Page 10 of A Mile of Ocean (Pelican Pointe #19)

B y the time they geared up for night patrol, Trent and Tate had spent an hour on a Zoom call, discussing the case with Colt and Theo.

Embarrassed that they hadn’t known more about the details of their parents’ accident until now, they felt a renewed determination to see justice done.

“My mom and dad were only a few years older than us when they died,” Trent pointed out. “It’s past time someone did something about it.”

“You will look into it?” Tate wanted to know. “Isn’t it possible whatever happened then is connected to now?”

“It’s possible,” Colt said. “We’ll try to get the case file from the sheriff’s office and start from scratch as if it happened yesterday.”

“That sounds promising,” Trent told his sister.

“At the risk of opening a can of worms,” Theo began, “why do you think your grandparents were reluctant to tell you the truth?”

“That’s a good question,” Tate reasoned. “But the answer is we just don’t know unless there’s something our grandmother is holding back because it might put her in a bad light. The Duchess Callum made our granddad promise he would never bring it up. That sounds like she’s holding all the power for a reason, none of it good.”

“Whatever comes to light, let’s be clear,” Trent decided. “Tate and I want you to dig as deep as you need to go to get to the truth. We want this man—”

“Or woman,” Tate interjected.

“Or woman, caught,” Trent finished. “We want this madness to stop.”

Later, inside the barn, as they saddled up their horses, Trent realized that their conversation with the cops had revealed a new layer. He understood now that the past had a long reach, its shadow stretching into the present with lethal intent. They were not merely hunting a killer; they were confronting the legacy of a vendetta that had festered for over two decades.

The untimely deaths of their parents, long buried beneath years of unanswered questions, were all he thought about now. As they prepared for the night ahead, the gravity of their task hit him hard.

As they rode out toward the property’s eastern edge, the evening air was cool and still, a deceptive calm that belied the danger lurking just beyond the frame of their vision. Trent’s grip tightened on his flashlight as he scanned the darkness, every muscle in his body coiled and ready. Tate moved silently beside him, her presence a steadying influence amid the tension.

Each shadow seemed to harbor a threat, each rustle in the bushes a potential danger. They moved with a heightened sense of awareness, knowing that the enemy they faced was cunning and desperate.

Trent couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out as they reached the perimeter. The scars of the past were bleeding into the present, and the cost of revenge was measured in blood and loss. But even in the darkness, there was a flicker of hope—a determination to protect what was left of their family and to uncover the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

“When’s the last time you brought flowers to their graves?” Tate asked Trent, breaking the silence.

“Mother’s Day. What about you?”

“I go every Wednesday afternoon. Do you ever see Duchess there?”

“Now that I think about it, no.”

“Me either. You know what’s weird?”

“What?”

“The day we were headed off to college, I wanted to see them one last time before we left. But she insisted that we were running late, and I didn’t have time to go to the cemetery.”

“You’ve been thinking back about a lot of things, haven’t you?”

“I can’t stop thinking about her lack of emotion, Trent. It’s bugged me for years, but now that I know how they died and she refused to let Granddad talk about it, all those times she put me off are magnified. Everything clicks into place. Maybe because of her, I barely remember them. When I moved into my own place, I put their pictures on the gallery wall in the hallway. I try staring at them, so I don’t forget what they looked like.”

Trent blew out a breath. “Maybe she is keeping a big secret,” he suggested, the words packed with suspicion. “Something we’ve been blind to all these years.”

“Or ignored. That seems to be a family trait.” Tate’s voice softened, heavy with contemplation. “I’ve been running it over in my head. It’s like she’s afraid of what we might uncover.”

Trent absorbed the gravity of her words. “Is it possible she’s been protecting us from something or someone all this time? What if it’s bigger than we think?”

“All this speculation has me on edge.”

Trent shifted in the saddle. “Tate, do you believe in ghosts?”

“Sure. Don’t you?”

“Why? Have you encountered any?”

“Not lately.”

“Anyone specific?”

“What are you asking me, Trent?”

“Forget it.”

“Not so fast. Did you have a ghostly visitor you don’t want to discuss?”

“Drop it, okay? We probably need to swing past the perimeter again just for good measure.”

She made a clucking sound to get Mermaid moving. Side by side, they rode the range away from the tree line.

Looking back, Trent scanned the area they’d just left.

“See anything?” Tate whispered.

“Nothing.”

As nightfall settled in, the siblings kept their guard up, but their conversation earlier seemed to linger in the air. Shadows stretched like the secrets they pondered. As the hours passed, they drank more coffee they didn’t want and continued trying to piece together fragmented memories, hoping to pull back the cover on a mystery.

Every half hour, they kept in radio contact with the other teams. But no one had anything unusual to report, and the uneasy calm seemed unnatural after the chaos of previous nights.

Around two, Tate suggested reaching out to old acquaintances of their parents who might have insights into the long-standing feud that had erupted into violence.

“Did they have friends?” Trent whispered. “Do you know of any? Can you name one?”

“No, I can’t. Dolly might be able to remember one or two. We could ask her.”

After spending all night on the range, the cold seeped in, their breath visible in the crisp night air. When they ran out of anything to talk about, their silence was punctuated only by the horses’ steady clop-clop of hooves and the occasional rustling of leaves. The stars above provided scant light, generating a silver sheen resembling a frost-covered ground.

It was a night that demanded vigilance, their senses amplified by the pressing need for answers.

They got through Monday night without another incident. But they were both bone-tired by dawn Tuesday morning. The weariness was etched on their faces, a testament to the toll the relentless threat was taking. Yet, a collective resolve kept them going, a shared understanding that they could not afford to rest until they eliminated the enemy.

As the first light of Tuesday morning filtered through the trees, they headed back to the barn. They weren’t the first to arrive. Woody and Monty were already there brushing down their horses. Cecil and Lincoln rode in next, followed by Blake and Brock. That left Hawk, Drum, and Toby still out there in Painted Heart.

Trent volunteered to unsaddle Mermaid so that Tate could start getting ready. After she’d gone, Blake inched up to him. “I don’t like missing the funeral.”

“It can’t be helped. I need you here, getting the chores done, keeping everyone’s spirits up.”

“I know. I know. I just thought Tate could use a shoulder to cry on.”

Trent smiled wearily. “She can do that at the graveside service. How’s that sound?”

“It’ll have to do, I guess. Do you think it’s weird that last night was so quiet? Too quiet.”

Woody overheard that last part. “I agree. He’s planning something big. He’ll probably wait until we’re all standing around over the grave to open fire.”

“Let’s hope not,” Trent uttered, looking at his watch. “I’m beginning to worry about Toby, Hawk, and Drum, though. When did they last check in?”

“About an hour ago,” Lincoln answered. “They were right on time as scheduled.”

Trent shook his head. “Something doesn’t feel right. I wanted to wait for them to arrive before heading home for a hot shower and something to eat.”

“Want us to go back out and look for them?” Cecil asked.

Trent was about to saddle up again when he heard a horse’s neigh coming from outside the barn. He hurried to the courtyard to see Toby, Hawk, and Drum returning, their faces etched with concern.

“We found something out there, Trent,” Hawk said, dismounting his horse. “Tracks were leading away from the ranch, but they were erratic like someone was trying to throw us off.”

“Deliberately throw us off,” Toby emphasized.

“What kind of tracks?”

“Human. And they were fresh, probably no more than twelve hours old,” Drum replied, his voice low.

“He’s been hiding somewhere on the ranch for days,” Trent concluded. “Ducking us, coming and going. He’s playing with us.”

Lincoln stepped forward. “We should be ready for anything. If he’s that close, we can’t afford to let our guard down for a second.”

Trent nodded, his mind racing with options as his eyes darted around the property. How could he leave the ranch, knowing the killer never left? “He knows the funeral is this morning. He knows our movements and everything else because he’s been listening. No one goes anywhere alone. Stick together with your patrol partner. While we’re gone, take rifles and set up on the third floor of the main house. The attic has a 360-degree view of the ranch. You’ll be able to see for long distances. Maybe I shouldn’t leave.”

“You should go,” Hawk stated. “We’ll be fine. But don’t make it a long-winded service, okay?”

“We should go in separate cars,” Trent said.

“I agree,” Tate offered, already decked out in her sleeveless black dress and wearing her mother’s pearls at her neck. “Barton Pearson is sending a limo for the Duchess and Dolly. I can drive Granddad’s Scout. I love driving that old SUV anyway. It would be like a tribute to him. You should go in your pickup. That way, we’re spread out in different vehicles. We should leave at different times, too, say in five- or ten-minute intervals.”

“I’ll leave last, hang back and bring up the rear, keep an eye out for anyone following.”

“You need to get ready. The service begins at ten-thirty.”

Despite the exhaustion that gnawed at the edges, he glanced at the men left behind to guard the ranch, their determined faces giving him a glimmer of hope.

After showering and putting on his black suit, he stood at the mirror, feeling like their killer would use this time away to wreak havoc. They couldn’t afford to make a mistake this time around. The enemy they faced was not just a murderer but a specter from the past, a shadow that loomed over their family going back—how long? Could it be years? Why was the guy making his presence felt after all this time? And what had they done to deserve such vengeance?