Chapter Twelve

“Kenny Millard?” Colton stared down at the pale boy being held in place by a ninety-pound dog. An egg rolled out of the kid’s hand and stopped right next to Colton’s bare feet.

He might have put on shoes before launching his attack if somebody hadn’t eaten them earlier.

“Hookuu,” he told Pudge, who stepped back with one last bark.

“Mr. Willis? This is your house?”

“It is.”

“Is that a—a gun? Are you going to shoot me? It was just a few eggs!”

“Who ran off?” Colton demanded. “Was it that Braden kid?”

“Uh…”

“Do not even try stonewalling me. You have three seconds to answer, or I call the dog back.”

“Y-yeah. It was Braden. This was all his idea.”

“Of course it was.”

Colton tucked the Glock in his waistband as the lights came on at the house next door. Mr. Simon was a great neighbor. Always kept to himself. But Colton couldn’t blame him for investigating the racket. It was the middle of the night, and it probably sounded like World War III had started on Colton’s lawn.

“There’s a hose on the side of the house,” he told Kenny. “Use it to clean up the mess, then go home. Tell your partner I want both of you at school and in my room by seven thirty on Monday morning.”

“We don’t have school on Monday.”

“Seven thirty Monday morning, or I call the cops. It’s up to you.”

“Fine. We’ll be there.” Kenny stood on wobbly legs and paused. “Do you always carry a gun?”

Colton grimaced. Damn it to hell. If he had to move because of the gun he wasn’t supposed to own, Angel would never let him live it down. But after a lifetime of carrying, he’d felt too vulnerable without a weapon. Naked.

“It’s just an air pistol,” he said. “I thought you were a burglar. Now, go home.”

Pudge barked once more to back him up. He patted his dog on the head for a job well done. Then he turned to go back in the house.

He just hoped Angel was still there.