Page 135 of Weight of Guilt

He shook his head in disbelief. “She did mention some cousins from Ohio.”

“That’s where Jacob moved from several years ago.”

“Good to know.”

“We’re on our way to you,” Prine said. “In the meantime, be careful.”

“I will.” Nash ended the call.

As soon as he did, Wren opened her door, about to climb out.

He caught her arm. “Wren.”

She turned back toward him and felt the fire in her gaze. “I’m not going inside. I just want to look.”

His gaze held hers. “Then let me go first.”

“Fine.” She pulled free and climbed out.

Nash muttered something under his breath and followed.

The place was larger than she expected. Two stories, with gray siding and a porch wrapping around one side.

A FOR SALE sign leaned crooked near the road.

Nothing moved behind the windows.

Wren crossed the yard, her attention fixed on the house.

If Mason was in there . . .

She couldn’t let herself finish the thought.

She climbed the first porch step.

Nash caught her shoulder. “That’s far enough.”

“I need to see inside.”

“You can see from here.”

“No, I can’t.” Wren moved to the front window and cupped her hands around her eyes, blocking the glare.

The living room was dim, but enough light filtered through the windows for her to make out the furniture. A couch. Two chairs. Boxes stacked along one wall. A blanket crumpled over the arm of the sofa.

Her gaze moved across the room.

Then stopped.

Something yellow caught her eye.

Her pulse kicked.

Wren shifted closer to the glass, trying to get a better angle.

That’s when she realized what she was looking at.

A backpack rested on the couch.