Читать книгу Against The Tide - Melody Carlson - Страница 10

TWO

Garret hadn’t wanted to leave Rory’s daughter like that. She’d looked so lost and alone, standing in front of the newspaper office. With her long auburn hair and somber eyes, she reminded him of a sad little girl. Troubled and fragile and broken. Yet, he could tell Megan was trying to appear strong. Garret remembered Rory’s high praise for his only child, portraying her as a smart, strong, independent young woman.

Garret knew from his frequent chats with Rory that Megan had gotten a job with a big Seattle newspaper a couple years after finishing college, and that she’d diligently worked her way up to a good position. Rory had been extremely proud of her, but he’d also missed his girl. And it was no secret that Rory had hoped Megan would eventually return to Cape Perpetua to take over the family newspaper. “That way I can go fishing whenever I like,” he’d joked to everyone at his recent birthday get-together. Now it was too late.

As Garret entered Beulah’s Café, he was still thinking about Megan. Wishing he’d stuck around long enough to walk her through the deserted building. He knew she needed someone to talk to. She had so many questions. Many of the same ones he’d been wrestling with since yesterday. But he also knew that she needed this time alone. She had to process Rory’s death in her own way, on her own terms. Just like Garret had done last night down at the docks where Rory used to keep his boat. It made sense that Megan would tell her father goodbye in the newspaper office. And yet the idea of her alone over there made him uneasy. As he looked around the crowded café, he had to admit there was a lot in this town that was making him uneasy.

Going toward an unoccupied stool at the counter, Garret waved to Jeanie as she emerged from the kitchen with a burger basket in each hand.

“Hey, handsome,” the middle-aged waitress called out to him as she set the baskets in front of two teen girls. “How ya doing?”

“I’m okay,” he said as he took a seat.

“What can I get you?”

“Just a bowl of chowder,” he told her. “When you’re not too busy, that is.”

“You got it, honey.” Jeanie waved toward the door. “Hey, Barry,” she called out warmly to a newcomer. “How’s the crabbing today?”

“Not bad.” Barry took the stool next to Garret. “Hey, man.” He slapped him on the back. “What’s up?”

“Not much.” Garret smiled at the burly fisherman.

“So...who was that pretty gal I saw you yapping with across the street?” Barry had a twinkle in his eye. “A real looker, that one.” He playfully elbowed Garret. “You got yourself a woman we don’t know about?”

“That’s Rory’s daughter,” Garret said somberly. “Megan McCallister.”

“Oh.” Barry’s smile faded. “So how’s she doing?”

“Not so good.”

“Hard losing a parent.” Barry picked up a plastic-encased menu, wiping it with his sleeve. “Lost my old man last year. But he was in bad shape with his diabetes. And a lot older than Rory, too.”

“Yeah.” Garret nodded. “Megan wasn’t ready to see her dad go yet.”

“I was surprised to see the newspaper office open tonight.” Barry tipped his head toward the front window.

“It’s not open,” Garret corrected him. “Megan just wanted to go inside and look around some. No one else is there.”

Barry looked slightly perplexed. “Wonder why she left the back open if she’s there by herself.”

“What’re you talking about?” Garret felt uneasy.

“Well, town’s so busy that I parked behind the newspaper. That’s when I noticed the back door ajar. Figured someone was working late. But it seemed kinda odd, this being a Friday, and with Rory just passing away.”

Garret frowned. “You saying the back door was open?”

“Yep.” Barry nodded. “Propped with a trash can.”

Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it wasn’t. But as Garret slowly stood, he knew he needed to find out. “Hey, Jeanie, hold off on that chowder for now. I need to go check on something.” And without saying another word, he hurried outside. It was possible he was just overreacting. Or looking for an excuse to talk to Megan again. But it didn’t really matter. As he jogged across the street, he knew, even if he was being melodramatic, there was no way he wasn’t going to find out why that back door was open.

* * *

With her attacker’s knee still painfully pressed into the middle of her back, Megan could barely breathe, let alone speak. Not that she knew what to say, besides plead for her life. With the side of her head flattened against the gritty floor, she could see, just barely, from one eye. And unless she imagined it, she detected a bluish light on the wood plank floor. Like the light from a cell phone.

In the next instant she could hear what sounded like the thug above her sending a text message. Really? Who was he texting and why? “Are you on your phone?” she gasped.

He swore at her, pressing his knee down even harder. She tried to think of reasons a thug would text someone while pinning down his victim. Was it possible he was asking someone for instructions—like what he should do with her?

As impossible as it seemed, she suddenly wondered if he might be a security guard. Perhaps he’d assumed she was an intruder and he was simply doing his job. Although it seemed unlikely, it was preferable to the alternative.

Still messing with his phone, the thug eased his knee slightly from her back, allowing her to take in a bigger breath and speak. “I’m Rory McCallister’s daughter. I didn’t break in. My father owns this—”

“Your father’s dead!” he growled, pressing his knee so hard into her midsection that she imagined her ribs cracking.

With him still distracted with his phone, she strained to look at him from the corner of her eye. He had on black jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt. The hood was pulled low over his face, but she could see that his skin was pale. Ghostly pale. And pock-marked. He looked to be in his twenties. She didn’t recognize him. She saw him slip his phone into his sweatshirt pocket and suddenly he struggled to reach something from behind him. Was he trying to extract something from a back pocket or maybe from his belt? A firearm perhaps. The pressure from his knee eased up as he worked to get whatever it was he was looking for.

“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.