Page 82 of Boss and Brat

Ethan hopped out beside him, still riding the high of the day, but Carter lifted a hand. “Hold up.”

Ethan froze instantly.

Carter scanned the tree line, the porch, the windows. Nothing obvious. No footprints he could see from here. But the feeling wouldn’t leave him.

He walked the perimeter, boots crunching over gravel. The back of the cabin looked untouched. The shed was locked. The fence was fine. Everything looked normal. Didn’t feel normal.

He came back around to Ethan, who was shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Perimeter’s clear,” Carter said. “But stay by the door. I’m checking inside first.”

Ethan nodded, swallowing hard.

Carter unlocked the front door and slowly stepped inside, hand hovering near the knife clipped to his belt. The living room was exactly how they’d left it. Blankets on the couch, boots by the wall, and the TV remote on the coffee table.

He exhaled once. Maybe he was imagining— A soft scuff behind him. He spun around. Ethan was inside, bent over, untying his boots.

“Ethan!” Carter barked. “Stop untying them. Stay by the damn door.”

Ethan jerked upright, startled. “Sorry—I just—”

“Door,” Carter repeated, voice low and sharp.

Ethan backed up fast.

Carter moved deeper into the cabin, checking corners, checking shadows. When he walked into the kitchen, he got a sinking feeling.

Everything from inside the refrigerator was on the floor. Milk, eggs, vegetables, containers, condiments. The door hung open like someone had ripped through it in a hurry.

“Son of a—” Carter muttered.

He checked the bedrooms next. Their room was untouched. But when he opened the guest room door, a breeze hit him. The window was shattered inward. The willow tree had hidden the window from his perimeter check. Glass everywhere. Ethan’s clothes, every single item, lay in a messy heap on the floor, slick with heavy black transmission oil. The smell hit hard, metallic and bitter.

A knot formed in Carter’s chest.

They targeted him.They wanted to hurt him.

A wave of nausea washed over him, making him near vomiting. He hurried back to the living room. Ethan was standing exactly where he’d been told, hands shaking, eyes wide.

“Carter?” Ethan said. “What happened?”

Carter put a steady hand on his shoulder. “Someone broke in. They trashed the kitchen. Broke the window in the guest room. That’s how they got in. And they… went through your clothes.”

Ethan’s face drained of color. “My clothes?”

“They poured transmission oil all over ’em,” Carter said.

Ethan swayed a little, and Carter tightened his grip. “Hey. I got you. But we gotta report this.”

Ethan nodded, trembling.

Carter pulled out his phone and dialed Officer Duarte first.

The line clicked. “Officer Duarte.”

“Officer, it’s Carter Higgins,” he said, voice steady even though his pulse was hammering. “We’ve had a break-in at my cabin. Forced entry through a window. Property damage. I need someone out here.”

Duarte’s tone sharpened. “Anyone hurt?”

“No. But the place was searched. And they targeted the kid’s belongings.”