Page 136 of Weight of Guilt

A yellow backpack.

Her breath caught. “Nash.”

He was beside her almost immediately. “What?”

She pointed through the window. “That backpack. It’s Mason’s. I’m sure of it.”

Nash’s expression hardened.

Every instinct in her screamed to call Mason’s name.

Nash must have seen it on her face because he shook his head. “Don’t. If someone’s inside, we don’t want to give them any more warning than we have to.”

Wren swallowed hard and nodded. His words made sense, even if everything inside her wanted to move.

“Back up,” Nash told her.

She stepped off the porch.

Nash drove his heel into the door near the lock.

Once.

Twice.

The frame splintered.

On the third hit, the door gave.

“Mason!” Nash yelled. “Mason Loveless!”

Wren stared into the house beyond him.

Please be in there, Mason. And please be okay.

Nash stepped inside. His weapon was in a locked safe on the closet shelf at the rental, where it had been since he’d moved here.

He’d told himself that was temporary. Now, he second-guessed that decision.

Every instinct told him he and Wren were walking into a bad situation. He had no idea who was inside, whether the person was armed, or what he might do if he realized they’d found him.

But a mental clock ticked in his head.

Flashbacks of Henry’s abduction filled his thoughts. He tried to push them away. This wasn’t the time. He needed to be sharp, to give every part of his focus to this moment.

Please, Lord . . .

Nash glanced back at Wren. “Stay behind me.”

She nodded. “I will.”

Nash moved farther into the living room, taking in every doorway before advancing.

The room looked as if someone had been using it, despite the FOR SALE sign outside. Food wrappers covered the coffee table. A paper plate held half a sandwich—and it wasn’t moldy yet. A bottle of water sat open beside it.

His gaze caught on a discarded bag. Pickle-flavored sunflower seeds.

His heart kicked harder.