Ryan and I have spent every night at his place since the attack. I’m essentially using my home as an office. Each night, it’s assumed we’ll stay together. Last night, he unpacked my suitcase and hung up my belongings in his closet.

Against one wall in my den is the standing whiteboard from my office. Ryan brought it back to my house for me. I haven’t touched it since the attack. I haven’t had anything to add to it as the investigation has essentially concluded. But my hope is that I might uncover something more when I spend time with Sophia and Jack this weekend. Even if we never locate her abductors, the case will be an interesting one to review, given we countered a ransom with a reward.

The university would love for me to produce something publishable from this incident. A review of the case or a criminal profile. Larry Reyes is dead. We may never find out who he was working for, but it seems reasonable he may have been working for the cartel. As the head of sales, it would be logical for the cartel to be one of his clients. We already know he had been responsible for greatly increasing international sales.

Wayne Killington claimed to know the man well. He’d been a mentor and hired him right out of college. He’d said he would talk to me.

I pick up my phone and jot out a quick text. I haven’t seen Wayne since we returned to Santa Barbara.

Me: Hi, Wayne. This is Alexandria Rolfe. I hope all is well. I’ll be in San Diego this weekend, if by chance you have time to get together. If not, I completely understand.

I send it off before I can second guess it. All I really want is to ask questions about Larry Reyes, to gain a deeper understanding of his personality than the company bio provides.

Internal affairs will work to determine if someone within the police department was paid off. I’m certain the FBI will continue to work to identify the other players, either within Sullivan Arms or outside of it. The investigation is ongoing with multiple agencies at play, but things have quieted down. My role has concluded, and I believe that whoever perceived me as a threat has picked up that I am not a threat. If either Sophia or I had information that could lead to conviction, surely they realize the FBI would have already arrived at their doors.

The phone in my hand vibrates, startling me. It’s an unidentified number.

“Hello?” It’s probably a telemarketer, but there’s always a chance it’s a reporter or a student.

“Alex girl. Just got your text. You’re in luck. I’m in your neighborhood.”

“You are?” I peer down the street.

“Well, I’m in Santa Barbara. At the marina. My boat was getting some work done, and I’m here to bring her home. You feel like going for a boat ride? If you come on over, you can drill me with questions while we take her for a spin. We can make sure everything’s working right before I drive her home.”