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The first thingLiv noticed when she entered the family room was how normal it was. Accent throw pillows sat in the corners of the sofa, a big-screen TV perched on a cherry wood stand, framed pictures of Alan’s ascent to adulthood adorned the wall, and, somewhere beyond her line of sight, a fish tank gurgled and hummed.
At a glance, everything appeared clean and tidy. Then she noticed the open magazine on the sofa, the empty glass on the table beside the recliner, the layer of dust on the TV stand, and the faint scent of burned toast lingering in the air.
With Claudia gone, the men had to fend for themselves. Neither one had probably performed a domestic chore in decades, if ever. Poor babies.
They did a quick circuit of the first floor before following the sound of running water and muttered curses to a half bathroom off the kitchen. With her back to the wall, she leaned toward the edge to peer around the doorframe.
The man’s head was down, furiously washing his hands. Soapy water splattered over the rim of the white pedestal sink.
As if sensing he was no longer alone, his furious mutterings halted, and he shut off the water.
Liv met Zeke’s eyes across the opening. He nodded his readiness.
“Who’s there?” Sam Rogers asked in a low, controlled voice that carried none of the hysteria of a few seconds ago. “Alan?”
“FBI,” Liv said. “Come out with your hands above your head, Mr. Rogers.”
“What is this about?”
“Callie Thornton.”
“Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Liv drew in a breath, forcing every fear and abhorrent image her mind had conjured on the drive over into a dark corner. Although she hadn’t spotted a weapon, she wasn’t going to take any chances with Zeke standing three feet away.
“Come out of the bathroom, Mr. Rogers, and show us where you’re holding Callie.”
“Do you have a search warrant—”
“Where is Callie?” Liv shouted, her calm dissolving like a pad of butter in a hot skillet.
“There’s no one here by that name.”
“That’s not what your son told us,” Zeke said, breaking his silence. “Right before I broke his face.”
Something shattered inside the bathroom. “And you are?”
“Not the FBI.”
“Where’s my son?”
“Bleeding all over Agent Westcott’s back seat.”
A muffled crash from deep within the house reached their ears.
Callie.
Liv vibrated with the push and pull of wanting—needing—to be in two places at the same time. Was someone down there with Callie? They hadn’t known about Sam. What if someone else was helping Alan?
“I got this,” Zeke said, reading the struggle on her face.
“I can’t leave you here alone.”
“Yes, you can. Backup will be here any moment.”
“Lif, I down here!”
