THE SHIFTING CURRENT

  A COASTAL GUARDIANS NOVELLA

  DANI PETTREY

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 by Dani Marlene Pettrey

  Cover Design © James T. Egan of Bookfly Design

  Author Photograph by Mike Pettrey of MVP Photography

  Author is represented by Janet Grant of Books & Such Literary Management

  ISBN: 979-82118021306

  Series: Coastal Guardians ; sequel novella

  Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system now known to be invented, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who wishes to utilize brief passages in connection with a review or an article.

  For my husband

  Writing this book reminded me of our cowboy years in New Mexico. Of our fun road trips to nowhere in particular, horseback riding, and especially the day we met. I can still see you waltzing up to me in your black, felt Stetson asking me to dance.

  It’s turned out to be the dance of a lifetime. I love you beyond measure.

  PROLOGUE

  Death. It permeated her hair, her skin. She wanted to crawl out of it, but there was nowhere to go.

  Jeff depressed the accelerator to the floorboard, putting distance between her and the body. But more was required. Infinitely more.

  She feared she’d never outrun it.

  The booming ricochet of the shotgun still rang in her ears.

  Stop! She scratched at them. Why wouldn’t it stop?

  Cold slithered down her face.

  “You’re clammy.” He chucked a rag at her, but it reeked of blood.

  Her stomach churned. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth.

  “You aren’t going to hurl, are you? Amateur.”

  He flew over the hill.

  “Slow down,” she eked out. “You’ll get us pulled over.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “If you get arrested, he’ll know you didn’t follow the plan. Then you’ll be as good as dead.”

  She already was. It was just a matter of time before he figured it out and came for her.

  ONE

  Special Agent Logan Perry, of the Coast Guard Investigative Service, passed his teammate Emmalyne Thorton’s yellow Mini Cooper in the station lot. Warmth filled him despite the record low temperatures in Wilmington this winter. He loved his job. Thrived at it. But of late, he came for her. For Em.

  Opening the station door, heat wafted out. He pulled the door shut tight behind him and turned to find his boss headed straight toward him.

  “Hey, Noah. You heading out?”

  “Hey, Logan. Nope, just grabbing a file I left in the Jeep.” He glanced at his watch. “Only fifteen minutes early for shift.” He grinned. “Losing your touch, man?”

  Logan grinned back. “My touch is just fine.”

  Noah chuckled. Frigid wind whisked in as his boss stepped out.

  Slipping out of his coat, Logan glanced at Em’s desk only to find it empty.

  “Hey, Logan,” his teammate Rissi greeted him.

  “Hey, Ris. Working late?” He glanced at the clock. Her shift had ended hours ago.

  “Nah. I told Em I’d cover her shift.”

  “Oh.” His shoulders slumped of their own accord even as his curiosity surged. Em always made her shifts—their shift. Due to the compatibility of their combined skillsets, Noah partnered them together on the vast majority of cases. Together, they were nearly unstoppable at tracking down leads. On a personal level… He knew he didn’t have the right to ask for anything there, no matter how much he wanted to. But he relished every minute he got to spend with her, even if they couldn’t be anything more than coworkers and friends. “She say why she needed you to cover her shift?” he couldn’t help but ask.

  “She had a date.”

  Date? He swallowed. “Did she say with who?”

  “Nope,” Rissi said, flipping through a file on her desk. “I was in the lab with Finn when she left earlier, but I caught a glimpse of her in the hallway. She looked drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “Oh…she left from here?”

  “Yep. Said she’d be back for her car after.” A knowing smirk crossed Rissi’s face.

  Was he that obvious?

  He cleared his throat. “Time to get to work.” He settled in his desk, logged into his laptop, and tried to throw himself fully into wrapping up the paperwork from their last case, but it was nigh impossible. Em tracked through his mind.

  He glanced at the clock. 2100. Two hours and still no Emmy. Anxiety gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He had to release some restless energy. He stood and stretched. “I think I’ll get some fresh air.” He yanked his coat off the back of his chair and headed for the door.

  Stepping outside, wind slapped his cheeks, his breath clouding in the crisp night air. Frost blanketed the crunchy grass, and the exterior light illuminated a layer of snow and patches of ice across the parking lot. Thick flakes fell about his shoulders.

  Winter sea swells—perfect for surfing—were common. Snow was not. It was the first snowfall he’d experienced since he’d moved to Wilmington years ago. On any other day, that detail might have held his interest. But today? Not so much.

  He looked at his watch. 2115. How much longer could a dinner date last? And who was Emmy with? He was being ridiculous, and he knew it. He had no claim on Em. It was perfectly reasonable for her to date and to stay out with her date for as long as she pleased. He had no say in the matter, despite how deeply his heart ached for her.

  After a handful of moments, he headed back inside to his paperwork.

  Twenty grueling minutes later, the station door opened, and Emmy entered.

  Logan stared, slack-jawed, at the vision before him. His eyes widened. Em?

  Not that she wasn’t always beautiful, but tonight…her hair was elegantly arranged, with wispy tendrils caressing her neck; emerald earrings dangled from her ears, contrasting beautifully against her fair skin; light makeup highlighted her vibrant eyes and made them glow.

  He was so caught up in the sight of her that it took a second to notice she was followed by Major Burton James, in full Marine dress blues.

  “Burton?” Logan managed to mutter despite the shock roiling through him. He took in the man’s dress blues. “A Marine Corps Ball?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Burton clipped—always straight to the point. He took off his Corps-issued white hat, holding it in his equally white dress gloves. “Our command post dance.”

  Logan’s gaze flicked back to Emmy, who had taken off her coat. She looked enchanting. Her dress was the color of the water surrounding the east Indonesian island of Morotai. He had thought the jade and azure waters he’d viewed during his island escape would always be the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen, but he’d been wrong. Emmy left them in the dust.

  She turned to Burton, stepping in front of him before he could proceed any further into the station. “I had a nice time tonight. Thank you for the invite.”

  Burton dipped his head and lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company,” he said, slipping his hat back on. He swiped his hand across the black brim—the gold Marine Corps insignia in the center of the white.

  She smiled. “No, thank you.”

  “Good evening.” Burton nodded once at the group, then turned on the heel of his meticulously shined black dress shoes. He stepped out the door, snowflakes fluttering around him.

  As soon as the door shut, Logan turned to Emmy. “Burton James? Really, Em?”

  Noah cleared his throat. “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee. It’s going to be a long night. Rissi, you want to join me for a cup?”

  “Yep.” Rissi sprang from her chair and trailed Noah into the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong with Burton?” Emmy asked, frowning as she hung up her coat before turning back to him, hands on her hips. Logan’s mouth went dry. The silky material of her dress hugged her curves perfectly.

  “He’s a player.” One that rivaled Logan’s own player days.

  She exhaled. “So many adages…which to choose? Maybe…‘pot, kettle.’ Or ‘don’t throw stones.’ Or maybe just ‘it takes one to know one.’”

  That barb stung deeper than he’d anticipated. That was what she thought of him—still. That he was a player on par with Burton James. Even on his worst days, he’d always had far more respect for women than Burton.

  He closed his eyes, absorbing the pain, then opened them on an exhale.

  Please, Father, I know she would never choose me, but don’t let her choose someone so unworthy of her. Not a man like Burton James.

  His cell phone rang, yanking him from his prayer. Clearing his throat, he answered on the second ring. “Perry,” he said.


/>   “Logan, it’s Tom.”

  “Hey, Tom. It’s been a while.” At least a month since his high-school-buddy-turned-hometown-sheriff had called to chat through a case.

  “I’m afraid this isn’t a catch-up call,” Tom said, his tone uneasy, stilted.

  “What’s up?” he asked slowly, not liking the tension in his friend’s voice.

  “It’s Colt. Something…something’s happened.”

  His grandfather? Logan shook his head, bewildered. What could have happened? They’d talked just the other day. “Is he hurt?” The old man was the picture of health, but that didn’t stop accidents from happening. Had there been a car crash? A fall?

  Tom released a whoosh of air. “Man…” he said, a catch in his throat. “I don’t know how else to say this other than to shoot straight.”

  Logan frowned. “How bad is it? Is he in the hospital?”

  “No, I’m afraid it’s too late for that. Logan, your grandfather’s been murdered.”

  TWO

  Logan’s cell slipped from his hand, careening to the floor.

  “Logan?” Em hurried to his side, retrieving his phone and handing it back to him. “What’s wrong? You just went pale.”

  His throat squeezed, but he managed to choke out, “My grandpa’s been murdered.”

  A gasp escaped Em’s lips. “Oh, Logan, I’m so sorry,” she said. Rissi and Noah, now back in the main station bay, added their condolences.

  Logan lifted the phone back to his ear. “I’ll be on the next plane out,” Logan said to Tom, darting a glance at Noah, who nodded.

  “I figured. I’ll see you when you get here,” Tom said. “Send your flight info, so I know when to expect you.”

  “Will do.” Logan hung up, his brain in a haze.

  “I’ll book your ticket,” Rissi said. “Just give me your login details.”

  Logan scribbled them down.

  “Our tickets,” Em said.

  “Em, you don’t—” Logan began.

  Emmy held up a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t bother,” she said, her tone as resolute as her firm, upheld hand. “I’ve made up my mind, and we both know I won’t be changing it.” She looked to Noah. “Of course, if that’s okay with you, sir?”

  “Please,” Noah said, “you both go. Take as long as you need. Just keep us updated, and let us know if we can be of help in any way.”

  “Thanks, boss,” Em said.

  “Of course.” Noah turned to Rissi. “See if you can get them on the next plane out, even if it means we have to ride to the airport with sirens on.”

  “On it,” she said, turning to her computer.

  “Em, you can’t go without anything,” Logan said. “I have stuff there for when I visit, but you’ll need some clothes and—”

  “I’m good,” she said. “Just need five.” She hurried to the women’s locker room.

  A handful of moments later, she emerged wearing a black maxi skirt and a jade silk blouse—probably what she’d been wearing earlier before she’d changed for the ball. She also held up a duffle. “I always keep a few things here just in case.”

  “Okay,” Rissi said, spinning around in her chair. “You’re on the last flight out.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “You’d best hurry.”

  An hour and a half later, they were aboard the first leg of their flight to Silver City, New Mexico.

  He glanced over at Em settling into her seat, stashing a book she’d snagged from her desk in the seatback pocket in front of her. He was so grateful she’d come. He couldn’t explain it, but her presence always brought an inexplicable peace to his soul. But tonight, that peace warred with anguish from the devastation of losing Colt in four words. “Your grandfather’s been murdered.” The stark reality of how finite time was lodged in Logan’s throat. He shifted his gaze forward as tears burned his eyes. He couldn’t break down in front of Em. He needed to be strong for her…for Colt.

  The flight attendant handed them heated towels as they prepared for takeoff.

  He wiped his face, surprised he could feel the warmth. He’d been numb since Tom’s call. He handed it back to the attendant, thanked her, and shifted his attention back on Em.

  She reached over and placed her delicate hand atop his on the armrest separating them.

  “We’ll get whoever did this. You know that, right?” she said.

  He prayed with everything in him that that was true.

  “Logan?” Em gave his hand a gentle shake. “You know that, right?”

  He looked over at her, entwining his fingers with hers. “Together, there’s nothing we can’t do.” He believed that with his whole heart, to a far greater degree than she realized. He ached to wrap her in his arms…to hold her tight…to find comfort in her embrace—now more than ever. But he had no right to any of that.

  The engines roared and they taxied down the runway before soaring up in the sky, the pressure pushing Logan against his seat.

  He looked to Em. “You’d best get some rest. We’ve got an hour and a half before our layover in Atlanta.”

  She nodded, her eyes fluttering closed before too long.

  She looked so peaceful in sleep.

  Slipping his hand into his leather knapsack, he pulled out his book and booklight. No way he’d find sleep tonight.

  He flipped to the spot where he’d left off in Jeffery Deaver’s latest novel and clipped his booklight in place. He needed something…anything…to distract him until he could arrive home and finally be useful. He took a sharp inhale, still struggling to understand who would kill Colt.

  While he’d been deemed a crotchety, gruff man by the old biddies in town, Logan’s grandpa possessed the heart of a cowboy poet. No one so gentle and good with horses…with any animal…could truly be crotchety. The women just didn’t like his lack of conversation. Colt only spoke when there was something worth saying—and then, he was filter-free, always speaking the unvarnished truth, though without ever being judgmental or unkind. Or at least, he always had. Past tense. His grandfather—the man who had taken him in and raised him after Logan’s father had dumped him on Colt’s doorstep—now existed in the past tense.

  Logan forced his attention back to the words on the page. Focus. But it was no use. His fifth time through the first sentence, he gave up.

  Thoughts of the last time he’d seen Colt streamed through his mind. October. Good memories of the visit flooded his mind, but…Christmas. He hadn’t gone home for the first time. His chest squeezed. If he’d gone, maybe…

  Why hadn’t he gone? He exhaled. He knew exactly why. She was asleep beside him. Once he’d learned she’d be staying in town for the holidays, he hadn’t been able to resist staying with her. Seeing her face when she’d opened the gift from him had been priceless. But he could have flown home—what had been his home since he was five—the following day. Instead, he’d waited, assuming there’d be plenty of time to see Colt later. But now, time was gone.

  THREE

  Logan rested his hand on Em’s lower back, directing her through the small airport, heading outside for the rental car building at the far end of the parking lot. His steady gait hitched at the sight of the exit doors.

  “You all right?” Em asked.

  He nodded, feeling anything but.

  Every time he’d stepped out those doors, Colt had been waiting on the other side. But not today. Not ever again.

  His chest tightened as they exited the terminal, stepping out into the cold night air lingering, sunrise still a half hour away.

  His gaze anchored on the chain-link fence Colt always used to lean against, his gray felt Stetson tipped back, a wad of sunflower seeds perpetually in his right cheek ever since Mee-Maw had gotten him to stop dipping. As soon as Colt caught sight of him, he’d practically spring off the fence, welcoming him with a broad smile on his weathered face and a twinkle in his old, crinkly blue eyes.

  Logan swallowed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to think of a world without Colt in it.

  The man was a legend in more ways than one—larger than life to a young, scared boy. Larger than life to a lost, twenty-eight-year-old man.