Page 58 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

CHAPTER 25

BOONE

A couple of days later, when I step out onto the front porch in the morning, something about the angle of Rhett’s Dodge looks wrong.

It’s parked nose out, like always, because some habits never die, but instead of looking ready, it looks tired.

The front tire is flat to the rim.

My hand tightens around my mug, and I don’t move for a few seconds as instincts that have nothing to do with charm shift into place.

Then I set my coffee on the porch rail, walk down the steps, and crouch beside the tire. The slash is clean, not the sort of puncture from debris, and it’s angled to ruin the sidewall and make patching impossible. This was done by someone who knew what they were doing.

The rear tire is the same, and so are the two on the other side.

“Motherfucker.”I say it low, through gritted teeth. Not loud enough to give anyone satisfaction if they’re nearby.

There are faint marks in the gravel, but nothing I can read. I leave the area undisturbed for Cade’s careful eye.

Despite the seeming lack of evidence, one message comes through loud and clear: Turner knows where we live, and he wants us to know he can get close enough to put a blade in our truck. He wants us to think about where else he could put a blade.

The front door opens, and Wren calls for me.

I get my face under control before I turn to greet her.

She steps out in jeans and an old gray sweatshirt of mine, one of the sleeves hanging loose below her hand. Sunlight catches strands of her hair, still messy from sleep. Her eyes are soft until she sees my face, then the tires, and the color drains from her cheeks.

I hate Turner so hard right now, I can taste it in my mouth.

Rhett appears at the door. “Stay on the porch,” he tells Wren.

Wren’s eyes narrow, but I cut off the argument. “For now. We need to make sure it’s safe.”

Wren’s eyes widen as she looks at me, and I realize my tone sounded nothing like it usually does. She stays on the top step as Cade comes out and moves past her, his attention already on the truck, the tire, the gravel, and the shadow beneath the truck.

She stands watching, a hand at her throat,as Rhett and Cade inspect the damage and I pull out my phone and start documenting everything.

I keep my face calm, even when Cade determines the blade that made the cuts wasn’t a random pocketknife. It was designed for the job.

“I’m calling Sentinel,” Rhett says, stepping away.

Cade looks up from where he’s inspecting the gravel. “Atlas?”

“Yeah.”

Atlas O’Connell and a couple of other former Marines run a security business out of their compound not far from here. They’re the kind of men who don’t ask unnecessary questions.

I keep taking pictures, and Wren stays on the porch until I’m done. I know she wants to come closer, and I love that she’s choosing to stay where she is. If she read my tone correctly, she understands this isn’t about control, it’s about sequence. Secure first, and explain after.

“The shipment probably cleared,” Cade says. “Now, he has time to deal with interference.”

The icy thing in my chest gets colder. He hasn’t seen what interference looks like yet.

I force my features into something at least half-pleasant and head back to the house.

“All four are flat?” Wren asks. When I nod, she says, “You think it was Turner?”

“As far as I know, we haven’t pissed off anyone else.”