“He’d like to hear you say that.”

“Jack’s mentioned him. So, you working with anyone? Or on your own?”

“It’s just us.”

“No FBI?” Wayne asks.

“No. Do you have kids, Wayne?”

“The wifey and I never did have kids. Good thing, too. I work so much I would hardly know ’em.” He points out the window. “Now, see over there? If you get a chance, since you’re Navy, that exit right there will take you to the USS Midway Museum. It’s Navy. Tourists love that shit.”

Forty-two minutes later, the SUV rolls into a gated neighborhood. A security officer mans the gate.

“Is that guard twenty-four-seven?” I ask.

“Yep. I live in this neighborhood, too. A couple of blocks away, near the clubhouse.”

“I’m guessing there’s not much crime here,” I say as we pass stately homes with manicured lawns.

“Nope. But word’s spreading about Sophia. It’s stirring up concern.”

“Any wild theories?” I ask.

“Not that I’ve heard, but I’ll ask my wife and let you know. I try to avoid all gossip, whereas she lives to spread it.”

Minutes later, we come to a stop in front of an oceanfront mansion. The circular drive leads to an arched gate. Through the gate, oversize, formidable iron and glass front doors offer a view through the entire home and out over the breathtaking ocean beyond. Palm trees line the sides of the yard. The scent of fresh-cut grass overloads my nostrils the second I open the car door. In the distance, waves crash. A slight breeze carries a floral scent. A Grecian statue with a narrow fountain base stands midway between the entrance gate and the front door beyond.

Inside the front courtyard, an array of fuchsia pink bougainvillea vines and matching pink potted geraniums splash color against the white stucco walls, the trimmed, plush green grass, and a white stone path. I scan the eaves of the three-story home for cameras. One roving camera hangs from each corner. A doorbell beside the front door likely houses another camera, judging by the black plated glass. In the yard, beneath oversize yucca plants, are spherical metal objects. They could be yard lights or cameras. An extension of the driveway continues along the side of the massive home. I assume that leads to the garage and side entrance, and additional security cameras.

Wayne pushes open the front door and hustles inside. A moment later, he lifts a small, obese dog.

“Come on in.” The dog in his arms squirms and growls. “Ignore Sasha. She thinks she’s bigger than she is. She’s a little bitch until you give her a snack. Then she’s all lovey dovey.”

“Hi there, Sasha,” Dr. Rolfe coos to the dog in a singsong voice. The growling simmers.

“Jack calls her Pita, Sophia calls her Sasha. Dumb dog responds to either.”

“You look like a Sasha to me. Not a Pita. How did he get Pita?” In response to the smooth, kind tones, the dog’s lips unfurl and her tail wags.