The problem was I couldn't prove it.
I stood near the north fence line.
Hands in my jacket pockets.
Eyes scanning the darkness.
The ranch slept behind me.
Mostly.
Trigger was inside drinking coffee.
Saint was pretending to watch security cameras while actually stealing pie from the refrigerator.
Some things never changed.
The wind shifted.
Cold air rolled down from the mountains.
I stopped walking.
Listened.
Nothing.
No voices.
No movement.
No animals.
Just silence.
The kind of silence that felt wrong.
My instincts stirred again.
The same instincts that had kept me alive through years of Ranger deployments.
The same instincts that had gotten me home.
Slowly.
Carefully.
I lifted my binoculars.
Studied the ridge overlooking the ranch.
At first I saw nothing.
Trees.
Brush.
Darkness.
