Against The Tide

“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.