Against the Tide (5 page)

“Sleep well,” he told her. “Remember I'm next door.” He pointed to his right.

She thanked him again and after he left, bolted the door. Then, just to be sure, she checked the window, making certain it was locked, as well. Finally, although she felt certain it would be a sleepless night, she started to make her bed. Rocky watched for a while as she peeled off the plastic and put on the sheets, but he soon grew bored and decided to make himself comfortable on his own bed.

It was after one by the time she finally got settled and pulled on her T-shirt and flannel pants then tumbled into bed. Despite her concerns about sleeping, she realized she was too exhausted to fight it.

* * *

Megan woke with a start to a loud, unfamiliar sound. A dog barking? Where was she? She stumbled out of bed, remembering that she was in Cape Perpetua, in the marina cabin—and the dog belonged to Garret. “Rocky,” she said urgently. “What is it?”

The dog continued to bark aggressively. In the semi-darkness she could see Rocky's shadowy silhouette in front of the door—he was definitely on high alert about something outside.

“What's out there?” she whispered as she cowered behind him. She didn't want to discourage him from barking—especially if there was someone dangerous outside her door. But she also remembered what Garret had said. He was a better alarm than protector. She hurried back to the bed, feeling all over for where she'd left her purse and phone. Why wasn't it here? Suddenly, she heard a pounding on the wooden door, which made Rocky bark even louder. Megan's heart raced as she got down on the wooden floor, grasping all around for her purse and phone. Where was it? And who was at the door? And would this madness ever end?

SIX

“M
egan?”
Garret yelled to be heard over Rocky's loud, incessant barking—the same barking that had woken him just minutes earlier. “Are you okay?” When she didn't answer, he started to pound harder on her door, wishing he'd thought to grab his set of master keys. “Megan!” he yelled again, this time at the top of his lungs. “Are you okay?”

“Garret?” she cried.

“Yes, it's me,” he confirmed. “Open the door.”

The door cracked open and Megan stuck her head out just as Garret commanded Rocky to be quiet. Fortunately, the dog obeyed. “What's going on?” he asked Megan.

“I don't know,” she answered in a shaky voice. “I was sound asleep and then he started to bark.”

Garret looked over his shoulder toward the marina, where the dark sky was just turning gray along the eastern horizon. “He must've heard something out here. But you're okay?”

She nodded with a troubled expression.

He looked out over the river now, seeing there was a slight wake rocking the marina's dock. Since it was nearly five, it wasn't too early for a crabbing or fishing boat to be heading out to sea. Unless it was something else.

“Go back to bed,” he told her. “I'll go sniff around.”

“Do you want to take Rocky with you?” she offered. “For help?”

He forced a smile. “No. You better keep him here with you. And make sure you lock the door.” He waited as she closed and locked it then headed over to the dock to investigate. He scanned up and down the river, but didn't see any running lights, something a legitimate fishing boat would use before sunrise, but there was definitely a wake from a boat passing by. He peered out over the water, just starting to reflect light from the predawn sky. And suddenly, he saw it, the dark outline of a boat—probably a thirty-footer—heading out toward the ocean. But with no lights.

Garret was tempted to hop in his Kingfisher and take off after them. The twenty-footer had an outboard engine that could catch most anything out there. But then what? Inform the boaters that their running lights weren't on? And what if they really were criminals and it turned dangerous? Was he ready for that?

He'd heard enough stories from the coast guard, as well as his grandpa—mostly about illegal fishing and occasionally drug running—and he knew it could get dicey fast out on the water.

As Garret walked past the marina, he noticed that the sliding door to the mechanic shop was partly open. And he knew that he'd locked it yesterday morning, after moving Rory's Jeep into it for safe-keeping.

Through his thick flannel shirt, Garret touched the holster that he'd strapped around his waist as he dashed out to check on Megan and Rocky. His grandpa had taught him to use and respect firearms as a youth, explaining that running a marina in a rural Oregon coastal town could sometimes get rough. He needed to be prepared.

Thankfully, Garret had never had to use a gun at the marina. In fact, the incident at Rory's house last night was the first time he'd ever shot a firearm at a human. And it was not something he cared to do again. Despite what some of the gun experts said—like “shoot to kill”—Garret preferred the idea of shooting to
stop
someone. A way to bring them to justice. Especially someone dangerous, like the thug who had nearly killed Megan last night. He'd love to put that guy behind bars.

Was it possible that same thug was here at the marina now? And if so, why? And how had he figured out that Megan was here? Or was this even related to Megan? Perhaps she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Garret slowly crept up to the shop, trying to put together a plan and, at the same time, trying to figure this puzzle out.

He suspected that the guy in the black pants and sweatshirt at the newspaper office hadn't planned on knocking off Megan. He'd probably been after something else—something that Rory had left behind. And Megan had simply gotten in his way. That was Garret's theory. Something he'd tried to share with Michael earlier, but it had sounded so far-fetched that Garret even had a problem believing it. Maybe when the coroner finished his autopsy on Rory's body they would know more.

With his revolver in his right hand, Garret patted the chest pocket of his flannel shirt with his left hand, making sure his phone was still there. Then he pressed his back against the side of the shop, attempting to peek inside the cracked door. It was too dark inside to see a thing, but he could see that the lock had been forced. Someone had definitely broken in. Probably what Rocky had been barking about.

Garret's heart was pounding hard as he reached inside the opening, feeling the interior wall for the light switch that he knew was next to the door. His plan was to turn it on, slide open the door and jump inside—all at the same time. The surprise effect.

Taking in a deep breath, he did it, leaping into the shop just as the overhead fluorescent lights flickered on. With his gun drawn and ready, he braced himself for whatever came next. But he saw and heard no one. Still, he ducked behind a cabin cruiser that was in for repairs. Hunkered down by the trailer wheels, he just listened. Still nothing.

Knowing someone had been there, was maybe still in there, he decided to work his way around the perimeter of the shop—no small task since there were tools and cans and all sorts of nautical stuff strewn about. Note to self, he thought ironically, tell his newest and not most reliable employee to clean this place up. If Kent was even coming back.

By the time he'd crept around the perimeter of the shop, he felt certain that whoever had broken in was gone. Probably on that stealth boat that he'd spotted heading out to sea. He went over to where he'd parked Rory's dark green Jeep Wrangler yesterday. Just seeing the vehicle sent a wave of sadness through him. Megan was right. Rory had been too young to die. He'd been in great health and had been looking forward to decades more of fishing. Such a shame.

Garret ran his hand over the cloth roof of the Jeep but stopped when he reached what felt like a slit on the driver's side. He looked more closely and, sure enough, someone had cut through the roof. And the door on the driver's side was unlocked. Someone had gotten into Rory's Jeep.

Garret opened the driver's-side door, looking inside. The compartments were both opened and their contents were strewn around. Someone had obviously been looking for something.

“Hello?”

Garret jumped, hitting his head on the roofline bar. He recognized her voice and felt embarrassed for being so jumpy. “Megan?” he called back, rubbing his head.

“Is everything okay? We were getting worried.”

Rocky came bounding over to him, and Garret leaned down to stroke his smooth coat. “Hey, there, buddy. Did you keep Megan safe?”

“He was an excellent guard,” Megan said as she joined him. She frowned at the Jeep. “Is this my dad's?”

“Yeah.” He pointed to the slit in the roof. “Someone broke into my shop...and they broke into Rory's Jeep, too.” He pulled out his phone. “I was just about to call someone about it.”

“911 again?”

“Nah, I'll just call Michael this time. Put it on his radar.”

As he explained to the lieutenant about the break-in, Megan bent down to look inside the Jeep. She gathered up the scattered papers, stacking the vehicle manual, insurance information and registration together. With a deep sigh, she held them to her chest and then, almost reverently, she slid them back into the glove compartment. Garret knew she was in pain over the loss of her dad, but it would be hard for her to deal with her grief if this madness continued. He knew she was strong, but he wondered how much she could take.

He finished his conversation with Michael, slipping his phone back into his pocket, just as Megan stood up from straightening the Jeep. She looked at him with an uneasy expression. “I just don't understand it, Garret. Something is going on here. But what is it? And why?”

“I have some ideas.” Garret glanced at his watch. “Maybe we can discuss it over breakfast. I'm starved. How about you?”

She nodded. “I'm hungry, too.”

“Well, I've been told I make a pretty mean omelet,” he said as he led her out of the shop, sliding the door closed. “Care to give it a try?”

“Sounds good to me.”

As they walked over to his cabin, he noticed that she'd changed into jeans, a plaid shirt and a sturdy-looking pair of walking boots. She looked much less like a city girl now. More suited to Cape Perpetua. And she looked pretty, too. She looked like the kind of girl he'd dreamed of meeting someday. Although he'd dreamed of different circumstances.

“Welcome,” he said as he opened the door to the largest cabin, the one that had belonged to his grandparents.

“Wow, this is nice,” she said as she went inside.

“Thanks. My grandma had some renovations made, back in the nineties. There are some things I'd still like to change, but I've been focusing my efforts—and budget—on the fishing cabins, instead.”

“For fishing cabins, they seem pretty nice.” She went over to the big picture window that faced the river. “Wow, what a view.”

“Yeah, I like it. Feel free to look around while I start on breakfast.”

She went to the oversize fireplace. “I love these river stones.” She ran her hand over the wood mantel, without mentioning the dust he knew was there. His housekeeping skills weren't the greatest.

“Let's see.” He opened the fridge, looking to see what kind of options he might have to fill an omelet. “I've got mushrooms and spinach and onions and cheese and—”

“Those all sound good,” she said with enthusiasm.

“Okay.” He started setting the ingredients out on the counter by the stove.

“Need any help?”

“Do you like coffee?”

“Love it.”

“Know how to make it?”

“I think I can figure it out,” she said with a trace of sarcasm as she went over to where the coffeemaker was next to the sink, making herself busy.

As he chopped the veggies and shredded cheese, he felt grateful to his grandmother for insisting that he learn to cook as a teenager. He didn't like to brag—especially to his macho friends—but he was pretty comfortable in the kitchen.

With the coffee brewing, Megan came over to watch him. “Looks like you know what you're doing,” she observed. “Impressive.”

As he started to cook the omelet she sat down at the breakfast bar. “I have so many questions, Garret. Even more now than I had last night. I almost don't know where to begin.”

“I know.” He flipped the jumbo-size omelet then slipped a couple pieces of rye bread into the toaster. “I probably have a lot of the same questions.”

“And it's hard to process losing my dad,” she continued. “I mean, with all these questions racing through my head. And at the same time, I feel like I should watch my back. Like I'm not safe. You know?”

“I know.” He got out a pair of mugs, filling them with coffee. “Take anything in yours?” He held a steaming mug out to her.

“Just black.”

He set it in front of her. “I can't guarantee your safety, Megan. But I think this place is as safe as anywhere. For right now, anyway.”

“Then you're worried?”

He nodded grimly as he buttered their toast. “Yeah.”

“Do you have any idea about what's going on?”

With his back to her, he slid the omelet onto the plate, divided it into two halves then set a piece of buttered toast next to them. “Voila,” he said as he held out the plates. “Why don't we take them outside. It's pretty mild out there.”

She picked up their coffees and followed him out to the terrace that overlooked the river. It was flooded with morning sunshine.

“This is wonderful out here,” she said as she sat down at the small dining table. “It almost makes me happy.”

He sighed as he sat down across from her. “I know...it's hard to be happy in light of everything, Megan. But things will get better.”

She looked out over the water. “I hope so.”

“Do you mind if I say a blessing?”

She looked surprised, but simply nodded. “Not at all.”

And so, feeling a little self-conscious, he bowed his head and prayed. Not only for the food, but for their safety, as well. “Amen.”

“Amen,” she echoed. “Thanks.”

For a minute or so neither of them spoke, just quietly ate. After a while, Garret made small talk, but eventually, when they were both done, he brought up the subject they were both eager to discuss. “I think something is going on here, Megan,” he confessed. “I thought so when Rory's boat went down. But everyone kept saying I was imagining things. Detective Greene even suggested I was nurturing a conspiracy theory.”

“Who's Detective Greene?”

“Detective Greene is Cape Perpetua PD's first official detective. The city hired him shortly after several corrupt policemen were removed from the department—just a few months ago.”

“Oh, yeah. Dad told me about those cops who were involved in human trafficking. That was horrible.”

“Pretty shocking for a small town like ours.” He frowned as he remembered the scandal. “So I guess I'm not too surprised...”

“Surprised by what?”

He wondered how much he should disclose to her. And yet he felt she had the right to know everything—or at least as much as he knew—although he hated to overwhelm her. She'd already been through so much. “That there are still some crime elements around.”

“So this Detective Greene... Is he okay? On the up and up?” She studied him closely.

“I don't distrust him personally but he's not what I'd call very experienced.”

“I see.” Her brow creased in frustration as she ran her hand over her wavy auburn hair as if trying to tame it, although he didn't see the need. “And what about your conspiracy theory?”