Finally, the Apple House came into view. The floodlights on the eastern side were still blazing and guided us like a lighthouse on a rocky shore. I slowed the truck to a crawl, on the lookout for any movement in the dark surrounding the building.
“There!” Mac shouted, throwing an arm out and pointing to the back of the Apple House where the new berry bushes were planted.
I hit the brakes and threw the truck into park before jumping out and taking off. The figure was dressed head to toe in black and made a startled sound when they caught sight of me. They fell back, scrambling on hands and feet before I was on them, tackling them flat to the ground.
I could hear Mac racing up to where I held a squirming body face down in the grass. They landed a sharp elbow to my midsection that had me grunting out a curse, but once Mac turned a flashlight on us, they quit struggling.
“Call the cops, Mac,” I gritted out.
At my announcement, gangly limbs started moving again as the body—much smaller than mine—attempted to buck me off once more.
“Stop! Don’t call the police,” said a voice that sounded painfully young.
I froze. “Stop wiggling a minute.”
Their body complied.
I met Mac’s wide-eyed gaze briefly before heaving a sigh. “Okay, I’m going to get off you, but if you try to run, I will tackle you again AND call the cops.”
“Okay,” they said, breathing hard.
I sat back on my heels. Keeping one arm in my grasp, I urged the trespasser to roll over.
“Shit,” Mac whispered from above us. She had the flashlight shining down ontothe face of a boy, probably no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. “Aren’t you a little short for a burglar?”
The boy glared.
“What are you doing out here, kid?” I asked in frustration. This was someone who should have been in bed on a Monday night, getting ready for school the next day. Not breaking and entering.
“Nothing,” he spat. His features were hard and belligerent, but his dark eyes slid behind Mac briefly.
She followed the motion with her flashlight over to where the steady hum of fans sounded louder than normal.
My mouth dropped open at the destruction she’d revealed—strips of nylon, tattered and strewn across the muddy ground. “You killed Brad and Chad!”
The kid tried to yank his arm out of my hold, but I held tight.
“Jeff’s still standing, though,” Mac said helpfully, turning her light back on the undersized intruder, making him wince.
“Yeah, I guess we surprised you before you had a chance to cut up all of the inflatable tube men.”
“Why do you even have those?” the little delinquent asked.
“To keep away the deer,” Mac and I answered in unison.
“And why are you out here trespassing and damaging our property?” I asked. “You the paintball perpetrator too, little man?”
“I’m eighteen,” he lied indignantly.
“You better hope not, short stuff,” Mac said. “Then you’ll get tried as an adult.”
Even in the warm glare from the flashlight, he visibly paled. “Listen, it was a stupid dare, okay. I barely hurt anything. I’ll pay you back. Just don’t call the cops.”
Mac and I shared a look.
“Who dared you?” I asked.
“Just ... some kids. My friends,” he amended quickly.
