She had her house key ready. Just like the newspaper office key, she had held on to this one, too. Not so much as a memento, but because her dad always wanted her to feel like she could show up at any time. Even if he was gone on a week-long fishing trip in Mexico. It was similar to a security blanket. A reminder that this was home. Except with Dad gone, she wasn’t so sure. Would she be able to feel at home anymore?
“I’ll get some lights on.” She stepped into the house. “And I need to give you back your jacket, too.” As she reached for the entryway light switch, she paused to listen. “Did you hear something?” she whispered to Garret.
He set her bags down in the entryway, holding his forefinger to his lips. They both froze in place, listening intently. But now she heard nothing but the swooshing sound of the waves and the ticking of the clock on the mantel.
“Must’ve been my imagination,” she said quietly as she turned on the entryway light. She looked around the living room, feeling relieved that everything was peacefully in place, from the corny nautical decor that Dad had always loved, to the stone fireplace that probably still smoked on a windy day. She looked wistfully at his worn leather recliner. A new military novel lay on the side table with Dad’s reading glasses next to it. Everything was so much the same that she almost expected Dad to come strolling out of the kitchen with a mug of coffee in his hand and a warm grin on his face.
“All’s well,” she told Garret as she hung her purse on the hall tree next to the still-open front door.
“Seems to be.” He looked around in satisfaction. “So I’ll bid you good—”
Just then they heard a loud crash from the kitchen.
“Let’s get out of here.” Garret shoved her toward the door and without questioning him, she exploded out of the house and sprinted back toward his SUV. Garret was right beside her. He opened the passenger-side door for her then ran around to the driver’s side. She insisted they get away from here, but Garret didn’t start the truck.
“Not yet.” He reached beneath the seat to pull out a black hard case then pushed some buttons and removed a revolver.
She felt a jolt of panic. “What’s that for?”
“Protection and defense.” He looked at the house. “Call the cops and stay put. In fact, stay down. Out of sight. And lock the doors.” Before she could respond, he was dashing back into the house.
Despite her concerns, she did as he said, hunkering down as she reached around on the floor for her purse and her phone. Then she remembered her purse was hanging on the hall tree by the door, with her phone inside it. She glanced around the darkness of the yard, trying to see what was happening and wishing she’d thought to turn on the porch light.
What if Garret needed help? Despite his instructions to stay put, she quietly opened the door and then, crouching low next to the vehicle, she took in a deep breath. Then she started to sprint toward the house. But halfway there she heard it—the sound of several gunshots in quick sequence.
Had Garret shot someone? Or...? Please, no, God! Please don’t let that be Garret on the wrong side of the gun!
Garret knew it was legal to shoot an intruder during a burglary, but killing this man—no matter what sort of person he might be—was not Garret’s goal. But when the intruder jumped him from behind, it was hard to think rationally. The two of them wrestled in the kitchen, tumbled out onto the porch and down the back steps, but when the intruder got away, Garret finally got the chance to take a shot. He aimed below the waist, hoping to get the running man in a leg. But judging by the way the guy kept running, Garret missed.
Garret didn’t waste a moment as he took off after him. But in the darkness of the side yard, he lost him in the shadows. Then, as Garret passed by an overgrown hedge, someone jumped him from behind. Once again, they rolled and fought. Garret just about had the guy pinned when he heard the cling of something metallic. Even in the dark, he could see the glint of a switchblade coming toward him.
As he dodged the knife, Garret raised his revolver high, hoping to knock the thug in the head with it, but suddenly someone else jumped into the fray. Garret’s revolver was knocked from his hand as he was thrown into the hedge. Just like that, his two assailants disappeared.
Garret scrambled to recover his gun then took off toward the pair who were running toward the road. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” he yelled as he sprinted at top speed. He pointed his gun toward them, but knew his chance of hitting either of them in the darkness was slim. Even so, he could not let them escape. Somehow he knew they were connected to Megan’s earlier encounter at the newspaper office. And no matter what, he’d get to the bottom of it.
* * *
With a pounding heart, Megan ran into the house and grabbed her purse and phone. But the house was silent. Knowing it was risky, she called out for Garret. Hearing no response, and worried the intruder might still be inside, she scurried up the stairs, dialing 911 as she went. She hit Send as she went into her childhood bedroom and locked the door.
As the phone rang, she hurried to the window and peered out into the front yard. Where was Garret? Was he okay? As soon as the dispatcher answered, Megan poured out her whereabouts, their dilemma and her concern over the gunshots. “I need to go to Garret,” she told the woman. “He might need me.”
The dispatcher continued to insist that Megan remain upstairs, asking more questions about the layout of the house.
“I really should go help Garret.” Megan felt a lump in her throat as she imagined him wounded and in need of assistance—or worse.
“Help is on the way. But if there are armed men out there, you should wait for the police to arrive.”
“But it’s possible Garret is hurt and—”
“They’ll be there soon.” The dispatcher kept Megan on the line, speaking calmly and soothingly as she asked more questions.
“I’m so worried that Garret needs—”
“Listen! You need to stay where you are until law enforcement arrives,” the dispatcher said with authority.
Megan opened the bedroom window, trying to listen for anyone outside. “I hear sirens,” she exclaimed.
“It won’t be long.”
“Can I go downstairs now?” Megan pleaded.
“Wait until the officers give you the all-clear,” the woman said firmly. “Stay put. Someone will come directly to you. They know where you are.”
Megan watched as a small convoy of vehicles with flashing lights pulled in. She could see that at least one was an EMT and wondered if perhaps Garret had called, as well, asking for medical help. Clinging to the windowsill, she prayed silently for his safety. Even though she’d only known him for a few hours—it felt like much more—or perhaps it was simply that she wanted it to be much more. Garret was special. She knew it deep within her. And it wasn’t just because he’d been friends with her dad. She knew this was something more—and she couldn’t bear to lose him.
As the vehicles parked in front, she could see some of the officers getting out, using their vehicles as a shield, positioning themselves as if to carry out a plan. And then, with firearms drawn and wearing bulletproof vests, several officers cautiously but quickly approached the house.
Megan was almost afraid to breathe as she heard the police entering downstairs. Their footsteps rumbled through the wood floors of the old house and they shouted loudly as doors were opened. And then she heard footsteps on the stairs and someone pounding on her door. “Police!” a female’s voice shouted. “Come out with your hands up.”
Although