“He already mentioned he tracks her with her phone. Leaving it uncharged could have been planned.”

“Did you find anything?”

“The grounds are as immaculate as the house. He has a security system, and there should be video.”

Ryan reaches for Sophia’s phone, and I touch his wrist to stop him. Static electricity shocks us.

“Ow. Sorry,” I mutter, shaking my hand to ease the zap. He scowls. “Let me get photos first. Then you can touch.”

This might not be a crime scene, but it might be helpful later on to reference exactly how we found everything.

“Although I bet the cleaning service has already been through here. There are vacuum lines on the carpet in her bedroom. If that’s the case, this might not be where her phone was when she left it.” Bloody hell. “We’ll have to interview the cleaning service. See if they remember anything suspicious. Those concert tickets. It’s only a couple of weeks away. If she ran away, don’t you think she’d take her tickets?”

“If she’s hiding from her dad? No. He has those seat numbers on his receipt.”

“Why would you run away from all this?” My gaze falls on the open view into her luxurious closet and the sparkling crystal chandelier.

Of course, the suite is the stuff of dreams, but it doesn’t feel authentic. It’s possible that on her phone, or in her laptop, we will discover Sophia’s personality and all the different things she loved. Maybe her desktop is a complete disaster, with fifty browser tabs open, a gazillion images, and everything in disarray.

Ryan’s jaw flexes. He scans the area, floor to ceiling. Silent. Imposing. Unreadable.

“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.