“If it was your daughter, or son, I’d help you.”

Trevor doesn’t have any biological kids of his own, but his heart adopted Stella’s son. He gives a slow nod. “Roger that. I’ve got your six. Let me know what you need.”

Trevor doesn’t need to tell me he’s got my six. He’ll always have my back, and I’ll always have his.

My steps echo through the concrete stairwell, and my thoughts return to Syria. It would be nice to be able to send additional resources without thinking twice. With a solid investment base, we could do that. Someone like Jack Sullivan is the kind of man who would gladly invest in a company like ours. We hire veterans, and we do good work. It’s something I might talk to him about—after we locate his daughter. That’s assuming he’s still the good guy I remember and not some twisted fuck who gave his daughter a reason to run.

Traffic is light, and twenty minutes later, I pace the sidewalk in front of my helicopter. It’s a clear day with winds out of the southwest. The flight path to San Diego is one I fly frequently. The helicopter is prepped and ready to go. So am I.

This trip could be a waste of time. But I keep thinking about our meeting. Sullivan entered the room as a consummate professional, a leader of a multinational corporation. In under twenty minutes, his guarded veneer cracked. He’s scared. Potentially desperate. Given the local PD offered little support, I can’t blame Sullivan for seeking alternative options. It’s an instinct honed by the Navy. If one option fails, you find another. You find a way.

I flick my wrist, checking the time. I scan the parking lot and the road leading up to the helipad. I exhale. Dr. Rolfe said she would be here. Jack doesn’t need her. The woman is a criminal profiler.

A family friend. Right. A likely story for a young woman who could grace a runway. He pleaded with her, but I still am not sure I understand why. If it hadn’t been important to him, I would have never agreed to cart her to San Diego.

She knows Sophia. Does she know Sophia better than her own father? Jack’s wife died. Sophia’s mother. Is Dr. Rolfe a mother figure? She’s young. Is she more of an older sister? I remember Jack telling me about the woman he was going to marry.

It had been right before the Naval Academy graduation. Some of our classmates were headed out, and I waved them off, planning to get some extra time on the weights. Sullivan’s class was graduating, but I still had a couple of years ahead of me. He fell into step beside me.

“You not going out tonight?” I asked. We didn't leave the premises often, so most of the cadets high-tailed it out when allowed.

“Nah. My girl can’t make it up. I’m headed back to call her.”

“Phone date?”