Chapter 66
Chapter
Sixty-Six
Wren spotted the house at the end of a narrow gravel road.
There were no neighboring houses. No cars in the drive. Nothing that said anyone was there.
Nash stopped at the edge of the property and killed the engine.
Before they got out, his phone rang. It was Prine.
“Jacob’s not at his house,” she told him. “His car is gone.”
“I just got to the other location,” he told her.
“Is he there?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Proceed carefully. One other thing. I had one of my guys look more into Jacob. Turns out he does have one relative in this area. Paige Callahan.”
Wren sucked in a breath at the words.
“Roy Callahan’s niece?” Nash repeated, looking at Wren. “That Paige?”
“That’s the one.”
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.
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.
Someone had fed Mason here. He had no doubt about it now.
Nash motioned for Wren to stay close as they moved toward the hallway.
Two doors stood open.
The first led to a bathroom.
The second was an empty bedroom with a bare mattress propped against one wall.
No Mason.
Nash reached the stairs and paused, listening.
Nothing.
Then he heard a faint thump.
Wren heard the sound and grabbed Nash’s arm. She pointed toward the back of the house.
Another sound came.
Not upstairs but down the hall.
A third door stood at the end of the hallway.
They rushed toward it. Something scraped on the other side.
Before Nash could stop her, Wren jerked open the door. It was a small closet, dark inside.
“Mom?” a small voice said.
Wren gasped. “Mason!”
Mason was curled in the corner inside, his knees pulled against his chest.
For a second, he only stared.
Then he scrambled to his feet. “Mom!”
Wren dropped to her knees and caught him. Tears poured down her cheeks as she held him.
It was Mason. He was okay!
His arms locked around her neck, and she buried her face against his hair, breathing in his little boy scent.
“I knew you’d find me.” His voice broke against her shoulder.
Wren held him tighter. “I’ll always find you.”
Mason was warm. Alive. Here.
Thank You, Jesus!
She pulled back just enough to study his face. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head. “No, I just missed you.”
Wren gathered him against her again.
Then Mason’s arms tightened around her.
“Mom.” Something in his voice changed.
Wren lifted her head.
A shadow stretched across the floor behind them.
She turned.
Jacob stood in the doorway.