glanced at Garret. “He had on a life vest. And he was an excellent swimmer. How could he drown?”

“He was discovered facedown. Apparently, that's how he drowned.”

“So you're suggesting my father's boat sank and he escaped without a scratch and then he simply ducked his head into the water and drowned?
Seriously?
”

“That was the coroner's finding.”

“And the coroner—is he a medical examiner, or a trained physician—or is he just a city-appointed form-filler and paper-pusher?”

“Are you a concerned daughter or just a nosy reporter?”

“Both,” she snapped back. “So let me just take a guess, Detective. The coroner
isn't
medically trained. He probably just rubber-stamped the report and—”

“I'm a busy man, Miss McCallister. Is there a real point to this
pleasant
little phone call or do you just make it your business to harass—”

“Yes, there's a point. I want you to explain to me how it's possible that your coroner could've gotten the results from the toxicology tests so quickly.”

“Toxicology?” He blew out an exasperated sigh.

“Please, don't tell me you didn't request them.”

“Why would your father need toxicology tests? From what I heard, he was a teetotaler. Or perhaps you suspect he had a drug problem, Miss McCallister.”

Garret had to control himself now. What kind of an idiot was this detective? Besides being incredibly rude, he was just plain ignorant.

“First of all, he
was
a teetotaler. And I won't even respond to your other insinuation. But I would appreciate an answer, Detective Greene.” Megan's tone grew more terse. “Did you request a toxicology report for my father or not?”