Page 2 of Ethan's Command

“Are you two okay?” Dave’s voice broke through the fog. He jogged up to them, concern etched across his face. “Pika said you were in trouble.”

Brooklyn glanced over to see the man who had shouted standing nearby, holding her purse. He stepped forward and offered it to her.

“Pika—” she broke off when her voice trembled. She cleared her throat and then said, “I can’t thank you enough. You scared them away.”

“I think you did a damn fine job of that yourself,” Pika replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That throat strike was something else. You’ve got serious moves.”

Liam looked up, pride flashing across his pale face. “My aunt has a black belt in Taekwondo.”

Brooklyn managed a brief smile for him before turning back to her rescuers. “Thank you. Both of you. I’m... profoundly grateful.”

The wail of sirens cut through the evening air, and moments later, two police cars screeched to a halt. Brooklyn let out a shaky breath, the reality of what had just happened beginning to sink in.

Four police officers approached, their boots crunching against the pavement as they stepped out of their cars. The flashing red and blue lights cast a surreal glow over the scene, making Brooklyn’s heart race all over again.

“Ma’am, are you the one who called it in?” one of the officers asked, his voice calm but professional.

Pika moved closer. “Nah, it was me.”

Brooklyn tightened her arm protectively around Liam, who trembled as he crowded close to her side. Her voice waveredwhen she explained, “We were just on the sidewalk, and the van came out of nowhere. It stopped in front of Liam, and they tried to drag him in.”

The first officer stepped closer. He was tall and muscular, his uniform fitting a little too snugly over his broad shoulders. His sharp gaze flicked between Liam and Brooklyn. “You say this van just pulled to the curb in front of your son?”

“He’s not my son—he’s my nephew,” Brooklyn corrected, her voice firmer now.

“Okay. But it pulled to the curb in front of your nephew?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone rising slightly. “They tried to pull him in.”

The officers exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. The first officer’s partner, wearing a badge that read Nakamura, stepped forward. He had a calm demeanor and a more approachable air, though his brow furrowed as he asked, “By any chance, were these guys young? Sort of looked like teenagers?”

Brooklyn hesitated, the adrenaline still bubbling through her veins. “Yes, they were. Well, at least I thought so at first. They might have been a little older than that now that I think about it,” she confirmed, her voice unsteady. “It was startling—terrifying, actually. They just grabbed Liam like he was a sack of flour. I... I have no idea why they would target him. I don’t even know how they would’ve found him. We aren’t usually around here on Tuesdays.”

The first officer, whose name tag read Peterson, crossed his arms over his broad chest. “They didn’t target him exactly,” he said, his tone matter of fact.

Brooklyn’s chest tightened, shortening her breath. “What do you mean?” she squeaked.

Dave moved closer to her, his reassuring presence a steadying force. Brooklyn glanced at him briefly before turning back to Peterson.

“We’ve had a rash of these things happening,” Peterson explained, his expression hardening. “Apparently, it’s the latest game. These teens roll up, grab a kid, drive around with them for a block or two—ten minutes tops—and then drop them off, holding them just long enough to scare the hell out of the kid. It appears to be some kind of gang initiation for the teens.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s some stupid trend they saw on TikTok or whatever social media crap they’re into these days. Anyway, it’s terrifying for the kid.” He glanced at Liam, his expression softening slightly. “But there’s no real harm done. Now, if we can find them, we’ll charge them with kidnapping. We want this to stop. But, in the end, it seems to be just a prank.”

“Peterson, we’re heading,” one of the other officers from the second car called. He gestured to his radio. Peterson nodded and then turned back to face them.

No harm done? What kind of BS was that? Brooklyn tightened her hold on Liam and glared at Peterson. “This isn’t a game!” she snapped. “It was terrifying—for me and for Liam. Don’t you want us to at least look at some pictures or sit with a sketch artist?”

Peterson smirked, clearly amused by her outburst. “Somebody watches too much TV. We don’t have that kind of manpower here. We don’t keep a sketch artist on hand. If you want to whip something up yourself or know someone who can, that’d be great. In the meantime, we’ll pull CCTV and security camera footage to see if we can figure out what kind of van it was.”

“It was a white Chevrolet Express Cargo van,” Liam said quietly, his voice trembling but certain. “Older model, probably early 2010s.”

Peterson raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “That’s awfully specific. You sure about that?”

Liam nodded, his chin lifting slightly. “I’m into cars. I recognized it. I even have one in my collection.”

Peterson snorted. “You still play with cars?”

Liam’s face turned red. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “I have a car collection.”

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