Page 77 of A Mile of Ocean

Duchess rolled her eyes. “Then do it!” she shouted. “I’ll expect him ready in five!”

She angled back to Savannah. “This isn’t over, young lady. I’ll deal with you later.” With one last glare, Duchess marched off toward the stables, her posture rigid with anger, the Winchester tucked tightly under her arm.

Savannah let out a shaky breath, her heart still pounding from the tense encounter. She watched as Cecil hurried off to tend to Zorro, knowing they had narrowly bought themselves some time. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and quickly sent a message to Trent and Tate.

But the two had already emerged from the attic, concern etched on their faces as they joined Savannah outside the stables.

“Are you okay?” Trent asked. “That was quick thinking.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Hell no. You had to come up with something to buy us time. Mentioning the financial documents was brilliant.”

Savannah nodded, her legs still shaking. “Brilliant? That wasn’t the word that came to mind when she glared at me with those daggers for eyes. Is everyone in position?”

Trent grinned. “Thanks to you, everything is good to go. Even Brent is standing by. We’re just not sure where she’s headed yet.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

They watched Duchess ride out the stable door ten minutes later and head south. Cecil texted Trent that he had hidden the tracking device in Zorro’s saddlebag as instructed.

Sitting atop Phoenix, Trent studied his mobile device, where the AirTag was set to find the precise location. “Could she be going to Turtle Ridge?”

“That’s certainly ballsy,” Tate commented, sitting astride Mermaid.

“Yeah, but it would be the last place she’d expect anyone to be watching.”

“Returning to the crime scene,” Savannah noted, riding Giselle. “That is bold, even if it is her land.”

“We need to get out ahead of her,” Trent said, kicking Phoenix into a run. “I’ll approach from the east and hide in the woods.”

“You’re not going without me,” Tate blurted out as she pushed Mermaid into a gallop. “As long as it’s close enough to capture the meeting on video. I want to hear everything they’re saying to each other.”

“You’re capturing what could turn into a murder,” Trent advised. “Duchess still has Beckett’s handgun. We’re trying to prevent anyone else from dying.”

Although Savannah couldn’t keep up, she and Giselle trailed after them, glancing around as Birk and Beckett closed in from the outer fringes of the west border.

Lucien and Brogan had left earlier, stationing themselves at their familiar patrol checkpoint where they could watch for anyone approaching from the south.

Trent galloped through the woods, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he kept his eyes fixed on Duchess from a distance. He searched for the perfect vantage point, deciding on a cluster of thick bushes where the rabbits liked to hide.

After dismounting, he tied Phoenix’s reins to a tree trunk before navigating his way through the sagebrush, where he hunkered down, his eyes fixed across the clearing. This was the same spot where his grandfather liked to watch the sunset with his wife.

Tate noticed the same thing as she tied her horse to the same tree and took a position to his right. She took out her phone, ready to video the meeting.

Trent could feel the tension as he spotted Duchess, who had now stopped her momentum and seemed to be waiting for someone to join her.

As she kept checking her watch, Trent kept checking his phone for any updates. When Lucien spotted a man walking from the southern perimeter carrying a .22, the text popped up on Trent’s device.

“Your mystery man is armed and heading your way,” Lucien texted.

“Get ready,” Trent whispered to Tate.

Through the lens of her camera phone, Tate zoomed in on the man as he approached Duchess. Intent on capturing every word exchanged between the two, she initially had trouble holding the phone steady. Eventually, she managed to frame the video, zooming in on a short, chunky man who wore a brownjacket over an ugly tan button-down western shirt, a skull bolo tie draped around his neck, and black jeans. He wore a black Stetson with a gaudy snakeskin band.

While the fifty-something man was on foot, Duchess never dismounted from Zorro. As the man drew closer, she removed the Winchester from its scabbard and placed it across her saddle horn.

“Hey, it’s me,” the man said, waving his arm in greeting. “I parked the truck at the old farmhouse off the main road like you said. I brought the .22 just like you told me. What happens next? I thought we were about ready to wrap this up. What else do you need from me?”

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