The glass door to the back porch was broken, shattered all over the kitchen floor, and the door to the garage was open, lock picks still stuck into the doorknob. Kitchen cupboards were open, dishes thrown on the ground. The fridge was open, food smashed, milk poured out. Siting on the kitchen counter was a police scanner, tuned to the emergency channel. It wasn’t something Cole owned, and he knew Noah didn’t have one, either.
