Against the Tide (9 page)

Plain old ordinary fear.

TEN

M
ichael returned after a few minutes, explaining that he'd called the Coast Guard and that a cutter was on the way.

“Do you think that's the same boat that took a shot at you this morning?” he asked Megan.

She shrugged. “Hard to tell. So many of these fishing boats look alike.”

“And there are plenty out there,” Garret added.

“We'll let the coast guard check it out.” Michael shrugged. “Chances are it was nothing. I think we're all just on high alert. Probably a good thing. Meanwhile...” He turned to the waitress with a wry grin. “Our order up yet?”

“Have it out to you in two shakes of a lamb's tail.” She hurried back to the kitchen.

After they returned to the table, Michael reminded Garret that he was about to tell them his theory about Rory.

“Right.” Garret waited as the waitress set down their order then jumped in. “I probably won't tell this chronologically, but then you already know some of the background, Michael.” He glanced at Megan. “Although you might not. So, anyway, Rory had been part of the opposition against the opening of the casino.”

Michael nodded. “Everyone in town knew that.”

“So did I,” Megan told them.

“He did a lot of investigating of it—back during the planning stages. His first concern had been that the casino would lure in people who couldn't afford to gamble.”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. “I remember the headline he used—
Casinos are Weapons of Cash Deduction
.”

Garret continued. “The more Rory looked into the whole thing, the more concerned he was for a number of other issues, too, He wrote a number of exposés about other casinos. He followed the money trail in an attempt to inform readers of how most of the casino profits went straight back to Las Vegas, by way of the developers, ending up primarily in the pockets of organized crime.”

“Right,” she said. “Dad told me about that, too. But the way I understood it, he worked with the members of the tribe to ensure that they didn't get taken advantage of like that. And when they finally settled on a developer, they negotiated for a fairer portion of the profits.”

“That's the way I understood it,” Michael told her. “And to be fair, after they got used to the idea, most of the town has been positive about the casino. Not only has it provided jobs, it's stimulated the tourist economy, as well. Most folks feel like it's a win-win.”

“Except for when you lose,” Garret said wryly.

“Well, I think Dad was right to help the tribe,” Megan said quietly.

“Yeah, it seemed that way in the beginning,” Garret said. “But things aren't always what they seem. About a year ago, after a conversation with the tribal council, Rory started helping them track what was going on. There were suspicions that they were being taken advantage of. Rory confided to me that he was convinced the developers weren't divvying up the money fairly.” He frowned. “To be honest, I didn't quite buy it. But lately, with all that's gone on, I've been giving it some thought. What if Rory was right? With all those computerized games and all that money flying around, wouldn't it be easy for some of the money to slip through the cracks?” His brow creased. “For all we know, it could've been millions.”

“So Rory believed millions of dollars were going to the developers?” Michael frowned doubtfully.

“Where else?” Garret asked him.

“Who are the developers?” Megan asked.

“The Marco brothers,” Michael told her. “Tony and Vince Marco.”

“Are they related to that new restaurant?” Megan asked. “Marco's on the Waterfront?
I just saw it today. Pretty swanky.”

“Swanky doesn't even begin to describe it,” Garret said. “I heard that Tony's wife was in charge of the decor and she pulled out all the stops.

“Anyway,” he continued, “Rory suspected that Tony and Vince Marco were skimming from the casino. Not only that, but he believed they have some deep mafia connections. And the restaurant is their way of laundering, not only the casino money, but drug-trafficking money, as well.”

“That's a pretty big accusation,” Michael said.

“And a dangerous one,” Megan added.

“I know.” Garret lowered his voice. “Rory was certain that the Marco brothers were involved in a huge drug-trafficking operation, and that they were using our waterfront to do it. Possibly the restaurant, too. For about a month or so Rory sat and counted seafood deliveries, paying attention to the fishing boats using the public docks. In the end, he was convinced that it just didn't add up.”

“These are all very interesting theories,” Michael said, “but did Rory have any solid proof?”

“I'm sure he did.” Garret glanced at Megan. “In fact, I'm worried that might even be why he died. Someone wanted to shut him up.”

“So it was
not
natural causes,” she declared.

“I didn't want to believe he'd been murdered. But after this recent crime spree, well, it's like the writing on the wall.”

“So are you seriously suggesting that the Marco brothers murdered Rory?” Michael's brows drew together.

“I'm suggesting they might've hired a hit man.” Garret slowly shook his head. “And I'm kicking myself for not seeing it coming.”

“What do you mean?” Megan demanded.

“Last week Rory told me that he felt he had the goods on the Marcos. I brought him some fish and chips for lunch and he had this big yellow envelope sitting on his desk. He patted it and told me it contained everything he needed to write an exposé that would blow everything sky high.”

“So is that what these break-ins are all about?” Megan asked him. “Is that what they're looking for? The yellow envelope?”

Garret pursed his lips. “That's my guess. I didn't put everything together until this morning when I saw Rory's Jeep broken into. That's when I remembered the envelope—and something else.”

“What?” both Michael and Megan asked eagerly.

“Rory mentioned that he didn't plan to break his story until after Memorial Day weekend. Didn't want to give the town a black eye with all these tourists in town. But that wasn't all.” He lowered his voice again. “Rory wanted to interview Tony and Vince.”

“Are you serious?” Megan felt sick inside. “Dad wanted to interview those criminals?”

“He was a newsman,” Garret told her. “You know what that means.”

Megan did know. As a journalist, she sometimes placed herself in harm's way to get a story. But this was her dad. Why had he wanted to engage with mafia men like that?

“That's quite a story.” Michael blotted his mouth with a paper napkin. “But without proof, it's just that. A story.” He scowled at Garret. “Even so, I don't know why you didn't tell the police about this sooner.”

“I'm not sure I trusted everyone on the force just yet. I mean I trust you, Michael, but the Cape Perpetua police have had some problems recently.”

Michael nodded grimly. “Yes, that's true.”

“And that's probably why Rory was being careful, too.”

“But we've cleaned up the police force,” Michael pointed out.

“Back to the yellow envelope,” Megan said eagerly. “If that contains the proof, we need to find it.”

“Yes, but after all the break-ins...” Michael sighed. “The newspaper office, Rory's house, his Jeep... Even his boat is missing. Chances are it's in the wrong hands.”

“But what if they didn't find it yet?” she pressed. “That would explain why they haven't given up.”

“Where else is there to look?” Garret asked.

“I don't know.” Megan shook her head. She really didn't know. Where else might Dad have hidden something that important?

“Well, I've got to get to the station.” Michael slid out of the booth. “What you say makes sense, Garret. But like I said, without proof...”

“I know.” Garret stood.

“We'll get the proof,” Megan declared.

“How?” the men both asked.

“I know my dad,” she said firmly. “If that yellow envelope contained information that was that important, he would hide it somewhere that no one could find it. I intend to find it.”

“But if the crooks are still looking for it, you'll be in danger,” Michael warned.

“Then you better send some cops to back me up,” she told him. “Because I plan to keep looking.”

“I'll do the best we can,” Michael said as they went outside. “But this is a holiday weekend. Our force is already spread pretty thin.”

“I'll back her up,” Garret told Michael as he tossed some cash on the table. “Let me get this.”

“Thanks.” Megan smiled at Garret. “For everything.”

“Keep me informed of your whereabouts,” Michael told Megan as they headed for the door.

“I will. And I appreciate that you're taking this seriously now.”

“Of course I'm taking it seriously,” he assured her as they walked to their cars. “Rory was a good friend to me, too.”

“I know.” She waited as Garret opened the passenger door of his SUV for her.

Michael had the door of his police car open, too. “You both need to be on high alert,” he told them. “And like I said, keep me—”

His words were cut off by a loud boom, but before Megan could see what had happened, Garret had knocked her to the ground.

“Wh-what was that?” She was on her knees in the gravel.

“A gun!” Garret removed his phone from his pocket and then his gun from the holster, looking right and left and staying down low.
“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She felt her heart pounding like it was going to leap from her chest. “Just scared half to death.”

“Michael,” Garret called out. “Lieutenant Conrad? You okay?”

Megan leaned down to peer beneath the SUV and over to the police cruiser where Michael, like them, had gotten down on the gravel parking lot. But instead of being on his haunches, he was lying down and his eyes were closed. But it was the dark pool of blood gathering around him that made Megan scream. “Michael's been shot!”

ELEVEN

“I
've got to go help him.” Garret shoved his phone to her. “Stay down and call 911.”

“But you could get shot,” she said in horror.

“He needs help,” Garret said as he crouched low, making his way around the front of his car. “Call 911!” he yelled again.

With shaking fingers, she tapped those three numbers again, quickly telling the dispatcher, “There's an officer down!” She gave their location and answered the questions. “Please hurry. Michael needs medical attention now.”

“Help is on the way. Do you know where the shot came from?”

“The shooter might be on the water. You should call the coast guard for backup.”

The dispatcher kept Megan on the line, assuring her that help was coming, and asking for updates on Lieutenant Conrad.

“How's Michael?” Megan yelled to Garret.

“He's breathing. But bleeding a lot. I'm trying to stop it.”

Megan relayed this to the dispatcher.

“Tell him to apply direct pressure. Paramedics are just three minutes away now.”

Megan yelled this information to him.

“I am,” he called back. “Hang on, Michael,” he said urgently. “Pray for him, Megan.”

“I am,” she yelled back. And with the dispatcher still on the other end, Megan began to pray, begging God to spare Michael's life.

* * *

Michael was pale when the paramedics took over for Garret, but at least he was conscious now. “Hang in there, buddy.” Garret stepped away, feeling reluctant to leave his side. “You're in good hands. And we'll be praying for you.”

Garret felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Detective Greene.

“I need to talk to you,” he told Garret.

With his hands still covered in blood, Garret followed the detective to a nearby bench. As he sat, he noticed another cop questioning Megan.

Trying to be helpful, Garret proceeded to answer the fairly standard but not terribly clever questions. He confirmed where they'd all been standing and how he'd found Michael on the ground.

“Looks to me he took the shot from his left side, which tells me that, if the shooter wasn't on a boat down in the river, he was probably on the bridge. Although you'd think someone might've spotted a gunman up there. But I'm sure your experts can figure out the bullet trajectory and distance better than I can.”

“Of course.” Then the detective questioned why Garret and Megan had been here with the lieutenant in the first place. “Or was this just a random encounter?”

“We met here to have some lunch and to discuss the case.”

“What case?”
Detective Greene scowled.

Garret stared down at his bloody hands. Seriously—was this junior detective that dense? Or was he simply playing games? Garret locked eyes with him. “I think you know what
case.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Suggesting?” Garret tried to stifle his irritation. “You are aware of the recent crimes, aren't you, Detective Greene? Well, this shooting was obviously related.”

“I don't see anything obvious about it. And even if it did involve the same perpetrators as the other incidents, why would they want to shoot a cop?” His tone sounded irritatingly nonchalant.

Garret took in a deep breath. “Why would
anyone
want to shoot
anyone
?
And, for that matter, why should we assume the shooter was aiming at Michael? For all we know, he could've been aiming at Megan or me and the gunman was just a bad shot. Or maybe it was meant to be a warning shot. I don't know.” Garret glared at him. “You're the detective, why don't
you
figure it out?”

“Are you trying to win this week's hostile witness award?”

As Garret stood, he thought maybe he was. “If you'll excuse me, Detective, I'd like to check on Megan.” Then without giving him a chance to detain him further, Garret went inside the restaurant where Megan was talking to a uniformed officer.

“You ready to go?” he abruptly asked her.

She looked up in surprise then pointed at him. “Sure, but maybe you should wash up first.”

He looked back down at his hands. “Yeah, good idea.”

The waitress's eyes grew large as Garret went back to the men's room. Good thing he'd left a generous tip. As he used dampened paper towels to blot his friend's blood from his shirt, he tried to gauge his reaction to Detective Greene. It wasn't that he believed the detective was a bad cop. But his arrogance made him seem like a stupid cop. And in some ways, stupid was not much different than bad.

He remembered Megan's resolve to find Rory's big yellow envelope. Now his mind was made up. Together they would find that envelope. Together they would take down the Marco brothers. If the police could help them, fine. If not, they would do it on their own.

He threw the paper towels away and went out to Megan. “Let's go.” He took her by the arm as he led her to the door, giving a careful glance all around before exiting. Despite the number of cops still investigating the area, Garret knew better than to assume they were safe.

“You seem to be in a hurry.”

“That's because we've got work to do.” He opened the door for her, his eyes still roaming the bridge and the river, and watching for anything suspicious as he hurried over to the driver's side.

“Work?” she asked as he got inside and buckled his seat belt.

“Like you said.” He started the engine. “We're going to find that yellow envelope.”

“Good. But maybe you should change first. That looks pretty scary, Garret.”

He looked down at his damp blood-stained shirt and nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.”

As he turned onto the main road, he started to lay out his plan. “I think we should start with the newspaper office. You interrupted your mugger's search last night, so it's possible the envelope is still there. Hopefully well hidden, because I agree with what you told Michael. Your dad wouldn't leave something that important just lying around.”

“Especially if he'd interviewed the Marco brothers.” She shuddered. “They sound so horrible. Do you think he really met with them?”

“He sounded pretty determined, Megan. Knowing Rory, I'm guessing he did.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“If we don't find the envelope at the newspaper, we'll head back to his house. The good news there is that you interrupted the intruder again. Hopefully, no one's been back.”

“And I'll let the police know,” she told him. “Scott Barnett is a second-lieutenant and a good friend of Michael's. He seems like a really nice guy—and smart, too. I told him what Michael told me about providing backup or surveillance or whatever. Anyway, Scott gave me his business card, saying I could call him with my whereabouts and he'd do his best to get someone out there or come himself.”

As Garret drove, Megan called Scott, informing him of their plan. After she hung up, she suggested they pray for Michael. Once again, Garret felt like Megan was his kind of girl. He could barely comprehend how, after spending less than twenty-four hours with her, he felt seriously attracted. And protective, too. It wasn't a superficial feeling, either. Not because of her good looks—although she was truly beautiful. But it was her whole persona—a mixture of intelligent independence and sweet vulnerability—that pulled him in. She was just the sort of woman he'd always imagined spending his life with. But up until now, he'd never met a woman quite like this. Some had come close, but he'd never felt quite like this before.

“You know, Megan,” he began as he parked next to the marina shop, cautiously looking around, “I'd like to make a suggestion.”

“A suggestion?” She turned to him and as he looked into her eyes, he thought of how the river looked early in the morning—sort of green, blue, gray. Enchanting.

“Yeah, I'm concerned at how dangerous this thing has gotten. I wonder if you'd consider going home, back to Seattle I mean, until things settle down.”

“Are you kidding?” Her eyes flashed with anger.

“Not at all.”

“I have no intention of leaving Cape Perpetua, Garret. Not until I get to the bottom of this. And there's Dad's burial arrangements, the memorial service and—”

“I know. But those things could wait. I know if Rory could talk to us, he would agree with me.”

She pursed her lips, as if considering this. “I'm not so sure about that. My dad raised me to be strong—to think for myself. Don't misunderstand me, Garret, I'm no shrinking violet. I can hold my own. And I really don't appreciate you thinking you can just ship me off like I'm the little lady and—”

“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands as if to surrender. “I figured it was worth a try.” He gave a meek smile. “And it was only because I care about you, Megan. I don't want to see you get hurt.”

She softened slightly. “Sorry to go ballistic on you. And I appreciate that you care about me.” She looked into his eyes. “I care about you, too. But I've learned to be tough. As a journalist, I'm used to jostling alongside the boys' club, elbowing my way in to get a good story. I don't usually shirk back.” She sighed. “Although I'll admit that losing Dad, well, it has taken a little bit of the wind out of my sails.”

Garret made another quick look around the marina, but all looked normal. Wade was on the dock, coiling up some ropes. Sharon was just emerging from the laundry room with a basket of fresh linens. And Rocky was bounding over toward them.

As he got out of the SUV, he stooped to pet Rocky then called out to Wade, waving him over to them.

“Hey, man, what happened to you?” Wade stared at Garret with a shocked expression. “Are you okay?”

Reminded of his bloody shirt, Garret gave Wade a condensed explanation then introduced him to Megan. “She'll be staying in Cabin A for a few days. Can you get her the key?”

“You got it.”

“Any excitement around here while we were gone?” he asked Wade.

“Nope. Business as usual.”

“Good.” Garret turned to Megan. “Your luggage is in your cabin. Just make yourself at home. I'll come by after I clean up.” He made one more look around. “Just make sure you lock the door, okay?”

* * *

Megan was pleasantly surprised when she entered Cabin A. Someone had been busy in here since she'd left it this morning. But like Garret had asked, she locked the door, even latching the recently installed chain lock, before she looked around to see that the room looked ready for occupancy.

After admiring her new digs, she decided to freshen up her appearance. Part of her felt silly for even caring about her looks—another part of her wanted Garret to like what he saw. She was just finishing up when she heard someone knocking on the door. The sound put her on high alert again. With a shaky hand, she reached for her purse, digging for her phone—just in case—except her phone wasn't there!