Garret spun the chamber and tried it again. To his relief a shot rang out and Kent dropped to the ground. Whether it was from a bullet wound or just an attempt to take cover, Garret couldn’t be sure. But he didn’t want to stick around and find out. “Let’s run,” he said to Megan. “Keep your head low and go fast. I’ll cover you and be right behind you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Go across and then turn to your right and go as far as the spit allows.”
As she took off, Garret kept his eyes pinned on the spot where Kent had hit the ground. If he was unhurt, he would probably stand up and take some more shots. For a couple of seconds nothing happened, but then—to Garret’s shocked surprise—Kent leaped to his feet and was less than ten yards away. Suddenly, he was running toward Garret with his rifle aimed directly at him.
* * *
Megan had just turned right, like Garret had instructed, when she heard the exchange of gunshots behind her. She stopped in her tracks as a rush of fresh terror ran through her, followed by questions. What if Garret’s gun wasn’t working properly? What if Kent had shot and wounded Garret? Should she return to help him? Or would that simply complicate things? Or what if Garret was dead? She couldn’t bear to dwell on the last question. Just keep going, she told herself as she ran along the wet, sandy beach. She could see that this spit was steadily shrinking with the incoming tide. Eventually it would be covered in water. But by then...it probably wouldn’t matter, anyway.
Determined to do as Garret had told her, she continued to run. She had no idea where she was going exactly, or what good it would do—besides temporarily evading Kent. But how long could that last? Finally, she saw the end of the spit. She slowed to a walk, catching her breath, and was suddenly shaken by more gunfire. Several shots that split the silence of the fog. What was going on back there? Was Garret okay?
At the end of the spit, she fell to her knees, gasping for air and praying for God to help Garret. “Please, God! Spare him!” she prayed between breaths, hot tears streaking down her cold cheeks. “Keep him safe! For me! Please!” Suddenly, she heard the sound of a boat engine. Peering through the fog, she recognized the silhouette. It was the same dark fishing boat that had shot at them at Garret’s house, then later by the bridge, nearly killing Michael. Kent had probably called them for backup.
She knew she needed to look for cover, but her options were the reeds, which were too far away, or the fog, which seemed unlikely. She got down low, wishing her parka wasn’t such a bright shade of blue—and wishing she’d thought to remove the package still tucked beneath it. If she was killed, the mob would have custody of the incriminating documents. Her father’s story would die with her.
* * *
Garret’s shots had managed to slow Kent down, giving Garret the chance to put some distance between them as he ran through the reeds. His plan was to reach the tallest reeds, get down low and reload his Ruger—and be ready for him this time. He’d wasted most of his rounds during their last skirmish, by aiming for Kent’s legs, hoping to knock him down and incapacitate him. But Kent had returned fire, forcing Garret to shoot carelessly—using up his bullets. But at least it had waylaid Kent, giving him something to think about. And fortunately, Kent’s aim wasn’t any better than Garret’s.
Breathing hard, Garret thought about Megan. She should’ve reached the end of the spit by now. But what next? The spit was already shrinking in the incoming tide. They certainly couldn’t remain here for too long. But could they possibly survive the swim to land? With the cold, churning water of the incoming tide against the flowing river, he didn’t think so.
He strained his ears and realized that the reeds nearby were moving. And not from the wind, since it was completely still. Once again, he got his revolver ready, holding it steady and pointing it in the direction of the rustling reeds. He’d kill Kent—but only to protect Megan. He would rather wound him. It would be more satisfying to see his ex-employee suffer trial and conviction and jail.
As soon as Garret spotted the dark image trudging through the reeds, he lifted his gun and, taking aim at the lower half of Kent’s body, released two shots—rewarded by a scream of pain as Kent crumbled to the ground.
Determined not to waste a moment, or give Kent time to respond, Garret took off and, staying low, ran through the reeds toward the other side of the spit. But as he came to the steadily shrinking beach, he could hear the sound of a boat motor. It did not sound like the coast guard—and it sounded like it was on the other end of the spit—right where he had sent Megan.
Garret ran full speed, praying as he went, and knowing full well that his single revolver would be no match for the weapons he suspected were onboard the fishing boat. He was almost there when he heard another sound—more engines, bigger ones—and he realized the coast guard was approaching.
With his Ruger still in his hand, Garret stopped and fired three shots into the air as a distress signal, hoping to get the coast guard’s attention. He continued moving toward the end of the spit, reloading his gun, then paused again, firing three more shots—praying that they would figure it out.
Out in the open now, Garret crouched low, making his way toward the end of the spit, praying that he’d find Megan and that she’d be okay. Suddenly, he saw a flash of blue through the fog and then, running directly to her, he fell to the ground beside her, making her jump. “It’s just me,” he said as used himself and his black coat to conceal and protect her. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” she whispered back. “I am now. But that boat’s out there—the one that shot at us—”
“The coast guard is out there, too,” he reassured her.
“Kent?”
“I wounded him. Should slow him down some.” Garret could feel her shivering, probably from both the cold and fear. Hopefully, he could help abate that. She was a sturdy woman, but he knew that anyone could go into shock. And so he began to pray aloud, quietly, but with faith.
* * *
As Megan shivered beneath the layers of heavy wool emergency blankets, she couldn’t believe they were finally safe. Was it even possible? Everything had happened so quickly. One minute she thought it was the end—and suddenly it all changed when not just one, but three coast guard boats had shown up. Her memory of the details was even more foggy than the weather, but it hadn’t taken long for the coast guard boats to surround the fishing boat and then take the three armed men from the boat into custody. Not a shot was fired.
The only thing she could clearly remember was the kiss. In the same moment they knew their ordeal was over, Garret had gathered her into his arms and holding her close, they had kissed so long and so passionately that she actually began to feel warm again.
They were still kissing when the coast guard sent the surf boat ashore. Their rescuers laughed in amusement as they interrupted the kiss, assuring them they would have time to finish it later. Now, with the coast guard still searching for Kent on the spit, Megan and Garret were nearly back at the marina.
With one arm around Megan, Garret had been telling one of the officers what had happened. But now the boat had stopped and they were suddenly disembarking at the marina, where several cop cars were parked in front of the store. “I’ll let you inside so you can get warm and dry,” Garret said as he rushed her toward his house. Detective Greene waved to them, running to catch up, telling them to wait. “I have questions.”
“Megan is nearly hypothermic,” Garret said. “She can talk to you after she gets warmed up.”
Greene looked at both of them. “Yeah, sure, you both should get into dry clothes.” He walked along with them, going inside. “I’ll just wait in here, if you don’t mind.”
With her teeth chattering uncontrollably, Megan just nodded, hurrying to the master suite, where she peeled of her soggy clothes. The package that she’d kept with her the whole time was a little worse for wear. But, worried it might still disappear, she took it into the bathroom with her and securely locked the door.
After a long hot shower, she emerged into the steamy bathroom. Worried that her dad’s precious research would be ruined from the water, she eagerly tore into it. To her relief, inside the soggy yellow envelope, the documents themselves were sealed in an oversize Ziploc bag. She smiled to remember her dad’s cautious ways. Of course he’d thought to protect these papers.
Before long, she joined Detective Greene and Garret and together they told him the whole story. Megan held up the papers, still sealed in the plastic bag. “I’m willing to hand these over to you, but only if I can make copies first.”
Detective Greene nodded. “Why don’t we go to the station to make them? We’ll be safe there.”
“You think we’re still in danger?” Megan asked.
“We’ve got a lot of guys in custody, but we haven’t taken in the kingpins yet.” He pointed to the bag. “Hopefully, that will give us what we need to do that.”
“I’m sure it will,” Garret told him.
* * *
By the time they returned to the marina, it was dark. “I think we should both sleep well tonight,” Garret told Megan, pointing to the patrol car still parked in front of the marina. Greene had promised round-the-clock protection until the rest of Marco’s mob was in custody—including the brothers.
“I’m so tired I think I could sleep through an earthquake.”
Despite his reassurances, Garret looked all around as they made their way to the house. He suspected he’d be doing that for a while. He took a long look at the dock, noticing the empty slip where his little fishing boat was usually docked. According to the coast guard it was entirely fixable and would be returned to him for repairs on Tuesday. Fortunately, that wasn’t his only boat.
Once inside they worked together to make a nice little dinner that they quietly ate at the breakfast bar.
“I can’t believe it’s over.” She shook her head. “Or almost.”
“Rory really got the goods on the Marco brothers. They weren’t just skimming from the casino, although that seems to be considerable, they were trafficking drugs, as well. He had all kinds of proof—letters, photographs, statements, you name it. Valuable stuff. I had no idea he had gathered that much.”
“Dad was always thorough.”
“It was fun seeing Detective Greene so impressed.”
She smiled. “That would’ve pleased Dad.”
“Seeing all these guys being arrested would’ve made him pretty happy, too.”
She looked into Garret’s eyes. “Thanks so much. I never could’ve done it without you.”
“We made a pretty good team.” Garret longed to take this relationship further, but knew he needed to pace himself. She’d been through so much today. They both needed a good night’s sleep. “It’s the Memorial Day parade tomorrow,” he said as he gathered up their dishes. “Do you want to go?”
“Of course.” She smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it.” Now she frowned. “Well, if it’s safe. Do you think the police will have taken in the others by then?”
“It sounded like they were rounding them up tonight.”
She closed her eyes with a deep sigh. “I sure hope so.”
Garret wanted to ask her about what would happen after tomorrow, after her dad’s memorial service on Wednesday, after everything was all wrapped up for her in Cape Perpetua. Would she still put the newspaper and Rory’s house up for sale like she had said originally? Maybe the last few days would make her glad to leave...glad to get back to a calmer, quieter life in Seattle. He wanted the answers to all his questions, but he knew she was weary. This was not the time.
* * *
Megan felt like her old self the next morning. And, after receiving news from Detective Greene—that six more men had been taken into custody, including Kent and the Marco brothers and two of their sons—she was eager to go to the Memorial Day parade. And it was fun watching it with Garret. The festivities reminded her of her childhood. Dad had always loved this parade, often participating with a float representing the newspaper.
In the afternoon Megan excused herself from Garret, explaining that she had work to do at the newspaper. “My car’s there,” she told him. “And Arthur offered to come in to keep me company.” She slipped the new flip phone Detective Greene had loaned to her into the bag that had been retrieved from Kent’s impounded boat. “I’ll probably be there most of the day working on Dad’s article.” She smiled at him, realizing she didn’t really want to be away from him for that long, but knowing there was work to be done.
“I’ve got work to catch up on here at the marina, too,” Garret told her. “But if you finish the article in time, maybe you’d let me take you to dinner.”
“At The Bridgeview?” she asked hopefully.
He nodded. “To make up for our interrupted lunch the other day.”
“It’s a date.” She looked slightly embarrassed. “I mean, yeah, I’ll meet you there. Want to say 6:30?”
“It’s a date.” He grinned.
As she drove to the newspaper office, she was already working on the first article in her head. She knew that it would take more than just one article to tell the story of what had gone on in Cape Perpetua these past couple of years. She planned to do exposés on the casino, the Marco mafia, the restaurant used for money laundering, as well as the drug-smuggling ring. With only two days before publication day, she knew she’d have to write fast. But she thought she could do it. And her final article would be a piece about her dad, her family and their commitment to bringing the news to Cape Perpetua for nearly a hundred years. A tradition that was coming to an end this week.