He walked around the table and hugged her. Ethan had not done that since he was six.
“We’re okay,” she whispered.
He didn’t agree. He didn’t disagree. He just held on tighter.
That afternoon Naomi called from a blocked number.
“Did you read everything?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You said that already.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
Then Naomi asked, “Has anyone come by the house? Any cars sitting too long? Anyone asking questions?”
Claire said no.
“Good,” Naomi said. “But listen carefully. Some debts die slower than others.”
Three days later Claire learned exactly what that meant.
It was raining hard when she turned onto her street with Ethan and Lily in the back seat. A black sedan sat across from the house. Not enough, by itself, to panic. Then the driver looked up.
Broad shoulders. Shaved head. A face too calm to belong there.
He got out as she parked. Moved like someone who didn’t believe in consequences.
Claire rolled down the window an inch.
“Can I help you?”
His smile was almost polite.
“Depends. You Mrs. Benson?”
“No.”
He glanced toward the children. “Pretty house.”
She said nothing.
“I’m looking for Ryan.”
“Wrong place.”
He leaned in slightly. “Funny. I heard otherwise.”