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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.
    â€œI really should go help Garret.” Megan felt a lump in her throat as she imagined him wounded and in need of assistance—or worse.
    â€œHelp is on the way. But if there are armed men out there, you should wait for the police to arrive.”
    â€œBut it’s possible Garret is hurt and—”
    â€œThey’ll be there soon.” The dispatcher kept Megan on the line, speaking calmly and soothingly as she asked more questions.
    â€œI’m so worried that Garret needs—”
    â€œListen! 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.
    â€œIt won’t be long.”
    â€œCan I go downstairs now?” Megan pleaded.
    â€œWait 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