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He held up a pistol. “Yours?”
“Yes.” She bit out the word, holding out her hand. He understood. Losing a service weapon had to be an agent’s worst nightmare.
He handed over the gun, and she slid it into her underarm shoulder holster.
“What are we up against?” he asked.
“I haven’t been inside the house, so I don’t know the layout. It’s a ranch, probably built in the seventies. Based on the size, I’d say two or three bedrooms.”
“Basement?”
“Unknown, but he,” she jerked her head to the backseat, “gives off the creepy lives-belowstairs-vibe.” She stared at the road ahead for a long moment. “I keep replaying my conversations with Claudia, trying to remember if she gave any indication of being afraid of her son. My focus had been on her husband. It never occurred to me she could have feared her entire family.”
“Why would you, Liv, unless she told you?”
“I’m trained to pick up nuances the average person wouldn’t, trained to dig around in the dirt until I uncover the root.”
“You might not have discovered everything wrong in the Rogers’s household, but you figured out enough to get Claudia out of there. You couldn’t have predicted the son would unhinge and threaten your family.”
They drove in silence for the rest of the ride. A few houses from their destination, Liv slammed on the brakes and let out a sharp curse.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Rogers’s truck is in the driveway.” She edged to the side of the road, pulled up her phone contacts, and tapped a name.
“Who are you calling?”
Before she could answer, the line connected on the other side. “Detective Schuler.”
“Marissa, it’s Olivia Westcott. Sorry to be abrupt, but can you tell me if anyone has contacted the police from 1421 Englewood Drive?”
“Is this about your sister?”
“Yes, I’ve apprehended Alan Rogers, Sam Rogers’s son. He’s the one behind the attacks and he all but admitted that he has Callie. I need to determine if his father is also involved. His vehicle is in the driveway.”
“Give me a second. I’ll get some uniforms headed your way.”
Zeke took the opportunity to send a quick update to Ash and his team. Within seconds, Ash responded. ETA 10 minutes.
Their eyes remained fixed on the navy-blue single-story home and silver F-150 while they waited for the detective to return.
Zeke dropped the bloody leggings and curled his hand over Liv’s. Her fingers were like icicles, yet her palm was damp. He tried to infuse reassurance into his grip, but he suspected the only thing that would accomplish that feat was for Liv to see that her sister was safe and unharmed.
“He knows,” she predicted.
Zeke squeezed her hand in agreement. The moment he saw the dad’s truck in the driveway and zero red-and-blue lights bouncing off the aluminum siding, a sickness had gripped his stomach. In this case, the apple had not only fallen directly beneath the tree, it had rooted and grown into something far more insidious than its parent.
Or had it?
