he’d dedicated years to finding. Where are you, Nash? Blake’s muscles tensed as another terrible thought came to mind. “We need to go.”
“What? Why?” Marissa followed him back down the trail at a clip. “What’s happening? Did you find something?”
Blake slowed his pace by a fraction, adjusting for her shorter gait. “When was the last time you were home?”
“This morning. I left around five.”
He furrowed his brow. “The rose petals.”
“You want to see if he left them on my doorstep.” She bobbed her head in understanding. “Well, that’s completely terrifying.”
Blake slowed further. “You should probably pack a bag while we’re there and make plans to stay with family for a few nights.”
“Do you really think he’d come for me again? He has to know you’re on to him. It was broadcast on the news.”
“He’ll come.”
“But you were standing right beside me on the air.”
“Exactly.”
Marissa marched silently for several paces. “Fine, but I’m not dragging my family into this. I’ll stay somewhere else.”
Blake’s eyes widened. “Haven’t you told them what’s happening?”
“Of course.” She’d called her parents the minute she’d arrived at the sheriff’s department and again while Blake had organized his team. “I told them everything I knew this morning, which was that a lunatic nearly abducted me in the park. Then, I filled them in on the possibility of a fugitive at large and warned my sister to stay out of the park. Dad caught the news, so he knows I’m with you. My sister’s been checking in by text every hour or so to make sure I’m still out here. Still safe.”
Blake scowled. “So, stay with them.”
“And paint a big red X on their door? No thank you. I’m not leading a psychopath straight to my family.”
“Well, you can’t stay at your place.”
“Fine, but I won’t stay with my parents or sister either. That’ll have to be good enough.” Five quiet miles later, she hooked a left at the trail’s base and headed for the parking lot.
Blake fired up his truck and followed her older model mud-soaked Jeep down the county road through town at just over the speed limit until houses faded into farms and farms gave way to forest. She slowed at a partially hidden drive and turned onto a narrow gravel road. His truck bounced and rocked along behind her for several minutes before a small clearing came into view.
A log cabin was situated among the trees with a portion of somewhat flat land serving as her front and back yards. Flower baskets and wind chimes hung from the porch roof and a pair of rocking chairs stood sentinel beside the door.
He met her on the porch, gun drawn. No rose petals, but the front window was open, leaving her sheer white curtains to flutter.
“Do you normally leave this open?”
“No.” Marissa’s fearful gaze was latched to the parted window frame. “I always check the windows before bed, and I didn’t open any this morning.”
Blake ran cautious fingertips around the wooden trim, stopping at the first patch of splintering, a discreet but telltale sign of tampering. He sent a text to West. They needed a deputy for fingerprints. Normally, he’d suggest the deputy talk to Marissa’s neighbors, but she didn’t have any.
Marissa lifted her house key on trembling fingers, and he slid it into the still locked door. With any luck, Nash was hunkered down inside, feeling overly confident and about to be reunited with his maker.
He raised a flat palm between them. “Wait here.”
Marissa followed him inside and pulled the door shut.
He gave her a warning look. “I told you to wait outside.”
Her pale skin and flushed cheeks said what she wouldn’t. Marissa was scared.
Blake’s need for vengeance warred momentarily with his desire to erase the terrified expression from her face. “Stay close.”
She crossed the floor on silent feet, thanking him with wide blue eyes. Her small pink lips were pressed tight. He cleared the front room and kitchen, then crept into the narrow hallway separating her living space from the rest of the home. So far, every window in the house was open.
“What was that?” Marissa pressed her fingers against his waist.
Blake froze as something moved in the next room. He set his hand on the doorknob and motioned Marissa to step back. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers from the fabric of his shirt and inched away. With the flick of Blake’s wrist, the door flung open, and he rushed inside. “Clear.” Blake was alone in a brightly colored utility room, surrounded by murals of birds in trees and yellow rays of sunshine.
Marissa poked her head into the room. “Nothing?”
The curtain ruffled, and she jumped. White eyelet lace rubbed the curled pages of a worn paperback on the sill.
Blake pushed the fabric aside for a look into the backyard. “How many more rooms?”
“Three. A bathroom next door and two bedrooms across the hall.”
They moved in tandem through the next two rooms, both small, cheerfully decorated and void of Nash. The last door was several paces beyond the others and closed. Marissa gasped. “I didn’t close that door.”
Blake squared his shoulders, and Marissa fell back again. He shoved the final door open, and a slew of swear words lodged on his tongue.
Marissa padded into the room a moment later. “Oh, no.”
A wedding veil was strewn across Marissa’s bed and surrounded by hundreds of white rose petals. The soft scent raised bile in Blake’s throat.
Marissa curved one hand over her mouth and pressed the other to her stomach, as if she might be sick.
Without thinking, he pulled her against his chest and wound protective arms around her back. She curled against him and buried her face into her palms. Warmth and resolve blew through him in a powerful gale. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to see to it.”
His phone buzzed, and Marissa stepped aside. A text message from West confirmed that a deputy was on his way with a print kit for the window.
Blake snapped a photo of Marissa’s bed, then texted it to his team and brothers. They were going to need more than a print kit.
“Can you tell me if anything else was altered, missing or left behind?” He moved methodically through the room in search of something that could lead him to Nash.
Marissa scrutinized the room, moving slowly from closet to night stand and dresser before creeping softly toward the bed. “Just this,” she whispered, as if she might wake the sleeping veil. “Why would he do this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he hoped to meet you back here.” He regretted the words immediately and hated Nash all the more for the truth behind them.
Her eyes widened in horror. “Meet me back here for what?”
Blake’s tongue seemed to swell as a line of horrific ideas presented themselves. Too many years on the job and in the military had irrevocably polluted his thoughts. Now, he saw danger everywhere.
Marissa backed away from the bed and freed a duffel bag from her closet. “He came here after I got away.”
“Yes.” Blake swallowed a brick of regret. If only he’d shot Nash when he’d had the chance.
“We were looking for him at the park, and he was here.”
The words, I’m sorry, filled Blake’s