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“Ryan? You guys here?” Jack’s voice echoes, as do the clicks of his dress shoes on marble. Wordlessly, Ryan exits the bedroom, and I follow him out into the hallway.
“How’d it go down at the station?” Ryan asks Jack.
“The police spent this morning meeting with Sophia’s friends and faculty at the school. The chief has conceded this may not be a runaway situation. But he had a ton of questions for me. Wayne may have been right about me needing a lawyer, but…” With a shrug, he loosens his tie. “I think they eventually ran out of questions.”
“They suspect your involvement?”
He stares out the window and gives another shrug. “Asked about my whereabouts and who could confirm. It’s fine. I’m sure they have a list of steps to take. If clearing me gets them further down the list, so be it. I expect next time they’ll come to the house if they have questions instead of requiring me to go to the station. I think my leaving town this morning pissed them off.” Jack runs his fingers through his hair. He’s lost the sharpness he had earlier. Lines run across his trousers from sitting, and his shirt is no longer neatly tucked in. “Did you find anything?”
“When was the last time the cleaning service came?” I ask.
Jack’s gaze falls to me, and a flicker of bewilderment crosses his face. “Sylvia? She and her team come every weekday morning.” Jack’s brow wrinkles. “Damn.” He looks pained. “They cleaned the room.” He steps past us and peers inside. “But, seriously, even without them cleaning, Sophia kept it pretty neat. She’s not your average messy teenager.”
“With daily room service, who would be?” If a daily service came to my house, even my tiny closet might be tidy.
For the briefest of seconds, my gaze meets Ryan’s, and the corners of his lips twitch. Those icy eyes unnerve me, but if my interpretation of that slight lip movement is correct, he agrees.
I change my focus to the expansive window to avoid staring. Those light irises draw one in and make it hard to look away. It’s easy to see why his friends began calling him Wolf. Not only is it a shortened version of his surname, but his eyes match the namesake, and there’s the intimidation factor.
“Alex will photograph the space. I’ll bag Sophia’s electronics and courier them back to my team. Do you have her passwords?”
“Yes. It’s a rule we have. I have access to all of her accounts.”
“Write them all down. My team will split them up and go through everything. Your security cameras. Where does the footage go?”
“I hire a company. It’s not monitored, only recorded. If an alarm goes off, police come. Basic level of service.”
“Give me their info. Our guys will go through the footage.” Ryan scratches his head. “The police haven’t asked?”
“No. Like I told you, they expect her to turn up. Now that they’ve spent a day talking to her friends and, well, my net worth registered, the chief is taking it more seriously. That first night, the officer on duty told me thousands are reported missing each year in San Diego, and the vast majority turn up within the first twenty-four hours.” He glances at his watch. “We’re approaching twenty-four hours. The shift today seemed to take it more seriously.”
“Are they now considering it an abduction?” I ask.
“No. But they didn’t seem as confident that she just snuck out for a night of fun.”
“Has she snuck out before?” I ask.
“She’s not that kind of kid. She’d never do that.” He rubs his eyes. “I mean, I don’t believe she would. She fought me hard on the curfew.” He sighs. “Hell, maybe.”
“What was her curfew?”
“Ten. She was only fifteen.” Jack raises his hands, palms out in a classic defensive gesture. “I mean, if she went to the movies or something, she could stay out later. But if she was just on the beach, why did she need—” Jack stops himself. He sucks on his bottom lip, deep in thought.
Cassandra ran a tight ship, too. I want to tell him not to be hard on himself, that whatever’s going on here isn’t his fault, but I refrain. There are missing puzzle pieces.
“You have your phone on you, right?” Ryan asks. “If someone needs to reach you, the call would get through?”
“It’s right here.” Jack pats his dress coat pocket. “You’re thinking ransom? Right?”
“It’s a distinct possibility. Do you have a landline?”
“No. Telemarketers were the only people who called it. Disconnected it about a year ago. But I assume if they can get my daughter, they can get my cell number.”
“They’ll find a way to reach you. Be sure to check your email.”
“Do you think I should have hired personal security?” Jack pivots, peering up at Ryan. The two men eye each other. Jack is a good four inches shorter than Ryan, barely taller than I am. But both men intimidate with stern expressions and take-no-shit attitudes.
“I never said that,” Ryan responds after a beat of silence.
