Liv rose and hugged her, then pressed her business card in the other woman’s hand. “Promise me you’ll call if—if anything changes.”
Claudia’s gaze slid away. “I will.”
The fifty-three-year-old woman left the safe house and got into her white pearl sedan. Liv waited until Claudia turned down the next block before rushing to her vehicle and following. She didn’t think twice about tailing the other woman. Although she had the Rogers’s home address, Liv wanted to witness the couple’s reunion.
Maybe then she would believe Sam’s apology.
Maybe.
Twenty minutes later, Claudia drove into a middle-class neighborhood and slowed when she approached a navy-blue ranch with stacked stone trim. She pulled into the driveway and parked behind a black pickup with an SAR Performance logo on the passenger side door.
Liv’s vehicle crept forward for a few more feet before stopping next to the curb.
The moment Claudia exited her car, a salt-and-pepper–haired man rushed out of the house, a severe expression on his face. Claudia froze near the trunk of her car, and Liv’s fingers tensed on the steering wheel.
Another man with dark-blond hair emerged from the house. This one was in his late twenties, early thirties. He had the same stocky build as the older guy. Must be Claudia’s son, Alan.
Sam wrapped his arms around Claudia and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She stood still for several seconds before she hugged her husband back with equal ferocity.
The younger man held back, watching the couple until finally Sam and Claudia, arm-in-arm, disappeared into the house. Liv waited for the relief to hit her.
It didn’t.
A sick, coiling dread continued to slither inside her stomach.
Alan shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark blue uniform pants and trailed after his parents.