Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
Nash was washing dishes when a sound broke the quiet outside.
Voices. Two or three. Urgency tinged each one.
He dried his hands and headed toward the door.
He’d told himself earlier that whatever was happening in that house wasn’t his business. That resolve lasted exactly as long as it took him to cross his own living room. Then he was out the door, down the steps, and jogging toward Wren’s place. Tank followed at his heels.
The voices sharpened as he drew closer. They were calling out a name, over and over.
Mason.
Nash knew that name. He’d seen the kid a handful of times. The boy was always either kicking a soccer ball or on his bike. Once he’d stopped in Nash’s driveway to inform him with total seriousness that Tank was “the coolest dog he’d ever seen.”
He’d liked the boy ever since.
Had something happened to him? Did this have anything to do with the reappearance of Christian?
His pulse jumped.
Nash came through the trees at a jog. His knee throbbed with every footfall, the old wound reminding him it hadn’t finished healing. But he didn’t slow down.
Wren stood at the edge of the woods, her face white. She called out her son’s name, traces of panic in her tone. Her sisters were behind the house doing the same.
“Wren.” He reached her, breathing hard. “I heard you yelling. What happened?”
“It’s Mason.” She glanced at Nash for only a second. “He was in the front yard. On his bike. I stepped inside for a few minutes, and then he was gone.”
“You think he took off somewhere?” Nash scanned the area for anything that didn’t belong.
“I . . . I don’t know. His bike is there, by the woods.” Her hands shook along with her voice. “He knows the rules. He’s never wandered off.”
Nash’s hands fisted at his sides as he glanced at the abandoned bike.
Wren might not admit it out loud, but she needed his help.
And there was no way Nash was walking away right now.
Bo was losing his mind.
Mason’s bike lay on its side at the edge of the woods, and her dog stood over it, barking into the trees. Not the mail-carrier bark. Not the squirrel bark. This one came from somewhere deeper in him, and he wasn’t stopping to breathe in between.
Wren called his name.
He didn’t turn around.
“Marlowe! Nora!” Her voice cracked. “I think he may have gone into the woods!”
Marlowe came around the side of the house at a dead run. Nora was already crossing the yard.
“Stay in the yard,” Nash said. “Work the barn and the outbuildings. If Mason doubled back, we don’t need three people in the trees missing him.”
No one argued.
Nora and Marlowe headed for the barn.
Wren went to the bike. It was lying where the mowed grass gave out, front wheel still turned.
“Wren.” Nash was watching her. “You with me?”
“I’m with you.” She stood and followed Nash into the woods.
The trees closed over them within twenty feet, and the temperature dropped. Bo came as far as the first row of trees and stopped.
Every few yards Wren paused, cupped her hands, and called her son’s name into the trees. Then she made herself wait five seconds before she moved again.
The woods gave nothing back. They’d always been good at keeping secrets. A little too good. Sometimes she hated them for it.
Nash worked the ground beside her, his boots crunching over pine needles and dead leaves. Every so often he crouched over a broken twig or a flattened patch of undergrowth. He’d study it, shake his head, and keep going.
More memories of searching for Christian pummeled her thoughts. Orange vests. Search and rescue dogs. Her mother’s sobs.
She pushed all of it aside. Not now. Falling apart wouldn’t find her son. She needed to stay in the present.
A branch snapped to her left. She spun toward the sound so fast her foot caught a root.
Nash grabbed her arm before she went down. “Easy. That was a deer. Not Mason.”
A zap rushed through her at her sudden nearness to Nash. She quickly pulled away, her reaction leaving her feeling even more uneasy.
“Thanks.” She hated how heat filled her cheeks.
Just ahead, sunlight broke through the canopy in scattered beams. The light threw shapes across the ground that made every stump look like a boy curled small.
Her heart lodged into her throat as panic threatened to grip her.
“Mason!” Her voice cracked wide open on the second syllable.
She had to find her son . . . because she felt certain she couldn’t live through another abduction.
Wren’s eyes raked the underbrush.
Beside her, Nash had gone still.
She almost missed it—she was still scanning the ground and the thickets. Nash wasn’t looking down at all. His head was tipped back, his eyes fixed on something above them.
“There.” He pointed up at an old oak at the property’s edge.
For one suspended second Wren’s stomach dropped before her mind caught up to what she was actually seeing. Something shifting among the branches.
Twenty feet up, wedged into the crook of where two limbs split, sat Mason. One leg dangled loose and dirt streaked down his shirt.
But he was okay. In fact, he was grinning, totally clueless about what he’d put them through.
“I found a good spot to climb up.” His grin widened with pride.
The relief hit Wren so hard her knees buckled. She caught the trunk to keep herself upright.
“Mason, I need you to get down. Now.” Her voice came out wrecked, fury and relief in equal measure.
“I’ll help you.” Nash raised his arms.
Mason climbed down a few branches before leaning into Nash’s arms. Then Nash set the boy on the ground beside Wren.
She threw her arms around him, all her anger gone.
She held him, probably too tight, breathing in the scent of dirt and little boy sweat. She didn’t even care that he squirmed against her embrace. The only thing that mattered was that he was okay.
“You scared me,” Wren murmured into his hair. “You can’t just hide from me like that. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
“I wasn’t hiding. I was climbing.” Mason pulled back, his eyes wide with confusion. “Bo wouldn’t stop barking. I couldn’t hear anything over him. It was annoying.”
She stared at him a moment, unsure what to say. She wanted to be mad, but she was so relieved he was okay.
The best thing she could do right now was to keep a level head.
Finally, she nodded. Lecturing him wouldn’t do much good right now. The important thing was that he was safe.
But the whole thing had felt close—too close.