Against The Tide. Melody Carlson

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      “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!

FIVE

      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 she was surprised to be treated like a criminal, Megan knew this was simply routine. And unlocking the door, she held up her hands and stepped out. “I’m Megan McCallister,” she said. “I called 911.”

      “Are you okay?” the uniformed female officer asked, as another officer pushed past them, checking the room to see if anyone else was there.

      “Yes.” Megan nodded tearfully. “Is Garret okay?”

      “I don’t know.” The officer nodded toward the stairs. “Let’s get you out of here and into a cruiser.”

      Before long, Megan and the female cop were in the backseat of a cruiser, and Megan was answering her questions. As best she could, anyway. Mostly she felt like she was in the dark. “I honestly don’t know what happened,” she said for the second time. “We heard someone in the house. I’d already been attacked in the newspaper office. So we were sort of on edge. We ran back to the car. Then Garret got out a gun. He went back inside. Shortly after that, I heard the two or three shots.”

      The questions continued and her nerves ratcheted up until finally, after about half an hour, Megan saw Garret by the front porch. “He’s all right!” she shouted. Before the officer could stop her, Megan jumped out of the patrol car and raced toward him.

      “You’re okay,” she exclaimed. “I heard the shots and I was so worried.”

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