They stepped into the house and Mason waited for Bingo to come do his skittering welcome-home happy-dog dance across the wood floor.

No dog.

“Bingo?” Ava called as she unwrapped the scarf from her neck. “Jeez. It’s freezing in here.”

She was right, but Mason could hear the furnace running. Did the pilot light go out? It was rare but it happened. “Bingo!”

A distant bark drew him through the house to the rear door in the kitchen. Bingo was on the back deck, barking to be let in. Someone had slid the short bookshelf from his dining nook in front of the doggie door, effectively blocking it. Three of the small glass panes in the upper half of the door were shattered, letting in the icy air. Mason drew his weapon.

Someone has been in my house.

He quietly moved out of the kitchen and gazed down the hallway to the three bedrooms and two bathrooms. His house wasn’t big. One level. And he’d already seen that the living areas were clear. His ears strained as he listened for someone moving in a bedroom.

“Mason?” Ava froze, spotting him focused down the hall. She was beside him in a split second, her weapon ready. “What happened?” she asked quietly.

“Bingo’s doggie door is blocked from inside. Someone broke the glass to get inside.”

“Can you hear anything?” she asked softly.

“No.”

He listened for another five seconds. “Hey!” he said loudly. “You’ve made the stupid mistake of breaking into the home of a police officer who has his weapon aimed your way. Come out of the room backward. Hands where I can see them.”

Silence.

He repeated his order.

Blood pounding in his head, he started to move down the hall. Ava followed.

One bathroom checked. Two bedrooms checked.

The door to his master suite was closed. “God damn it,” he whispered, staring at the hollow core door. It was always open. Hugging the wall, he reached across the door, turned the handle, and pushed the door open. It silently swung in and the mirror above his dresser reflected a view of an empty room. Minus his big-screen TV.

He exhaled.

A quick check of the bathroom and closet and under the bed confirmed that no one was in his home.

He stared at the empty TV brackets on the wall, his mouth in a tight line.

Call the police.

“Shit,” swore Ava. She opened the nightstand drawer on her side of the bed. “My necklace is gone. The one with a ring on the chain. It was my mother’s. It wasn’t worth much but it’s all . . .” Her voice trailed off and an odd look crossed her face.

“What is it?”

“Jayne took it,” she said matter-of-factly. She’d wiped all emotion from her face. “If I find out she sold it . . .”

“You think she did this?” Would Ava’s sister break into a home just to take a necklace? His gaze went back to the empty wall. And a TV?

“How’d she know where I was staying? Oh, dammit. I need to go check my own place. Fuck! I wonder what she’s done there!” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “She doesn’t understand that you don’t steal! Not from anyone! But God damn it, you really don’t steal from your sister!”

She was shaking. Mason crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. “We can’t be certain it was her. Besides, you know she’s not right in the head.”

“I know! But it still hurts! I need to fix it. She can’t live like this! She’s obviously with someone who’s pressuring her to come up with money. She couldn’t have taken your TV alone; someone was with her. It’s the drugs. She’s using again and now she’s stealing to support her habit. I’ve got to get her back in rehab.”

Mason doubted rehab was the answer. Ava had already paid twice for her twin to attend with no results. “Let’s make a police report and let them deal with it. Do you have a neighbor you can call to check your windows and doors first?”

“Yes.” Ava pulled out her phone and wiped her nose. “Dammit, she makes me so angry!”

Mason kissed her cheek. He placed a call to the non-emergency police number and reported the break-in. He slipped on some vinyl gloves and did a quick check of his own drawers and the closet. Someone had emptied his mug of loose change and clearly rooted through his clothing, searching for hidden treasure. A series of impatient barks drew him back to the kitchen. He snapped a few photos of the broken glass on the floor and then swept and vacuumed the area. He wasn’t concerned about destroying this particular evidence; he primarily didn’t want to pick glass out of Bingo’s paws. The criminals had left plenty of other evidence behind.

He finally let in the demanding dog. “Some protector you turned out to be.” He scratched at the dog’s ears. “I bet you welcomed them.”

He’d thought twice before installing the doggie door, but with his schedule, he couldn’t leave the dog inside all day. He’d bought the smallest door Bingo could fit through. Only a four-year-old could have broken in using the pet door.

But I bet they tried it first. He smiled. There were probably prints all over the frame of the flap. Had his criminals been smart enough to wear gloves? He’d know soon enough.

Ava stepped into the room and Bingo stood on his hind legs, placing his paws on her stomach, begging for attention. She rubbed his chest. “Not a guard dog, are you?” She looked at Mason. “Ready to install that alarm system yet?”