EXPOSING THE TRUTH

Returning home for her father’s funeral, big-city reporter Megan McCallister is brutally attacked—confirming her suspicions that her father’s mysterious death was no accident. But only her childhood friend, Garret Larsson, believes her theory. The teenager she once knew has grown into a brave, honorable man...but can he keep her alive long enough to find the truth? Garret needs Megan to leave town, but he wants her to stay. He knows about the secrets her newspaperman father uncovered and the dangerous exposé he was writing. And now Megan has vowed to finish her father’s final article. Someone’s determined to kill the story—and Megan along with it—but he’ll have to go through Garret first.

“I’m not safe here.”

Garret reached for her hand. “I can’t guarantee it, but I believe you’re safe with me. For right now anyway.”

“Then you’re worried, too.” They stepped onto the terrace that overlooked the river. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“I don’t believe your father died of natural causes,” he confessed. “And then you show up in town and you’re attacked at the newspaper and at your dad’s house… It’s starting to add up.”

“To what?”

He sighed. “I’m worried, Megan. Worried that just knowing about it might put you in danger.”

“I’m already in danger.”

He gazed out at the river, questioning just how much to tell her. Wouldn’t her father want Garret to keep her safe? Keep her alive?

Before he could decide what to do, she screamed.

“Garret, get down!”

MELODY CARLSON has worn many hats, from preschool teacher to political activist to senior editor. But most of all, she loves to write! She has published over two hundred books—with sales of over six million copies, and she has received the RT Book Reviews Lifetime Achievement Award. She and her husband have two grown sons and live in Sisters, Oregon, with their Labrador retriever, Audrey. They enjoy skiing, hiking and biking in the Cascade Mountains.

Against the Tide

Melody Carlson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness:

thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress;

have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer.

—Psalms 4:1

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Megan McCallister thought her emotions were under control by the time she reached Cape Perpetua on the Central Oregon Coast, but seeing the familiar newspaper office produced a dark well of sadness within her. Dad was gone. She slowed her car as she drove past the old shake-sided building, taking in a quick breath as she glimpsed the faded sign above the front door. The Perpetual Press. The building looked sad, almost like it, too, was grieving the loss of its owner.

This family-owned newspaper had survived the Great Depression, the recent recession and even the news-source domination of the internet. The weekly paper’s old press machines would soon grind to a complete halt. Just like her father’s life. She sighed, trying to grasp this. Was it only yesterday that Dad’s fishing boat had gone down in the Pacific?

The sound of a blaring horn reminded her that, thanks to Memorial Day weekend, Main Street was crawling with traffic. She needed to keep moving.

When had Cape Perpetua gone from being a sleepy fishing town to this bustling place? Parking her Prius about a block from the newspaper office, she blinked back tears and attempted to steady herself. Just get through this. Do what needs to be done and move on. Buck up! That was what her no-nonsense dad would tell her.

As Megan got out of the car, she could hear strains of music mixed with the sounds of jovial voices, happy folks out enjoying this unusually warm evening. Of course, she realized as she locked her car, the busyness of town was due to the holiday. These oblivious tourists had no idea that one of Cape Perpetua’s heroes had died yesterday. Why should they?

Feeling conspicuously lonely, Megan averted her eyes from the out-of-towners as she hurried toward the office. She knew it was closed and locked up. But she still wanted to go inside, to look around and maybe, she hoped, to feel her dad’s presence again. She unzipped her oversize purse, feeling around for the key.

The sound of a car’s backfire made her jump, and that was when she noticed the sunset. Rose-colored light reflected on the river that flowed alongside the town, past the jetties, and into the ocean. Red sky at night, sailors’ delight... The pretty image was blurred by her unshed tears as she dug for the key. It had to be there—she always kept it with her. To her relief, she felt the rounded oblong shape of the wooden fishing lure. Extracting it, she saw that it was still attached to the old-fashioned brass key. Unless Dad had changed the locks, and she felt certain he hadn’t, this key should get her inside.

She paused for a moment in front of the office, staring up at the unimpressive single-story building. It all looked the same. The big front window and glass door, the grayed cedar shakes and white trim, which as usual needed painting, had not changed. In fact, little had changed since her great-grandfather built the humble structure almost a hundred years ago. Dad had been planning a centennial celebration for the upcoming spring. That probably wouldn’t happen now. Or if it did, it would be in the hands of a new owner.

She fumbled to get her key into the keyhole. She knew it was the right key, but it refused to slide inside the lock. She bent down to see better in the dimming light, making sure that the dead bolt lock hadn’t been changed. But it looked the same. So, once again, she shoved the key in, but it only went partway before it stuck. In complete frustration, she kicked the door with her foot. “Come on!”

“Excuse me?” A deep voice gave her a start.

Megan turned to see a dark-haired man standing behind her. Several inches taller and dressed casually in faded jeans and a dark blue jacket, he was peering at her with what seemed a suspicious expression.

“What?” She stepped back from the stranger, bumping into the glass door as she held up her key like a defensive weapon—a trick she’d picked up while living in the big city these past seven years. But the yellow wooden fish lure with its buggy eyes swung back and forth as if to mock her. As if to say she was really a wimp.

“Excuse me.” His voice grew warmer. “But the newspaper office is closed in the evenings.”

“I know it’s closed,” she said in a slightly terse tone.

“But you’re kicking the door?” His brow creased.

She waved her key under his nose as if to make a point. “This is my family’s newspaper,” she declared. “The stupid key isn’t working.”

He leaned forward, peering curiously at her in the light coming from the nearby streetlamp. “Hey, are you Rory’s daughter?”

“Did you know my father?”

“I did.” He slowly nodded as he looked at her with what now seemed compassionate eyes. “And I knew you, too.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Garret Larsson. And you’re Megan. Megan McCallister.”

“Garret Larsson?” She gingerly shook his hand, trying to remember why the name rang a bell.

“I was a couple years ahead of you in school. I doubt you’d even remember me.” He grinned. And she had to admit it was a handsome grin. “Maybe you recall my grandparents, though. They owned Larsson’s Marina.”

“Oh, yeah.” She nodded. “I remember now.” The truth was she only vaguely remembered this guy. But she did remember Dad had kept his boat at that marina.

“I’m so sorry about your dad,” Garret told her. “Such a huge loss for everyone. But especially you.”

“Thanks.” She held up her key again. “I just wanted to go inside—to, you know—just to, well...you know.” She felt the lump returning to her throat. Don’t cry, don’t cry, she told herself.

“Yeah.” He nodded sadly. “I know.”

“I guess I’m still trying to absorb the news,” she confessed. “I mean, it’s so hard to believe. How could my dad, the indomitable Rory McCallister, have drowned while fishing? It just doesn’t make sense.”

Garret nodded. He didn’t speak, but his eyes seemed understanding. She felt his empathy, probably the reason she continued talking.

“I checked the weather on the internet last night,” she blurted, “and it sounded like it had been a beautiful day here—calm seas, no wind, no fog. No hazards or warnings of any kind.”

Garret rubbed his chin with a thoughtful expression. “A perfect Fisherman’s Thursday.”

“You know about Fisherman’s Thursday?”

“Sure. The paper comes out on Wednesdays, and Rory celebrates by going fishing on Thursdays. Rather, he used to.” He cleared his throat.

Megan blinked. “Yeah. That’s right.” Garret really did seem to know a lot about her dad. And although that seemed slightly odd, it was also a relief. She’d been so eager to talk to someone—anyone—who knew her dad. Someone who knew about what had happened yesterday. Who could commiserate with her and perhaps answer some questions. She had many.

And so, like liquid from an uncorked bottle, they poured out. “I just don’t understand,” she began. “How could his boat have gone down? And on such a nice clear day? It makes no sense. Even if his boat had developed a mechanical problem out there, which seems unlikely. I mean, my dad was meticulous about his boat engines. And safety, too. So why would his boat go down? Even if he did have a problem, why wouldn’t he have radioed someone? Or sent out a distress signal? And why didn’t someone go out there and rescue him?”

“Maybe he didn’t have time to send a signal.”

“Yeah, that’s what Lieutenant Conrad suggested.” She pulled out a tissue to dab a straying tear. “He’s the one who called last night with the bad news. He suggested that while Dad was out fishing by himself he might’ve suffered a heart attack. He said the coroner is doing an autopsy, but they don’t expect to find anything beyond natural causes. But that still doesn’t explain his boat going down, does it?” She shoved the tissue back into her purse. “I mean, on a clear, calm day how does a boat just sink?”

“It can happen.” He pursed his lips as if weighing his words. “For instance, if your dad did suffer a heart attack or stroke or was somehow incapacitated, there’d be no one at the helm. The boat would start drifting. Even on a calm sea, there’s a tide. There are waves. Even what’s known as a rogue wave, although I hadn’t heard of any yesterday. But with no one steering, a boat can get rocked and tossed. It might even be rolled and then it would take on water, capsize and sink.” He frowned. “It happens. Even in good weather the ocean is the ocean—it can be unmerciful on a disabled boat.”

“Oh...” She honestly hadn’t considered any of that.

“I heard from a friend in the coast guard that they spotted the debris while doing a routine flyover in the helicopter yesterday. From the air, the scene had all the earmarks of a sunken vessel. Swirling gas and oil, miscellaneous items from the boat—ice chests, flotation devices, that remained on the surface while the boat went down.” His brow creased. “And they discovered your dad only a mile or two away—thanks to his orange life vest.”

Megan felt fresh tears filling her eyes as she envisioned this scene. “Well, thanks for telling me. I—I still can’t quite believe it.”

He nodded with a troubled brow. “I’ve had a hard time accepting it, too. The only reasonable theory seems to be heart attack or stroke. Something instant. That makes sense.”

“Maybe it makes sense to you,” she declared hotly. “But Dad grew up fishing this ocean. Just like his father and grandfather before him. People always said the McCallister men had seawater in their veins. But they were never careless. They respected the changeable weather. They took red flag warnings seriously, always kept their radios tuned, knew the tide schedules almost intuitively and, until yesterday, none had been lost at sea.”

He simply pointed to the key still dangling from her hand. “How about I help you with that?”

She shrugged as she handed it over. “If you think you can.”

To her surprise, he spit on it. “Sorry about that,” he said as he worked it into the keyhole. “But it usually works. Not as good as WD-40 or even a chalk stick, but these old locks can get cranky. You know how the salt air can corrode.” And just like that, he turned the key and the door creaked open. He removed the key, wiped it on the back of his jeans and handed it back with a sheepish smile.

“Thanks.” She dropped it into her purse. “And thanks for listening to me.” She sighed. “I didn’t mean to go on like that.”

“No problem.” He tipped his head toward the slightly opened door. “Want any company in there?”

“No,” she said briskly. “I need to do this alone.”

He nodded. “I figured.”

She thanked him again and then, pushing the door fully open, she suddenly felt a bit reluctant about going inside. Was she truly ready for this? Maybe she didn’t really want to be alone. She turned to see Garret crossing the street, waving to someone on the other side as he headed for Beulah’s Café. She glanced over to the bay, which was now dark with the sun fully down. Several boats were cruising slowly through the calm water with running lights on. Normally, this made a pretty picture, one that she used to enjoy. But tonight it just made her sad.

She took in a deep breath, knowing what she had to do. She needed to go inside the newspaper office, to walk through the building—with no one else there. Partly to say goodbye to her dad, and partly to prepare herself for what she knew must be done in the next few days. The closing of the newspaper. As painful as it would be, she just needed to get it over with.

With only the streetlight to illuminate the small entry area, she could see Barb’s tidy reception desk still sat across from the door; the three orange vinyl chairs in the waiting area stood in a row with the stodgy little coffee table and its usual neat stack of this week’s paper; the faded fake ficus tree still stood in the corner—just like a time warp. Even the smell was the same, a combination of ink, paper and dust.

Megan flicked on the fluorescent overhead lights, causing the scene to pop at her in a way that twisted her heart even more tightly. It was all still here—just like she remembered it—but Dad was gone and it would be her unpleasant job to shut the place down. She didn’t look forward to that meeting. She’d need to get her bearings to prepare the dismal announcement. Without her dad to run it, the paper would need to close. It would be the end of an era.

As she walked past the staff desks, she wished for another way. If only The Perpetual Press wasn’t so old-fashioned. But Dad hadn’t listened to her encouragement to offer an online news source for additional revenue. He had stubbornly insisted on running the paper the way his dad and grandpa had done. He hadn’t even owned a computer. She paused to remember the clickity-clack of his old typewriter—and then she froze at the sound of something else. She was not alone!

The scuffling noise came from somewhere in the back of the building. Was Arthur here? The old print operator sometimes liked to clean the press at night when no one else was around to complain about the smelly emollients he used. But the door to the printing room was closed and she spied no ribbon of light beneath the door.

“Arthur?” she called out as she reached for the doorknob. But before she could open it, she heard fast footsteps behind her.

“Arthur?” With a racing heart, she spun around. In the same instant a dark figure lunged toward her. She let out a scream as he tackled her to the floor. Swinging her fists and kicking her legs, Megan screamed at the top of her lungs as she fought her attacker. But bigger and stronger, he soon had her facedown on the old pine floor. Pressing her head down onto the boards with one hand, he used his knee to pin her tightly, pushing so hard she could barely breathe and felt her ribs were about to snap.

“Who are you?” she gasped with what little breath was left. “What are you do—”

“Shut up!” he said. Then he slapped her across the side of the head—so hard that her head smacked into the floor and she could almost see stars. The only thing she could do was pray.

TWO

Garret hadn’t wanted to leave Rory’s daughter like that. She’d looked so lost and alone, standing in front of the newspaper office. With her long auburn hair and somber eyes, she reminded him of a sad little girl. Troubled and fragile and broken. Yet, he could tell Megan was trying to appear strong. Garret remembered Rory’s high praise for his only child, portraying her as a smart, strong, independent young woman.

Garret knew from his frequent chats with Rory that Megan had gotten a job with a big Seattle newspaper a couple years after finishing college, and that she’d diligently worked her way up to a good position. Rory had been extremely proud of her, but he’d also missed his girl. And it was no secret that Rory had hoped Megan would eventually return to Cape Perpetua to take over the family newspaper. “That way I can go fishing whenever I like,” he’d joked to everyone at his recent birthday get-together. Now it was too late.

As Garret entered Beulah’s Café, he was still thinking about Megan. Wishing he’d stuck around long enough to walk her through the deserted building. He knew she needed someone to talk to. She had so many questions. Many of the same ones he’d been wrestling with since yesterday. But he also knew that she needed this time alone. She had to process Rory’s death in her own way, on her own terms. Just like Garret had done last night down at the docks where Rory used to keep his boat. It made sense that Megan would tell her father goodbye in the newspaper office. And yet the idea of her alone over there made him uneasy. As he looked around the crowded café, he had to admit there was a lot in this town that was making him uneasy.

Going toward an unoccupied stool at the counter, Garret waved to Jeanie as she emerged from the kitchen with a burger basket in each hand.

“Hey, handsome,” the middle-aged waitress called out to him as she set the baskets in front of two teen girls. “How ya doing?”

“I’m okay,” he said as he took a seat.

“What can I get you?”

“Just a bowl of chowder,” he told her. “When you’re not too busy, that is.”

“You got it, honey.” Jeanie waved toward the door. “Hey, Barry,” she called out warmly to a newcomer. “How’s the crabbing today?”

“Not bad.” Barry took the stool next to Garret. “Hey, man.” He slapped him on the back. “What’s up?”

“Not much.” Garret smiled at the burly fisherman.

“So...who was that pretty gal I saw you yapping with across the street?” Barry had a twinkle in his eye. “A real looker, that one.” He playfully elbowed Garret. “You got yourself a woman we don’t know about?”

“That’s Rory’s daughter,” Garret said somberly. “Megan McCallister.”

“Oh.” Barry’s smile faded. “So how’s she doing?”

“Not so good.”

“Hard losing a parent.” Barry picked up a plastic-encased menu, wiping it with his sleeve. “Lost my old man last year. But he was in bad shape with his diabetes. And a lot older than Rory, too.”

“Yeah.” Garret nodded. “Megan wasn’t ready to see her dad go yet.”

“I was surprised to see the newspaper office open tonight.” Barry tipped his head toward the front window.

“It’s not open,” Garret corrected him. “Megan just wanted to go inside and look around some. No one else is there.”

Barry looked slightly perplexed. “Wonder why she left the back open if she’s there by herself.”

“What’re you talking about?” Garret felt uneasy.

“Well, town’s so busy that I parked behind the newspaper. That’s when I noticed the back door ajar. Figured someone was working late. But it seemed kinda odd, this being a Friday, and with Rory just passing away.”

Garret frowned. “You saying the back door was open?”

“Yep.” Barry nodded. “Propped with a trash can.”

Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it wasn’t. But as Garret slowly stood, he knew he needed to find out. “Hey, Jeanie, hold off on that chowder for now. I need to go check on something.” And without saying another word, he hurried outside. It was possible he was just overreacting. Or looking for an excuse to talk to Megan again. But it didn’t really matter. As he jogged across the street, he knew, even if he was being melodramatic, there was no way he wasn’t going to find out why that back door was open.

* * *

With her attacker’s knee still painfully pressed into the middle of her back, Megan could barely breathe, let alone speak. Not that she knew what to say, besides plead for her life. With the side of her head flattened against the gritty floor, she could see, just barely, from one eye. And unless she imagined it, she detected a bluish light on the wood plank floor. Like the light from a cell phone.

In the next instant she could hear what sounded like the thug above her sending a text message. Really? Who was he texting and why? “Are you on your phone?” she gasped.

He swore at her, pressing his knee down even harder. She tried to think of reasons a thug would text someone while pinning down his victim. Was it possible he was asking someone for instructions—like what he should do with her?

As impossible as it seemed, she suddenly wondered if he might be a security guard. Perhaps he’d assumed she was an intruder and he was simply doing his job. Although it seemed unlikely, it was preferable to the alternative.

Still messing with his phone, the thug eased his knee slightly from her back, allowing her to take in a bigger breath and speak. “I’m Rory McCallister’s daughter. I didn’t break in. My father owns this—”

“Your father’s dead!” he growled, pressing his knee so hard into her midsection that she imagined her ribs cracking.

With him still distracted with his phone, she strained to look at him from the corner of her eye. He had on black jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt. The hood was pulled low over his face, but she could see that his skin was pale. Ghostly pale. And pock-marked. He looked to be in his twenties. She didn’t recognize him. She saw him slip his phone into his sweatshirt pocket and suddenly he struggled to reach something from behind him. Was he trying to extract something from a back pocket or maybe from his belt? A firearm perhaps. The pressure from his knee eased up as he worked to get whatever it was he was looking for.

“Why are you doing this?” she said quietly, hoping to reason with him. “You don’t even know me and—”

Swearing at her, he used his free hand to smack the back of her head again. This creep was no security guard.

“Please, let me go,” she begged. “Please.”

Just then, she heard the swishing sound of metal, almost like a sword being extracted from a sheath. Probably the weapon he was trying to get out of his belt. From the corner of her eye, she saw a metallic flash and when he raised his arm in the air, she could see what appeared to be a large hunting knife in his hand.

“Please, don’t,” she cried. “Whatever you’re about to do—stop!” She tried to think of a way to dissuade him. “I have money! In my purse!” she shrieked. “You can have it all and I can pay you more if you let me go. My father just died—I’ll have even more money.” An exaggeration, yes, but she was desperate. “Please, don’t kill me. I’ll give you whatever—”

He swore again as he grabbed a fistful of her long hair. Jerking her head back so hard she thought her neck would snap, he let out a low, guttural chuckle, so evil-sounding that her flesh crawled in raw terror. This monster would enjoy murdering her. She knew it was hopeless. He planned to slit her throat.

But she would not go down without a fight.

THREE

Exhausted after what she now realized was a futile struggle, Megan racked her brain for another way out. She tried to catch her breath as she braced herself for her assailant’s next move, but a noise from the front of the building distracted him. Knowing such an action could give him reason to finish her off, she decided to take the chance, anyway. With what little air remained in her lungs and her last ounce of energy, she let out a shrill scream for help.

Her cries were answered by the fast clomp of footsteps. Someone was running this way, and in the next moment she felt the weight of her attacker’s knee lifted from her. Gasping for breath, she spun away and, scrambling across the gritty floor, she ducked under a staff writer’s desk. Cowering in the knee-space, she listened as a scuffle ensued. She wished she had her phone, but her purse was still on Barb’s desk. And she wondered about her rescuer. Who was he? And how could she help him?

As she felt around the top of the desk, hoping for a paperweight or something to use as a weapon, she heard the sounds of running footsteps and spied both men racing toward the back of the building, followed by the slamming of the back door—then silence.

Still shaking from head to toe, she could barely think straight. What had just happened? And why? As she hurried up front to get her purse and phone, she begged God to help whoever it was that had suddenly jumped into the fray. She’d just reached the front of the building when she heard footsteps in the rear—running toward her.

“Hello?” a male voice yelled. “Where are you?”

Megan was afraid to answer as she ducked behind Barb’s big reception desk, wishing she’d grabbed her phone. Who was it? The man who wanted to slit her throat? Or the one who’d chased him away? Or could it be someone else? Someone connected to her attacker? Hadn’t he texted someone, a cohort perhaps?

“Megan?” the man yelled from the center of the building. “Are you okay?”

Still feeling shocked and confused, Megan tried to think. Who was calling for her by name?

“It’s Garret Larsson,” the voice declared. “Are you still here, Megan?”

She barely poked her head above the desk, peeking over the edge to be certain it was Garret. “It’s you!” She stood in relief, trying to control her shaking knees.

“Are you okay?” Garret hurried toward her.

“Yeah, I guess, just shaken.” She brushed the dust from the front of her shirt and pants as she looked at him. “What happened?”

“That’s what I want to know.” He took her hand, leading her to a chair by the front door, helping her to sit down.

“What happened to that—that guy?” She heard the tremor in her voice.

“I chased him, nearly caught him.” He paused for a breath. “But I lost him after a couple blocks. I just called 911. Police are on their way.” He sat next to her, looking intently into her face. “What happened? Tell me.”

She took in a steadying breath, trying to appear calm, but knowing that she was close to breaking. “I heard someone in here. I thought it was Arthur. He cleans the press at night sometimes. I went to see.” She shuddered. “And then this—this guy jumped me, pinned me down. He—he had a knife.” She felt herself shaking uncontrollably as she remembered that feeling of total helplessness.

“You’re probably in shock.” Garret removed his fleece jacket, slipping it over her shoulders. “Just take some slow, deep breaths.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, comforted by the warmth and his words. And taking his advice, she breathed slowly and deeply, reminding herself she was a strong woman. “It all happened so fast. So frightening. I just don’t understand. Why did he want to kill me?”

“I don’t know.” Garret shook his head with a serious expression.

She studied him more closely now. In the bright light of the office, she could see that his dark brown hair was wavy and long enough to curl around his ears. And his eyes, a rich shade of teal-blue, looked very concerned.

“I’m so thankful you came when you did.” She shuddered to think what might’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up right then. “What made you come back here?”

“A friend mentioned seeing the back door open. It didn’t sound right to me. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Th-thank you.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “I—I don’t know what I’d have done if you—if you—” It felt like the dam had broken as she crumbled into sobs.

Garret slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders, holding her closer. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “You have the right to cry. You’ve been through a lot.”

She leaned into him, letting her emotions and tears flow freely, until she finally started to feel self-conscious. As always, she wanted to be strong, in control. She was Rory McCallister’s daughter, after all. Sitting up straighter, she squared her shoulders. “It’s just that—well, first Dad is gone. And then this happens. It’s all so shocking.” She wiped her wet cheeks with the backs of her hands. “So frightening. I feel so confused.”

He was still looking intently into her eyes. “That’s not surprising. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. And you could’ve been killed.”

Her hand went to her throat as she remembered that moment when she expected to die. “I was so scared. I’ve never been that scared before. I still don’t know why he wanted to kill me. I even offered him money to let me go.”

“Really?” Garret frowned. “And he wasn’t interested?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Isn’t that odd? Most criminals are looking for cash.” She took in another deep breath, hearing the sounds of sirens approaching. “How’d he get in?”

“Looks like he used a crowbar to jimmy the back door.”

He nodded toward the front windows, where red and blue lights were flashing outside. “The police are here.” With his arm still around her shoulders, he helped her stand, guiding her toward the front door.

By the time they got outside, a couple of police cruisers were double parking and to her relief, Lieutenant Michael Conrad was getting out of the first one. Although he was a few years younger than her dad, the two men had been good friends for as long as Megan could remember. Lieutenant Conrad was a good guy.

“Megan McCallister,” he exclaimed as he approached the building. “Is that really you?”

Megan confirmed this as they shook hands, then Garret quickly explained about the criminal getting away and the route he may have taken.

“The dispatcher already sent someone that way,” Lieutenant Conrad told him. “So you interrupted a robbery in process?” he asked Megan.

“I thought that was it,” she told him, “but when I offered him money to let me go, he didn’t seem interested.”

“He threatened her life,” Garret said solemnly.

Megan explained about the knife and how Garret had arrived just in time. But because a curious crowd was gathering, Lieutenant Conrad urged them to go back inside.

“The perpetrator broke in through the back door,” Garret explained as they went inside. Lieutenant Conrad paused, calling out to the other officers to check out the back of the building.

“Did you get a look at his face?” he asked her as they entered the building. “Can you identify him?”

“He was Caucasian, looked like he was in his twenties. Bad complexion. And he was dressed in all black. Black jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt.”

“Height? Weight?”

“Maybe six foot?” Megan said with uncertainty.

“He was a little shorter than me, so six foot sounds about right,” Garret confirmed.

“Medium build,” Megan suggested.

“Did you see a vehicle?” Lieutenant Conrad asked Garret.

Garret shook his head. “I lost him while he was on foot. Those dark clothes were hard to see at night. I didn’t see a vehicle speeding away, but the town’s pretty busy. Lots of traffic out there.”

“Let me get this info out.” Lieutenant Conrad pulled out his phone and, stepping away, began to relay what they’d told him.

Megan glanced out the window, looking at the blur of flashing emergency lights and the busy street. “Do you think the break-in was related to the holiday weekend?” she ventured quietly. Although she didn’t really think so. Why would a random burglar be so intent on killing her?

Garret frowned. “Hard to say.”

“I do remember how our little town could get sort of wild during tourist season.” She knew she was just making idle chatter now, trying to wrap her head around all that had happened and feeling pretty lost.

Lieutenant Conrad finished his call and returned to them. “They’ll be watching for the perpetrator all over town,” he assured them. And then he asked a few more questions. They both answered them as best they could.

“And you feel certain he intended to kill you?”

She just nodded. “His knife was ready. Garret got here just in time.”

“Could you see if anything was stolen?” Lieutenant Conrad asked. “Anything missing?”

“I didn’t have a chance to look around, but it’s not like there’s much to steal in here,” she said. “Dad never kept much cash in the office. And that would be in Barb’s desk up in front. Besides, the guy didn’t seem interested in money.” She pointed to the other end of the building. “But it looks like he could’ve been in my dad’s office. The light’s on in there.”

“Did you look in there yet?”

“No, not yet.” Megan swallowed hard. That was why she’d come here tonight...to sit in Dad’s old leather chair, to breathe in the dusty, musty air, to feel his presence one more time. She bit her lip, determined not to cry again.

“How about we take a look around,” Lieutenant Conrad said as he led the way back there.

As they walked past the area where she’d been pinned on the floor, Megan felt a little weak-kneed and off balance. But Garret, seeming to sense this, put his hand on her back as if to steady her.

Lieutenant Conrad used his elbow to nudge the door open, warning them not to touch anything. But to Megan’s dismay, the office looked nothing like it should’ve looked. It was as if someone had turned it upside down. All the drawers in the desk and file cabinet were opened and dumped out. Even the pictures had been removed from the wall, many of them lying in broken shards on the floor. The place was a shambles.

Megan’s hand flew to her mouth. She was unable to speak or even think. Why would anyone do this? What could he have been looking for?

“What about your dad’s computer?” Lieutenant Conrad asked her.

“Computer?” She made a choked laugh. “Dad never used a computer. I thought everyone in Cape Perpetua knew that.”

“I know Rory hated electronics, but how did he run a newspaper without one?” Lieutenant Conrad carefully poked around beneath a pile of papers on the desk.

“Dad’s writers had computers. But he always insisted on hard copies. For everything—from obits to advertisements. He ran this paper the same way his dad and grandpa had.”

Garret nodded. “Yeah, I thought that was pretty cool.”

“I used to give him a bad time about wasting trees,” she said sadly. “And he would just remind me that they were a renewable resource.”

“What do you think the perpetrator was looking for?” Lieutenant Conrad asked her.

“I have no idea.” Megan slowly shook her head. She didn’t like to be such a weakling, but this whole thing was making her feel sick to her stomach. “I—I think I need some air,” she said quietly. “Please excuse me.”

She rushed out of the office, trying to compose herself. If losing Dad wasn’t hard enough, why did someone have to do this—to break in and make such a big mess? And to threaten her life? It all felt like such a cruel violation...nothing made sense.

“Are you okay?” Garret joined her out by the staff writers’ desks.

“Not really.” She scowled. “I’m scared and I’m angry...and I’m exhausted.” She sat down on one of the desks and folded her arms in front of her in exasperation. “I hardly slept after the call about Dad late last night. Then I went into work early this morning. Just to manage some things so I could get out of there. And then I drove nearly nine hours to get here.” She pursed her lips, willing herself not to cry again. “I—I just want to go home.”

“To your dad’s place?” he asked gently.

“Yeah.” She sniffed, desperately trying not to fall apart again.

“Do you think you’ll be safe out there?” Garret made a concerned frown. “I mean, considering what just happened here. Aren’t you worried?”

Lieutenant Conrad was coming out of the office with his cell phone in hand again. “I’ve got a couple more officers on their way,” he told them. “We’ll go over everything in here and then secure the place before we leave.” He peered at Megan. “Feel free to go. You look pretty worn out.”

“I’ll get you a key, Lieutenant Conrad,” she said. “Thanks.”

“You’re old enough to call me by my first name, Megan.” His smile looked sad.

“Okay. Thanks... Michael.”

She sighed as they walked to the front of the building, still trying to wrap her head around all that had happened, realizing once again how she might’ve been dead right now. They could’ve held a double funeral—her and Dad. An involuntary shiver ran down her spine as she picked up her purse from Barb’s desk. Then, remembering Michael would need to lock up, she opened the top drawer of Barb’s desk and, just like always, the spare key was in the far right-hand corner, right beneath the paper clips.

“Please keep me in the loop about this.” She removed one of her business cards from a side pocket of her purse, handing it over with the key. “This has my cell number on it.”

“Thanks.” Michael slipped them into his pocket. “I’ll be in touch.”

As they stood at the door, Megan noticed what appeared to be a recently installed security system panel. “This is new to me.” She pointed to the sleek stainless keypad.

“Was it activated when you arrived?” Michael asked her. “Did you have to put in a passcode?”

“No. I don’t even know the passcode.” She frowned. “Dad always made fun of these devices. He used to brag about how safe this town was. Sometimes he didn’t even lock the door.”

“Well, times have changed,” Michael told her. “I’ll call the security service and see if I can get them to activate it again when I leave. That might help ward off any more break-ins.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’ll send the passcode to your phone in case you need to get back in here tomorrow.”

“Thanks, that’ll be helpful.”

“I wonder why it wasn’t set,” Garret said as he and Megan stepped outside. “Of course, the staff was probably upset and distracted by the news of Rory’s death. Maybe they forgot.”

“That makes sense.” Megan nodded numbly. She felt she was walking through a weird dream. Like none of this was real. But outside, as the cool sea air washed over her face, smelling like a familiar mixture of rotten eggs and dead fish, signaling that the tide was low, she suddenly knew that this was all real. Painfully real. She was home in Cape Perpetua, and Dad was dead.

“I’m parked over there.” She pointed to the side street. “But you don’t have to walk me—”

“I want to,” he insisted.

As she turned the corner, she noticed that the traffic in town had thinned considerably. Hers was the only car parked on the side street now.

“That’s not your car, is it?” Garret pointed at the white Prius parked beneath a streetlamp.

“Yeah, that’s it.” As she walked, she dug in the bottom of her purse, trying to feel her car keys.

“Check out your tires,” he said in an odd tone.

She paused from her key search, peering down at her tires. “What?” She moved closer to see what was wrong. “They’re flat!”

Garret knelt down, using his own car key to poke into a gash on the side of her car’s front tire. “Slashed.”

“What is wrong with people?” she demanded hotly. “Why would someone do this? What has happened to this town?” Hot, angry tears were filling her eyes.

“I don’t know.” Garret just shook his head. “Either it was just a random act of meanness—or someone really doesn’t like you.”

Despite her resolve not to shed more tears, it was too late, they were coming—fast and furious. As she dug through her purse for a tissue, she wanted to scream and shout—and punch something. This was all just too much. First her dad died. Then she was nearly murdered. And the newspaper office was broken into and Dad’s office trashed. And now her tires were slashed. What had she done to deserve this? More disturbing, what was next?

FOUR

Still wearing Garret’s fleece jacket, Megan attempted to calm herself as she sat in his SUV in front of the newspaper office. Garret had gone back inside to tell Michael about the slashed tires. But suddenly she felt uneasy about sitting out here alone—where a killer could be lurking around the next corner. She slumped down in the seat, hitting the auto-lock button on the door. And, with her phone in hand, she kept a wary eye on the people moving along Main Street.

At close to eleven o’clock, the town had quieted down some, leaving only the boisterous bar-hoppers still out and about—the usual mix of out-of-towners, fishermen and young, antsy locals. The late-night activity was somewhat reassuring. She felt a little less alone.

Just the same, Megan was relieved to see Garret emerge from the newspaper office. She watched him with stealthy admiration as he strode over to the driver’s side of his SUV. But when he couldn’t open his door, she felt embarrassed. Releasing the auto-lock, she apologized as he climbed inside.

“I’m glad you did that,” he told her. “After I went inside, I felt uneasy about leaving you out here by yourself. Michael suspects your attacker is probably long gone by now, but you never know. Can’t be too safe.” He started the ignition.

As Garret drove them through town, Megan continued trying to compose herself. She hated feeling like such a basket case. She normally considered herself to be a pragmatic person, not overly emotional. Journalists couldn’t afford to be. Yet the slashed tires had pushed her over the edge. Her heart was still pounding in fury, and it was hard to calm down.

Still, she reminded herself, tires could be replaced. Her insurance might even cover the cost. And her dad’s office could be cleaned up and put back together again. Her dad...well, there was nothing to be done about that, except to remember him for all the good he’d brought into her life. He would want her to do that. And, really, she should be thankful to still be alive.

“How are you doing?” Garret asked quietly.

“I’m trying to get it together,” she confessed. “I’m not used to being this emotional or out of control.”

“Under the circumstances, it seems pretty natural.”

She felt surprised when he turned on his signal to turn onto Rawlins Road. “So you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ve been to your dad’s before.”

She studied his profile as he drove. Firm chin, fairly straight nose, except for a slight bump, almost like it had been broken before, high forehead. Garret Larsson was very handsome. She didn’t remember him being this good-looking back in high school. But to be fair, she barely remembered him at all. She knew about late bloomers. Those guys who slipped under the popularity radar in high school, but turned out to be pretty cool later on. She suspected that Garret was one of those.

“So you were obviously acquainted with my dad?” she said quietly.

“More than just acquainted. We were pretty good friends.”

“You were friends with my dad?” She peered curiously at him, trying to imagine that. “So how did this friendship come about exactly? I mean, considering the gap in your ages, I’m a little confused.”

“Rory kept his boat at my marina,” Garret told her.

“Oh, yeah. The marina your grandparents owned.”

“I started to manage it right after my grandpa died. It was too much for my grandma by then. She needed help.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Five or six years. The place was pretty run-down. Mostly because my grandpa got too old to keep it up. So I started doing some renovations. Then my grandma passed on, too. Anyway, I inherited the marina and cabins and everything.”

“And that’s how you met my dad.”

“Yeah. Sometimes we went out on the ocean together.”

“You fished with my dad?” This spoke well of Garret. Her dad wouldn’t fish with just anyone.

“Yeah. Sometimes. But your dad liked going out alone, too.”

“I know. I wish he hadn’t done that yesterday.”

Garret sighed. “Me, too. I never like seeing anyone going out on the ocean by himself. I prefer the buddy system.”

“I used to go fishing with him. After I left for college, I nagged him not to go alone, even if it was pointless. No one could tell Rory McCallister what to do.”

“Yeah, but whenever I saw him going out on his own, if I was free, I’d just invite myself along. He never seemed to mind.”

Megan studied Garret closely. “Dad must’ve really liked you.” And this was no exaggeration. Dad had been picky about fishing buddies. Stubborn and picky and opinionated. Still, how she would miss him!

Megan could feel herself slipping into an emotional tailspin again. She knew it was time to lighten the subject. If that was even possible. “So you and my dad were fishing friends... For some reason I can’t quite see it.” Just then she remembered something Dad had said about his “young fishing buddy.” “Hey, you’re not Tangler, are you?”

Garret chuckled. “That’d be me.”

“Tangler? How’d you get that name?”

“That’s what your dad called me when we first met. He saw me taking out a bunch of inexperienced fishermen—not my favorite thing to do, by the way, but these city boys booked a trip and I had to take them.”

“Naturally.”

“Well, these dudes didn’t know a rod from a reel or a salmon from a halibut. Your dad was working on his boat while I was trying to get them loaded into mine and we must’ve looked like a floating circus.” He laughed.

“But what does that have to do with your nickname?”

“Tangler is what a good fisherman calls an inexperienced angler. Because he’s always getting his line tangled up. Tangled plus angler equals Tangler. Get it? Anyway, it stuck.”

She almost smiled to remember how her dad could be such a tease at times. She would miss that, too. The lump in her throat was back, getting bigger as Garret turned down the unpaved road to her dad’s house—the same house she’d grown up in. It was like she expected to see Dad there, standing on the front porch, cheerfully waving them inside, telling them he had tuna on the grill and a pitcher of homemade lemonade in the fridge.

“I admired Rory a lot,” Garret said solemnly as they bumped along the rutted sandy road shared by a handful of neighbors. “I looked up to him like a father figure.”

“Your parents were divorced, weren’t they?” As soon as she said this, she regretted it. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s none of my business. But you know how nosy reporters can be.”

“It’s okay. And it’s true, my parents did divorce. A messy divorce, too. Fortunately, I had my grandparents and the marina to fill the void after my parents went their separate ways.”

“It still must’ve been hard.” She sighed. “My mom and dad divorced, too.”

“According to Rory, they handled theirs in a fairly civilized way.”

“Right.” She wasn’t so sure about that.

“Anyway, your dad was a good friend to me.” Garret’s voice was laced in sadness.

Megan looked out the window, seeing the dark glistening strip of ocean out past the few houses that lined this portion of the bluff. “I wish I’d taken more time off work—to come down here to visit more. I’m afraid I’ve let my career take over my life.”

“Your dad was proud of you, Megan. He loved that you were working for a big Seattle paper. I know he missed you, but he did understand.”

“I know.” She sighed. “He always encouraged me to chase my dreams.”

“And did you find them?”

She shrugged. “I thought so at first. To be honest, I’m not so sure now. It gets to feeling like a rat race out there. Not like life here in Cape Perpetua.” Talk about an understatement.

Garret was turning into the sandy driveway now. It was hard to see the house in the darkness, but something about this scene didn’t feel quite right. Probably the fact that her dad was missing from the picture. It was strange to see the house so dark. No glowing windows, no porch light, nothing. The house looked sad and lonely, as if it knew its owner was not coming home.

“Thanks for the ride,” she told Garret as he stopped the SUV. She suddenly felt glum about parting ways with him. He’d been such a comfort tonight and it felt like they’d actually started to get acquainted. But now it was over.

“You’re welcome. But don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily.” He was already getting out of the SUV. He hurried around, removing her baggage from the back, then joining her as she got out. “Let’s make sure everything is okay here first.”

“It, uh, looks okay to me.” She tried to sound more confident than she felt. “No sign of any vehicles around.” As they walked up to the house, she could hear the comforting rumble of the ocean. Everything about this scene felt so familiar—and yet it wasn’t. Despite spending most of her childhood and adolescence here, she had been down only a few times over the past ten years. “I’m sure everything’s just fine here.” Why wouldn’t it be?

“Well, I want to be sure.” Still carrying her bags, he accompanied her up the path of old bricks. She’d helped Dad put these bricks into place when she was twelve. “I don’t really like the idea of leaving you out here by yourself without a car, Megan.”

“Dad has good neighbors.” She pointed north. “I can probably get Mrs. Martin to give me a ride into town in the morning. Then I’ll get my tires replaced.” As they came up to the little house, she felt a chill run through her. Maybe it was the sea air or the damp fog that she knew was rolling in since she could hear the foghorn blowing over by the jetty. Or maybe it was something else. Like her frazzled nerves.

She had her house key ready. Just like the newspaper office key, she had held on to this one, too. Not so much as a memento, but because her dad always wanted her to feel like she could show up at any time. Even if he was gone on a week-long fishing trip in Mexico. It was similar to a security blanket. A reminder that this was home. Except with Dad gone, she wasn’t so sure. Would she be able to feel at home anymore?

“I’ll get some lights on.” She stepped into the house. “And I need to give you back your jacket, too.” As she reached for the entryway light switch, she paused to listen. “Did you hear something?” she whispered to Garret.

He set her bags down in the entryway, holding his forefinger to his lips. They both froze in place, listening intently. But now she heard nothing but the swooshing sound of the waves and the ticking of the clock on the mantel.

“Must’ve been my imagination,” she said quietly as she turned on the entryway light. She looked around the living room, feeling relieved that everything was peacefully in place, from the corny nautical decor that Dad had always loved, to the stone fireplace that probably still smoked on a windy day. She looked wistfully at his worn leather recliner. A new military novel lay on the side table with Dad’s reading glasses next to it. Everything was so much the same that she almost expected Dad to come strolling out of the kitchen with a mug of coffee in his hand and a warm grin on his face.

“All’s well,” she told Garret as she hung her purse on the hall tree next to the still-open front door.

“Seems to be.” He looked around in satisfaction. “So I’ll bid you good—”

Just then they heard a loud crash from the kitchen.

“Let’s get out of here.” Garret shoved her toward the door and without questioning him, she exploded out of the house and sprinted back toward his SUV. Garret was right beside her. He opened the passenger-side door for her then ran around to the driver’s side. She insisted they get away from here, but Garret didn’t start the truck.

“Not yet.” He reached beneath the seat to pull out a black hard case then pushed some buttons and removed a revolver.

She felt a jolt of panic. “What’s that for?”

“Protection and defense.” He looked at the house. “Call the cops and stay put. In fact, stay down. Out of sight. And lock the doors.” Before she could respond, he was dashing back into the house.

Despite her concerns, she did as he said, hunkering down as she reached around on the floor for her purse and her phone. Then she remembered her purse was hanging on the hall tree by the door, with her phone inside it. She glanced around the darkness of the yard, trying to see what was happening and wishing she’d thought to turn on the porch light.

What if Garret needed help? Despite his instructions to stay put, she quietly opened the door and then, crouching low next to the vehicle, she took in a deep breath. Then she started to sprint toward the house. But halfway there she heard it—the sound of several gunshots in quick sequence.

Had Garret shot someone? Or...? Please, no, God! Please don’t let that be Garret on the wrong side of the gun!

FIVE

Garret 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.”

“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

“Megan?” 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.

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