Against The Tide. Melody Carlson

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