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?
“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