TWENTY-ONE
Megan had never been so cold or tired in her life, but the feeling of sandy loam river bottom beneath her feet gave her hope. Suddenly, they both were trudging out of the river, falling down onto the sandy shore, coughing and sputtering and gasping.
“Are you okay?” Garret reached for her hand.
“I guess,” she said breathlessly as he pulled her to her feet. Did he really expect her to walk now? Her legs felt like overcooked spaghetti.
“We gotta get out of sight.” He tugged her back into the water.
“No more,” she protested in exhaustion. “Can’t swim.”
“Wading,” he explained. “To hide our footprints.”
“Oh.” She clung to what little warmth was in his hand as he led her through the shallow water. She was so cold she could barely feel her feet and she’d long since lost her shoes. Finally, they came to a reedy area and Garret began to lead them inland, eventually collapsing amongst the taller reeds. Megan flopped backward and Garret flopped down beside her.
“We should be out of sight here,” he said wearily.
“Where are we?” She was still trying to catch her breath.
“I’d hoped to find a spit,” he explained. “Not even sure this is it. But maybe it doesn’t matter.”
“I’m so cold.” Megan shivered.
Garret sat up, pulling her close to him as he wrapped his arms around her. “Let’s keep each other warm if we can.”
Megan didn’t resist as she snuggled up against him and, whether it was from body heat or just the closeness of a man she had feelings for, she did begin to feel warmer. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I would’ve made it otherwise.”
“I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you on that log,” he murmured. “God must’ve been watching out for us.”
For a while they just sat there in the reeds, holding on to each other and trying to get warm. Although she was still shivering, Megan didn’t think she was going to die from hypothermia. Well, depending on how long they had to remain here. She looked past the reeds to the foggy river. She couldn’t see the other side, but suspected that they were just a mile or so past town. That meant there should be a few houses nearby.
“So what are we going to do now?” She could feel her breathing growing more normal. “Should we hike out and look for help?” She looked at her soggy socks, wondering how far she could actually hike. To her surprise Garret still had on his athletic shoes, but he was shivering. She realized she had on his coat and started to remove it.
“No, you keep it on,” he said.
She tried not to stare as he removed his long-sleeved knit shirt, wringing it out. She couldn’t help but notice he was in good shape as he pulled it back on. “That’ll help some.” He pointed to one of the pockets on his coat. “My phone should be in there.”
She unzipped and removed it, handing it to him.
He messed with it, but finally set it aside. “It’s shot.” Now he removed his Ruger from his holster, carefully checking it out.
“Is your gun toast, too?”
“It might still work.” He emptied the two remaining bullets then blew through the chamber, looking down the barrel. Now he pulled out more bullets and, after rolling them between his hands and blowing on them, started to reload them into his gun.
“Do you really think you could shoot him?” she asked quietly.
“Kent?” Garret shrugged as he closed the chamber. “I wouldn’t want to kill him. Or anyone, for that matter. But I don’t mind stopping him from killing us.”
“He admitted to being involved in my dad’s death,” she said grimly.
“You’re kidding?” Garret’s brows arched. “He actually confessed that?”
“Yeah. That’s when I knew he planned to kill me. Otherwise he wouldn’t have disclosed that. Don’t you think?”
He barely nodded. “What did he say?”
“He admitted helping to sink Dad’s boat. Said he did it with his gun. Someone else did something to Dad. Somehow knocked him out. Kent said he never even felt it.” She shuddered. “I imagined a hypodermic needle.”
“And based on what we heard about the autopsy, I’m guessing no one noticed.” Garret shook his head.
“And no toxicology,” she said sadly.
“Well, at least we have a general idea of what happened.” Garret looked up and down the river. “I can’t tell if this is the spit or not, but the tide is starting to come in. If it is the spit, it will eventually be under water.”
“We should probably move,” Megan said. “In case Kent comes back.”
“Just what I was thinking.” He stood, helping Megan to her feet.
“And if this isn’t the spit—if it’s land—we might be able to find a house and use a phone.”
He pointed to her socks. “Can you walk in those?”
“My feet are so numb, I probably won’t feel anything, anyway.”
He visibly shivered and Megan unzipped his coat. “Here, take this. I’m already starting to warm up a little. I don’t need two coats.”
He reluctantly took it, adjusting his gun holster before he zipped it up. “Let’s go.”
He led her through the reeds and after a fairly short distance they came to water. “It must be the spit,” she told him. “You were right.”
“Well, that’s amazing. But that means we’ll be stuck here. Unless you want to swim.”
She shuddered. “How far is it?”
“A lot farther than it was to get here.”
“I honestly don’t know if I can make it, Garret.” She felt close to tears. “But if you think you can make it, maybe I could wait here.”
“I’m not leaving you alone. Besides, the coast guard should be here soon. And then I’ll shoot an emergency shot.”
“You mean if your gun works.”
“It’ll work,” he said in a less than certain tone, peering out over the water. “But I really thought they’d be here by—” He grabbed her arm, pulling her down to the damp sand and holding a forefinger over his lips. “Hear that?” he said quietly.
She listened then nodded. “Maybe it’s the coast guard,” she said in a hushed tone.
But he simply shook his head. “Wrong motor.”
“Kent?”
He nodded grimly, pointing upriver to where she could see the shadowy outline of a dory slowly rumbling toward them. Did Kent suspect they were on this spit? Had he spotted the place where they’d come out of the water? Was he circling the spit? She knew the spit wasn’t very wide, but wondered how long it was, if there was any place to hide on it. Maybe back in the taller reeds, although she felt too afraid to move as the menacing shadow continued to approach.
“You said this was a spit,” she whispered in his ear. “Doesn’t that mean it’s attached to land?”
“Only at minus tide,” he whispered back. “Not today.”
“Can we get back into the high reeds?” she asked.
“Not without being seen. Don’t move.” Garret silently unzipped his black parka, slowly spreading it like wings to shield her more visible blue parka from the boat.
Kneeling on the ground behind his open parka, Megan shivered and prayed. She prayed that the dory would just keep on going...and that the coast guard was on their way. But to her horror, the engine slowed down and the next thing she knew, Garret was pushing her to her feet. “To the reeds,” he said as they took off, the sound of gunshots following them.
They dove into the reeds, but the gunshots continued. “Should we go to the other side of the spit?” she asked. “So he’d have to go around?”
“He’s in a dory,” Garret said as he removed his gun. “He can land it on the sand.”
“Oh, yeah.
”
“And it sounds like that’s what he’s doing.” Garret held up his gun, clearly getting ready to aim and to shoot.
“Do you think it’ll really work?” she whispered fearfully.
“Pray that it does.”
But before she could pray, she saw the silhouette of a man clomping through the reeds toward them. As he got closer, she knew it was Kent. And besides a handgun, he appeared to have a rifle, too. Garret raised his revolver and pulled the trigger. Nothing!
TWENTY-TWO
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.
Against the Tide Page 17
