Page 18 of Weight of Guilt

“Luke would be obligated to report this,” Wren said. “If he reports Christian’s reappearance, what if it becomes national news? I don’t want that scrutiny yet.”

“Me neither,” Nora agreed.

“But Nash wouldn’t be obligated to report anything. At least, I don’t think he would be. He has experience investigating crimes. He would know what questions to ask. We need more information before we involve the sheriff.”

“Are you sure you can trust Nash?” Nora narrowed her eyes. “You’ve said yourself he’s barely civil most days.”

“No,” Wren admitted. “I’m not sure at all. But he’s the closest thing to an expert we have, and he isn’t emotionally wrecked by all of this. Right now, that makes him our best option.”

Nora studied her, then nodded once. “Okay. Fine. Go. It should just be you, not all of us. I want to be here when Christian wakes up. And I need to find some clean clothes for him.”

Wren nodded and stood. She hoped she wouldn’t regret this.

Nash had spent the time since he’d left his neighbors’ trying to read. And by trying, he meant he’d read the same page of a paperback four times. He couldn’t stop thinking about what might be going on next door—which was entirely none of his business.

Then he heard a footstep on his porch. Tank did also, and the dog jumped up.

Someone was here.

Nash put his paperback down, strode to the door, and peered out the peephole.

His neighbor stood on his porch, her hair coming loose from her ponytail.

Nash’s chest twisted in an entirely too complicated way at the sight of her.

He opened the door and pushed the feeling down before asking, “Everything okay?”

She extended her hand. “We haven’t formally met each other. I’m Wren.”

He loosened his muscles enough to return the handshake. “Nash. Nice to meet you.”

“I know we’ve had a rough start, but I was hoping for a do-over.”

“Do-overs are always good.” However, he couldn’t help but think she had an angle.

“Thank you.” She swallowed hard. “I know I’m being forward, but can I come in? I really need to talk to you about something.”

He stepped back to let her through, and Tank trotted over to investigate her hands for treats she didn’t have.

Nash caught the way she took in the cabin’s interior. He couldn’t quite place her expression. If he had to guess, it was something between surprise and reassessment.

“What can I say?” he muttered. “It’s a bachelor pad. Sorry about the mess.”

“There’s no mess.” She glanced around again—at the clean lines, the leather couch, the framed prints someone had clearly chosen with intention. “This is actually really nice.”

“Yeah, well.” He shut the door behind her, Tank already settling back into his spot by the fireplace. “I didn’t decorate. You can thank Susanna for that. I’m just a renter with decent luck.”

Susanna Newton managed the property for the Pruitts, and he could only assume Wren might know her.

His words earned him something closer to a real—but brief—smile. “I know they did a renovation on this a few months ago, hoping to attract someone to the property.”

“Looks like I came at just the right time.” He moved toward the kitchen. “Water or coffee?”

“Water’s fine.” She sank onto the edge of the couch, perched like she wasn’t sure if she was staying long.

Nash brought two glasses back and sat in the chair across from her. Then he waited for her to start.

She turned the glass in her hands for a minute before she finally spoke. “You’re a detective.”