Chapter 27
Dean
I knew better than to leave her—especially after my instincts screamed that something was wrong. My intuition has never steered me wrong before, so why the fuck did I ignore it today? I no sooner got onto the main road when I turned the truck around. By the time I did, she called.
The panic in Grace’s voice is something I never want to hear again.
My best cabin has been flooded. That problem doesn’t faze me at all. Not like it should. Because it doesn’t mean shit to the real threat, which is that someone was sneaking around my girl’s cabin in the middle of the night.
Working down the list of possible, reasonable explanations, I dial Nick.
“Hey, man. You on your way yet?”
“Had to turn back. Someone was at Grace’s cabin last night.”
“Wasn’t us.” Nick, Conner, and Taylor had driven up to my place to help me set things up last night for my date. “Didn’t see anything out of the ordinary either, but to be honest, I wasn’t really looking.”
I figured that was the case. “She said the cabin’s flooded. ”
“Pipes burst from the storm, maybe?”
“Maybe.”
“Damn.” The disappointment in his voice reflects how I feel. “I’ll come take a look as soon as I’m done here.”
“I appreciate it.” I pull up to the cabin and hop out, leaving the truck running with the heat on for Oscar’s sake. My boots pound up the front steps and Grace automatically opens the door. Her eyes are big, cheeks red. She’s been crying.
“Come here.” Dragging her in for a bear hug, I hold her tight. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay! Bryson had to have done this.”
Her accusation is the same one echoing in my head, but that’s a big jump to make.
“Show me the boot prints.” Because where I’m standing, I don’t see any.
She leads me around the left side of the porch. And yeah. There they are.
“This is all my fault,” she says, a slight tremble in her tone. “I pissed him off and he retaliated.”
I don’t know what’ll be worse, if this is the only cabin wrecked, which means she was targeted, or if all my cabins have suffered the same fate, and this is just the first one we’ve seen.
One problem at a time .
First, I have to check the other cabins.
“Are you sure they’re not your boots?” I ask.
“Not the same tread. And the ones I wore last week didn’t leave prints. There wasn’t enough snow for that.”
My girl is incredibly observant. And now I’m more obliged to believe we’ve got a sabotage situation, instead of a freak accident .
“I need to check the other cabins.”
Grace stays close as I trek through the snow and enter the next one.
And the one after that.
And the one after that.
“I can’t believe this.” Grace is seething, just like me. “Every. Fucking. Cabin. Ruined.”
It’s like I’ve been told my grandfather is dying all over again. The damage has been done, and I can’t do anything to stop it. Nor do I have the means to fix it.
Life can fuck you so fast. Last night I was on top of the world. Not even twenty-four hours later, I’m about to lose everything.
“How could he have done this?” Grace asks as we make our way back to my truck. “It doesn’t look like he even tried to break in. And how would he make all the pipes bust?”
I have no idea.
The locks weren’t picked. The windows were locked. These cabins were sealed shut and there doesn’t appear to be any damage like I’d expect for a break in. It’s like a ghost came in and wreaked havoc on everything. The ground is covered in two feet of fresh snow. Beyond the porch, any tracks he made are covered.
I start to second guess everything. “Bryson doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would go through all this trouble on a night with such bad weather.”
“You don’t know him like I do. He would have waited for the perfect chance,” she explains. “And what better timing than to come here while we’re out at the Jubilee last night? He probably came when he saw us down there. The snow wasn’t deep yet, Hell, it had just started to get heavy. He could have been in and out in no time, and the snow would have covered his tracks.”
She’s onto something.
“Trust me. You learn a lot from serial killer podcasts. Psychos usually have the patience of a clam and are meticulous. Bryson’s a total psychopath.”
That only fuels my fury more. I don’t want Grace anywhere near that cocksucker. And I’m pissed that he might have come back without my knowing. If only—
“Hang on. Maybe my wildlife cameras caught something.” It’s worth a shot, right? “Get in the truck with Oscar and wait for me.”
Fury and fear war in my bloodstream as I collect the SD cards from the cameras mounted on the nearby trees. Tucking them into my pocket, I hop in the truck and shift into drive.
“What about the snowmobile?”
“We’ll come back for it.” I can’t handle the stress of Grace being on that thing right now with everything else riding my system. “I feel better having you close.”
She takes my hand and squeezes it. “If he’s on that camera, I’m calling my brothers.”
“There’s no need to drag anyone else into this fight, Grace.”
“Oh, they’re not needed for the fight.” She looks me dead in the eyes. “They’re going to have to post my motherfucking bail.”
“Son of a bitch.” The heaviness is back, weighing my shoulders down as I stare at the computer screen. The first two cameras had nothing. But this third one?
“What’s he even doing?” Grace leans in to watch Bryson carry a box. “It looks like an air fryer.”
“It’s a portable air compressor.” I have one just like it in the barn. “He blew air into the hose hookup outside the cabin, which forced air into the already cold pipes inside the house. They’re so old, it wouldn’t take much for them to blow.”
Grace’s jaw drops. “That’s diabolical.”
“It’s genius.”
And disheartening.
My girl slams her fist on the table and marches away, cussing and saying things that would make the devil proud. She disappears for a moment, and I go back to watching the video, transferring copies of each clip to my desktop and a USB stick. I have no clue what I’m going to do with this information, but I need to use it wisely.
Yes, I could call the cops.
Yes, I could submit an insurance claim.
But I want to be careful with my next steps. Bryson’s unhinged. And rich and connected. I don’t want to jeopardize Grace’s safety any more than what’s already happened. If I call the cops and submit a report, it’ll be a while before they can bring him in. Even then, he’ll post bail. I already know he has the best lawyers that money can buy. And the insurance claim will cost me in the long run. The cabins are too old, so the payout will hardly cover the bare minimum it will take to fix each one.
“No good, rotten, little dicked piece of fuck…” Grace storms down the steps with her tool belt fastened around her hips. “I’m going to skin him alive.”
Her pink hammer bounces on her leg as she storms into the kitchen and grabs a knife.
Okay. Woah. Standing up, I watch her snatch a chef’s knife. “Hold on now. That’s not—”
“Relax.” She snags the serrated bread knife next. “I’ll give him options. I’m not totally unreasonable.”
She tries to stuff them into the loops of her tool belt, but they don’t fit.
I… don’t think she’s joking.
“Grace.”
“I’m fine. Everything’s going to be fine.” She rips open a drawer and digs around for… “These are good.” She snaps my tongs twice before shoving them into her tool belt too.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look serious?”
She looks… adorably terrifying, but I’m not stupid enough to say that out loud. “You can’t kill him.”
“I’m not a murderer!” She sounds insulted. “I’m just going to torture him for a day or two. Maybe a week. Then I’ll let him crawl back home to his worthless life and keep his balls on our mantel as a souvenir.”
Jesus Christ. She means every word she’s saying .
“He came after you,” she growls, shoving a shaky finger at me. Her chin quivers. She’s trying so hard to hold her shit together and is starting to crumble. “I won’t let anyone take this place from you, Dean.”
I love her so much.
“Come here.” My hip slides along the edge of the table as I numbly make my way to her. As bad as I want to beat that motherfucker to a pulp for destroying my property, I want to kill him for ever even talking to Grace.
No other cabin had the footprints around the porch. He deliberately only looked into her windows.
I can’t imagine what he would have done had she been in there.
“You can’t show up with knives.” I say, calmly taking them from her.
“Then can I use your axe?”
That makes me chuckle.
“No, sugar.” I kiss the top of her head. “I call dibs on that one.”