“Thanks for driving us,” Alex says from the back seat as we pull away.

The light reflects off Wayne’s Rolex watch. It’s similar to the one Jack wore, if not the exact gold model. He’s got curly dark hair, but it’s short. I’m not sure if it’s his hair or his Hawaiian shirt, but he reminds me of Magnum PI without the mustache. I haven’t thought of that show in ages, but Wayne has a similar laid-back vibe.

“Not a problem,” Wayne responds. “I hope you find her. She’s a good kid. Like family.”

I can’t see his eyes, thanks to the Maui Jims, but with one hand on the wheel and an arm resting on the door, Wayne doesn’t appear overly worried about Sophia. Jimmy Buffett plays through the radio, and Wayne taps his left foot to the beat. He’s wearing khaki shorts and expensive leather loafers, and he’s sporting a dad bod. But I’d guess he’s not too much older than me, maybe mid- to late forties.

“Did you know Sophia well?” Dr. Rolfe asks.

“I don’t think you’d say well. I mean, I’ve known Jack for a long damn time. Sullivan Arms was my first job out of college. Known Sophia her whole life. But, like, the way you know kids. Say hello. Things like, ‘Dang, girl, you’re getting tall.’ I’d tell Jack he was gonna be in trouble when the boys came knocking. She’d laugh. Then she’d disappear. That’s the way I knew her.”

“Got it.” Through the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of Dr. Rolfe’s smile. She finds Wayne entertaining. With him, she’s relaxed. “Did Jack ever mention he’d had problems with her?”

Wayne angles the rearview to get a better look at Alex.

“Not at all. She’s a straight-A student. Never been in trouble. Goes to a fantastic, exclusive school. She’s got it all.”

I don’t have to see Alex to know she doesn’t interpret his response as good news. It leaves us with two avenues. If he’s correct, then she was abducted, because fifteen-year-olds don’t run away from great homes.

But by Wayne’s own admittance, he only knows her in passing. He’s not a highly reliable source.

“What about you two? What’s your story?” Wayne’s still got one arm draped over the wheel, and he’s slouched back in the seat. I get the sense he doesn’t care about our answer; he’s just filling the silence.

“Jack and I were in the Naval Academy together.”

“You know, I always forget he pulled that stint.” He looks in the rearview. “And you?”

“Family friend.”

“I saw you at the funeral.” Wayne’s focus centers on the back seat, and red brake lights shine. I slam my palm against the dashboard.

“Wayne.” He glances forward.

“Damn slower drivers.” He peels out one lane over, and we zoom past the braking sedan.

“Cassandra stayed with us when she studied abroad.”

“Ah…” He readjusts the rearview so he can better see Dr. Rolfe. “You’re the one who has that criminal profiler dad. Like a regular Sherlock Holmes.”