Page 83 of Boss and Brat

“On my way,” Duarte said. “Twenty minutes. Don’t touch anything.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

He hung up and immediately dialed Mr. Evans.

The man answered on the second ring. “Carter? Everything alright?”

“No, sir,” Carter said. “Someone broke into the cabin. They trashed the kitchen and destroyed Ethan’s clothes. Looks like they came in through the guest room window.”

Silence. Then Mr. Evans’ voice, tight and furious. “They what?”

“You heard me,” Carter said. “I reported it. Officer Duarte’s on his way.”

“I’m coming over,” Mr. Evans said. “I want to see this myself.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m coming,” he repeated, tone leaving no room for argument. “Ten minutes.” The call ended.

Carter slipped his phone into his pocket and turned back to Ethan, who was shaking so hard his teeth were almost chattering.

Carter stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Hey. Look at me.”

Ethan lifted his eyes, scared and small in a way that punched Carter right in the chest.

“Don’t worry,” Carter said. “I’m right here. No one’s getting near you again.”

Ethan nodded, but his breath hitched.

Carter pulled him in, one arm around his shoulders, grounding him. “We’ll handle this. Together.”

And as Ethan leaned into him, trembling, Carter felt something fierce settle in his gut. Whoever did this had crossed a line. And Carter wasn’t letting it happen again.

Chapter Thirty

Ethan heard the crunch of tires on gravel before he saw the headlights sweep across the yard. A deep, unsettling unease began to stir within him, slow and powerful. Officer Duarte’s cruiser rolled to a stop, and the man stepped out with that same stiff, unreadable posture he always had around Ethan. Except Ethan felt it—felt the coldness, the judgment, the quiet dislike that clung to the man like a second uniform.

Carter opened the door before Duarte could knock. “Evening, Officer.”

Duarte nodded once. “Where’s the damage?”

Carter gestured for him to come in. Ethan kept himself pressed against the wall, his arms a tight embrace around his chest. He didn’t want to be near the man, but he didn’t want to look scared either.

Duarte’s eyes flashed to him anyway, sharp, assessing, disapproving.

A heavy pressure settled in Ethan’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

Carter must’ve noticed, because he stepped slightly in front of Ethan, blocking the line of sight. “Kitchen first,” Carter said. “Then the guest room.”

They walked through the cabin. Duarte crouched by the refrigerator mess, jotting notes. “Forced entry?” he asked.

“Guest room window,” Carter said.

Duarte moved on, glass crunching under his boots. When he saw the destroyed clothes, he let out a low whistle. “Transmission oil. Someone wanted to send a message.”

Ethan flinched.

Duarte’s gaze slid to him again. “You got some new enemies, kid?”