Page 82 of Baited

Nothing.

He breezed through the kitchen and checked the back door. The dead bolt remained latched tightly as he’d left it this morning. His shoulders sank and he lowered his weapon to rub the palm of his hand over his eyes. Jesus Christ. She was gone. He didn’t have to wait for Nate to tell him the bedrooms were empty, his instincts rang through him, washing away his hope. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in deep, angry breaths.

He’d kill him. From his time at the FBI, he knew that if a victim wasn’t found within hours of an abduction—they wouldn’t be. A growl erupted deep from his chest.

He wouldn’t let that happen. He charged through the living area and checked the windows. No sign of a struggle or forced entry.

Not a damn thing.

Frustration stung the back of his eyes.

Nate came out of the spare room and met him in the hall. Deep shadows hung beneath his eyes and he shook his head.

“I can’t find any sign of forced entry,” Ethan said. His tone had dropped to the level of bleakness that was settling around him like a thick cloud of smoke.

Nate nodded. “With the door ajar like that, I’d say someone came and she opened it.”

Ethan forced the clutches of despair from around his throat and swallowed. He needed to focus, to use his damn head and think, not fall into the pit of hopelessness that kept sucking at his ankles.

“Why the hell did she come back here? She should have gone to work, it doesn’t make sense. And how could he have taken her from her doorstep in broad daylight?”

Nate cupped the back of his neck with his palm and blew out a breath. “She must have gone with someone—”

He shook his head. “No. She’s not stupid.”

“I didn’t say that,” Nate held out his hand. “Hell, it could have been anyone. We have no fucking clue at this point, so if it’s someone she truly believed wasn’t a threat then maybe she would have. And don’t forget she left her purse. That indicates she was planning on returning.”

“You’re right.” He scrubbed his face with his palms, wishing to hell he could turn back time and make her wait for him atBrian’s. Ethan led the way to the front door and he stopped when he reached the entryway.

His gaze landed on the area rug of mosaic shapes as he tucked his Glock at the small of his back. Something was missing…

Her shoes.

“Her shoes and car are gone, but she left her purse and the front door ajar. She wouldn’t have left the house without her purse, nor would she not have locked up.” His thumb ran over the pads of his fingers. Someone must have come to the door. Someone she would have left with, and had let her guard down for.

But who? Who could have sidelined her?

“Maybe she was looking for something. She could have run next door to your place. Let’s go check there.”

Ethan yanked the door open and shut it firmly behind him. Who the hell could have taken her right off her porch? He had to talk to the neighbors, maybe someone had seen something, even a vehicle description would be helpful at this point.

His gaze lingered on the porch and walkway, then over the grass. Not a thing jumped out at him. No clue, no breadcrumb…fuck all.

He dug his keys out of his pants pocket and preceded Nate up the steps. He gripped the handle and shoved the wooden door with his shoulder first—it didn’t budge. Hope deflated in his chest with the force of a popped balloon. He inserted the key and swung the door open.

“Riley!” he called, his voice boomed through the kitchen and to the back of the house. He didn’t bother kicking his shoes off and his feet scuffed across the linoleum. The blinds were drawn tight, blocking out the natural sunlight that normally filled the house.

He never shut the blinds this morning.

His senses prickled and his skin puckered at the back of his neck. He scanned the quarters around him and made his way further into the kitchen.

She had to be here.

Please, god—

The scent of rotten eggs reached his nostrils and he crinkled his nose. What the hell? He extended his hand along the kitchen wall just outside the living room, groping for the light switch.

“Ethan, get back!” Nate gripped his bicep and barreled him to the front door. His rough hands shoved at his back until he careened down the porch steps. The hard, unrelenting concrete walkway slammed into his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. A low ring from the house’s landline on the kitchen counter carried through the open window.

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