Page 27 of Weight of Guilt

“Don’t be scared,” Glowworm Guy said. His voice sounded deeper now and not as much like someone his age. “This is all part of the fun.”

Christian’s heart pounded in his ears. He was being silly.

This was a game. This was fun.

Marlowe always told him he took things too seriously.

Maybe she was right.

But that didn’t make his fear go away.

Chapter

Thirteen

PRESENT DAY

Nash left Wren and her sisters clustered around Mason in the yard. He crossed the grass and headed back toward the tree line, Tank at his heels.

Maybe it was nothing, but he wanted to check out the woods again. His gut told him he needed to, and he’d learned to trust his gut.

The trees surrounding this side of his property were thicker than his own—which meant they offered more places to hide. Nash moved through the underbrush and rhododendrons, his eyes tracking the ground.

He searched the places someone might have stood if they’d wanted a clear line of sight to the Lovelesses’s yard without being seen.

Because if Christian truly had escaped an abduction, that meant someone—his abductor—might be looking for him. This person might even be keeping an eye on this house.

And if the perp was keeping an eye on the house, he—or she—might see not only Christian but Mason.

His thoughts only contained theories and worst-case scenarios, but Nash would feel better if he could see things for himself.

Tank worked ahead of him, his nose down and his tail still.

As the dog paused near a giant oak, Nash crouched beside him.

Three fallen branches near the trunk had been snapped clean. The breaks looked pale and fresh against the weathered bark around them . . . which meant the breaks were recent.

And this tree would offer the perfect vantage point to see the Lovelesses’s house. To see Christian. To see Mason and Wren.

His shoulder muscles tightened.

This wasn’t the kind of damage a storm left.

These breaks happened under the pressure of an unfamiliar weight . . . like that of a person standing there. Not Mason either. He wasn’t heavy enough.

Nash studied the ground around the branches. There were no clear footprints. The leaf litter was too thick and dry to hold a shape. But there was a flattened patch of undergrowth just beside the oak.

He turned the sight over in his mind.

The branches could mean nothing. Susanna had warned him that hikers cut through here sometimes. Most days, broken branches and flattened grass were the forest’s version of background noise.

It could also mean Christian really had stumbled through the woods, and that he’d caught onto branches in the process.

Or it could mean someone had been standing at this exact spot recently, watching this exact house.

Nash didn’t like that he couldn’t rule out any of those theories. He liked less that all three explanations left him with the same next move.

He straightened and paused.