Breadcrumbs

WILLOW

The knuckles on my right hand stung by the third knock, but still no footsteps echoed in response.

Colville was colder than I’d expected, and I tugged Connor’s hoodie tighter before stepping back on Shawna’s faded porch.

There was no movement inside, no signs of life.

I turned toward the SUV parked at the edge of the gravel driveway, where Connor stood leaning against the driver’s side door. With his arms crossed, he was all alpha intensity and quiet dread.

Two of his men, Rick and a guy with a buzz cut and silent-killer energy, waited nearby. Their eyes scanned the area like they expected someone to jump out from behind every tree, hedge, or rhododendron bush with a rocket launcher.

Shaking my head, I said, “She’s not answering,” though the unopened door had already told him that. Connor met me at the top step. “I don’t know if we got the address wrong, or…”

“We didn’t,” he said. “Josh showed Ben the footage from cameras along the highway that tracked her truck. She’d purchased gas with a credit card. Then he verified it all through DMV records. This is definitely her place.”

The other two flanked him as they approached the door. Their expressions told me there wasn’t going to be any more knocking. A quick glance was exchanged before Rick planted one heavy boot just above the handle.

The door popped open with a jolt, sending dust scattering through the air.

My jaw dropped at the sight before me. I stepped past them, my feet moving of their own accord across the sagging porch and over the shadowy threshold.

Because the house was wrecked—not messy, not lived-in. Torn apart.

Cushions were gutted. Drawers had been dumped and flung wide. Cabinet doors hung from broken hinges. A coffee mug lay shattered in a corner.

I stopped cold in the entryway, dread unfurling in my chest like a toxic bloom. “Oh, no.” My voice cracked. “They got to her. They found her first. That’s how they found me! She must’ve told them where I disappeared on her.”

The tremble in my words made everything worse. But the feeling of betrayal—knowing ~I~ had betrayed ~her~—cracked open something raw inside me.

Shawna had been kind. She’d helped me without knowing a damn thing about me. And all I knew about her was that when she saw a bleeding stranger on the side of the road, she helped, without asking questions.

That kind of person didn’t deserve this, and my guilt twisted deeper with each shaky breath.

“Do you think they killed her?” I spun toward Connor, tears gathering in my eyes. “Did she die because of me? Is that all I do—get people hurt?” And then, I fell apart.

Connor was on me in a flash, no hesitation, wrapping his arms around me. “Shh. You don’t know that.” He placed one hand on the back of my head and the other on my spine. “She’s a trucker, probably on a job. They tore the place apart ~because~ she wasn’t here.”

“But what if they—”

“Stop spiraling.” His thumb brushed away a tear after he pulled back. “Josh hasn’t stopped working. He can track her down, I promise. But we’re here now, and if they left something behind, we’ll find it. If they missed something, we’ll spot it. Okay?”

The logic behind his words comforted me. I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

He kissed my temple before releasing me. “Let’s go see what we can find.”

I let out a shaky breath, wiped my face on my sleeve, and entered the wreckage.

The air smelled stale, undisturbed for a week at least. That twisted my insides, but there were no signs of blood. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

Connor was probably right; Shawna most likely hadn’t been here when they’d trashed her place, which was why they’d done it. If she’d been here, she would’ve told them what they needed to know. They wouldn’t have had to do all this.

And if there was something here they’d left behind—a clue to their identity, anything—we were going to find it.

We had to.

CONNOR

The place reeked of desperation masked by lemon-scented floor cleaner.

Every room bore the same chaotic signature of ripped cushions, overturned furniture, and shattered glass. It was the kind of scene you’d leave behind when you weren’t afraid of consequences.

They weren’t concerned about getting caught, and that worried me.

“Spread out,” I ordered.

Rick moved down the hallway, his boots crunching over picture frames. James stalked toward what looked to be an office, long abandoned, judging by the dust.

Willow hovered near the living room, half frozen. I didn’t blame her. The energy in here was bad. Not only did the stink of violence permeate the space, but malicious intent also clung to the walls.

Someone had come here with a mission, and they might’ve completed it.

“Look for a laptop, tablet, phone,” I called out, “anything that connects to the Internet.”

“Shouldn’t we be looking for the hard drive?” Willow asked, jerking her head toward me.

“That too,” I said. “But Josh also wants us to gather the trucker’s devices. If she had a device with GPS, we might be able to get a location history. Map her route. Find where you were being held.”

Willow frowned. “Why didn’t Josh come himself?”

I peeked under the couch. Nothing but lint, a food wrapper, and a scrap of paper. “He’s busy cracking her financials. Her eighteen-wheeler has no signage, meaning she’s a freelancer. He’s trying to trace her assignments, figure out where she picked you up.”

“He thinks she picked me up along her route?” Willow looked thoughtful. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides.

“Yeah. Odds are good she wasn’t randomly out with her truck that late for a midnight joyride.” I moved toward the console table in the corner, opening drawers. “Once we find the route, Josh can pull satellite data. Highway cams. Even DOT logs if we have to.”

Inside a drawer was an old iPod, dead and sticky—useless.

“Should be easy to spot where they were holding you,” I continued.

Willow snorted from across the room. “Not if it’s underground.”

Her words made my stomach drop, and I spun to face her. “Wait. Are you serious?”

Smiling, she shrugged but didn’t answer. Her silence was heavy, but the slight curl of her lips suggested she was teasing. Hopefully. “I’m gonna go check the kitchen,” she said.

Deciding this room held no secrets, I followed her down the hallway.

The kitchen wasn’t as trashed as the rest of the house, at least at first glance. Someone had cleared the counters and taken out the garbage. It was almost as if they’d started cleaning and got lazy halfway through.

Willow took the right side of the room with the appliances and cupboards, while I took the left with the table and cabinets. I rifled through the stack of papers scattered across the table—bills, takeout menus, a grocery list.

Suddenly, a smell hit me. Fruit left too long in the sun, mixed with something coppery and sour that made my stomach clench.

“What the hell is that?” I muttered, turning around.

Willow stood rigid in front of the open fridge, her knuckles white as she gripped the handle. The fluorescent light from inside illuminated her face, which had completely drained of color. She was horrified, her eyes wide and locked on something I couldn’t see.

“Willow? What is it? What’s—” I saw her—Shawna, folded like luggage, her mouth agape, head tilted back, eyes half open, and skin already graying.