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?”
Ethan swallowed. “I—I don’t know.”
The officer’s expression said he didn’t believe him. “Seems targeted.”
Ethan’s mouth went dry in an instant. His palms began to feel clammy and slick. He hated how small he felt under that stern stare—like he was already guilty of something.
Carter stepped in, voice steady but edged. “He said he doesn’t know. Don’t put words in his mouth.”
Duarte straightened. “I’m just asking questions, Mr. Higgins. Part of the investigation.”
“Ask them without the attitude,” Carter shot back.
Ethan’s breath hitched. Carter wasn’t raising his voice, but the warning was clear. Protective. Solid. Like a wall between Ethan and the officer’s cold scrutiny.
Duarte exhaled through his nose. “Fine. Let’s get statements.”
They sat at the kitchen table—well, Carter sat. Ethan hovered behind him until Carter tugged a chair out with his boot.
“Sit,” Carter murmured.
Ethan did, though his leg bounced uncontrollably.
Duarte clicked his pen. “Start from when you arrived home.”
Carter spoke first, calm and direct. Ethan tried to follow his lead, but when it was his turn, his voice trembled. He hated that. Hated giving Duarte anything that looked like weakness.
“And you didn’t see anyone suspicious earlier today?” Duarte asked.
“No,” Ethan said. “We were gone all day.”
Duarte’s eyes narrowed. “You sure about that?”
A queasy feeling twisted in Ethan’s gut. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Carter leaned forward, tone dropping. “Officer, if you have a real question, ask it. Otherwise stop implying he’s lying.”
Duarte raised his voice. “I’m doing my job, Mr. Higgins.”
“And I’m protecting Ethan under my roof,” Carter said. “So do your job without treating him like a suspect.”
Silence stretched for a beat.
Duarte slammed his notebook shut. “I’ll file the report. Get a patrol to drive by tonight.”
Duarte gave Ethan one last look—cool, unreadable, but heavy enough to make Ethan’s skin crawl—then left.
The door shut.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “He hates me,” he whispered.
Carter turned to him immediately. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just an ass.”
Ethan shook his head. “No. He… he looks at me like I’m trouble. Like I deserve this.”
Carter stepped closer, gripping Ethan’s shoulders. “Listen to me. You didn’t deserve any of this. And I’m not letting anyone—cop or not—treat you like he did.”
Ethan’s eyes burned. “I’m scared, Carter.”
“I know,” Carter said. “But you’re not alone. I’m right here.”
Ethan heard the second set of tires before he saw the headlights. He held his breath for a few seconds while his stomach twisted. He already knew who it was.
The truck door slammed, and a moment later his father stepped inside without waiting to be invited. His eyes swept the room, sharp and assessing.
“What the hell happened here?” his father demanded.
Ethan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. A tightness climbed up the back of his throat.
His father’s gaze snapped at him. “Ethan, what did you do?”
Ethan flinched. “I—I didn’t—”
“He didn’t do anything,” Carter cut in, stepping forward just enough to block the line of fire. “Don’t start blaming him.”
His dad’s jaw clenched. “Someone broke in and targeted him. That doesn’t happen for no reason.”
His father’s words punched him, leaving his hands trembling.
Carter’s voice dropped, low and firm. “I said don’t blame him. He’s the victim here.”
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. Then he exhaled sharply and walked past them, heading straight for the kitchen. Ethan stayed rooted to the spot, listening to the heavy footsteps, the muttered curses, and glass crunching under boots.
Then the guest room door opened.
A beat of silence.
Then another curse—louder this time. “Jesus Christ.”
Ethan didn’t want to see it again. Didn’t want to see his clothes soaked in oil, ruined, and violated. It felt personal. It was personal.
His father came back out, face pale and furious. “They went through everything. They destroyed all his clothes not yours.”
Carter nodded. “Yeah.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, his father then reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He slid out a credit card and held it toward Carter.
“Buy him new clothes tomorrow. Whatever he needs.”
Ethan blinked. “Dad, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” Mr. Evans said, cutting him off. “This is unacceptable.”
Carter took the card without hesitation. “We’ll handle it.”
His dad looked between them, still tense. “Where were you two when this happened?”
Ethan’s breath caught. He looked at Carter, silently begging him not to mention the bikes. Not tonight. Not with everything else.
Carter didn’t miss a beat. “We went to the coast.”
He nodded slowly. “Good. I’m glad you got him out of here for the day.”
He turned to Ethan, his expression softening just a little. “I’m glad you’re okay. I think Carter has you more than covered. Just listen to him.”
Ethan swallowed. “I do.”
Carter snorted lightly. “He listens fine.”
“I called some of the guys to clean up and put a new window in.”
“Thanks,” Carter said.
His father gave a stiff nod, then headed for the door. “I’ll check in tomorrow. Lock up. Don’t open the door for anyone.”
When the door shut behind him, the cabin’s silence pressed into him. Too heavy.
“He thinks it’s my fault,” Ethan said.
Carter stepped closer, voice steady. “No. He’s scared. And when people are scared, they say stupid things. But none of this is on you.”
Ethan nodded, but the knot in his chest didn’t loosen. Not yet. But Carter’s presence—solid, steady, unshakable—kept him from falling apart.