His lips bunch. He doesn’t seem to like this information. Awareness dawns.

“Do you think she might’ve gone surfing? At night?”

“If she did, her body would have probably washed ashore today. Go on and go to sleep. I’m going to find Jack, and then I’ll be up. In the morning, we can visit the school.”

“It’s not looking like she ran away.” I say it softly. It’s not a question. It’s the reality. I brush aside the surfing theory.

“No, it’s not,” he agrees, but he doesn’t stand around talking about it. He leaves, presumably to find Jack.

The white shell of the moon casts little light over the ocean in the early hours of the morning. Darkness reigns, with hints of orange awakenings flirting to the east. Remnant stars scatter across the brightening sky.

Ryan’s strong arms slice into the water seamlessly. His back arches as he approaches the wall, flips, and kicks off the wall in one fluid movement. He pushes off with enough force to shoot his massive form almost halfway back across the rectangular pool. His muscular back and shoulders remind me of an Olympic swimmer. Power, grace, and speed intertwine. He wears goggles but no swim cap. It isn’t hard to imagine him tackling the wild ocean, cutting effortlessly through waves.

I snuggle into the white fluffy robe I found hanging in my closet and breathe in my coffee. I’d planned on swimming laps myself and had been surprised to find the pool already occupied. Room exists for me to swim laps, too, but his speed and power intimidate me. I am a good swimmer, but I’d be lost in his wake. If I were a good friend to Sabrina, I would video him. She’s the one with a military and federal agent fetish.

When I woke, I discovered coffee brewing and carried a steaming mug out to the pool. I like to drink a cup before exercise. I’d wondered if he returned to his room last night, and then I found him.

Off in the distance, the waves crash, seagulls squawk, and a lone early morning walker passes on the sand close to the ocean’s edge. What a life the Sullivans lead. The beauty and luxury are mind-boggling. How many families possess an enormous swimming pool overlooking the Pacific Ocean in one of the wealthiest gated San Diego neighborhoods? Few. The real estate listing for this address used the word mansion in the description. It’s easy to imagine Sophia inviting friends over for pool parties or to simply hang out in decadence.

Sure, the pristine nature of her bedroom speaks to potential issues. Maybe her life wasn’t full. Maybe Sullivan is an overbearing single parent without Cassie to soften his expectations. Or, hell, maybe that’s just what a kid’s room looks like with cleaning service five days a week. Regardless, the nagging in the pit of my stomach warns something isn’t right. My father’s deep voice resonates. You need to look beyond the obvious.