“Your degrees are in criminal justice, right?” Ryan flicks his blinker.

Click. Click.

“I have a PhD and a master’s in criminology. My undergraduate work was in biology and psychology.” The change in the direction of our conversation has me sitting up straighter.

“Okay, so, did you come across any studies on the reasons kids run away?”

Oh. That’s where he’s going.

“Well, the number one reason is abuse. There’s no reason, from what I’ve seen, to suspect that here. Or love. What a young girl might mistake for love. But again, all her friends consistently told us she’s not dating anyone. Alcohol or drug abuse. There’s no evidence that supports any of those possibilities. A lot of the top reasons don’t fit here at all. Death in the family, but it’s been three years. New child in the family. Doesn’t fit. Jack said he’s not dating anyone. Feeling unloved. It’s possible. The absence of personality in her bedroom feels cold to me. But I didn’t get the sense from any of her friends that she’s unhappy. Did you?”

Ryan focuses on the road, and I interpret his stoic silence to equal agreement.

“I mean, we haven’t said it, but human trafficking is a growing issue. What if she was out on that beach for an evening stroll and someone grabbed her, not having any idea who she is?”

“I’m thinking that’s more likely. We haven’t come across any reason for her to leave of her own volition. And we don’t have a ransom yet.”

It’s insanely frustrating. We have no leads.

“Do you think we’ll head back this afternoon?” I ask.

“You need to get back, don’t you?”

“If we’re needed here, I can stay.” I watch as a woman leads a tiny white fluffy dog down the sidewalk, and I think of Trace. I shoot off a text to my neighbor, Jenny, checking in.

“I hate to say it, but I think we’re running out of things to do, at least until surveillance picks something up. We can fly back this afternoon. It’s not a big deal to return tomorrow if needed.” Ryan glances at me, and I nod. “Would you be interested in getting dinner tonight?”

His question throws me for a whirl. His body position driving the car gives nothing away. Dinner?

“We can talk about the case,” he amends.

“Over dinner?” I need the clarification.

He nods. Holy shit.

Dinner. But it’s not a date. It’s to discuss work. Sabrina pipes up in my inner ear. “Don’t be a dork. You have no business to discuss. It’s a date.”

Dear old Dad would frown on the idea. He believes romantic relationships could interfere with police work and case studies. In one of his criminology classes, he dedicates an entire class to all the reasons fraternization between colleagues during a case should not be allowed. The lecture logic follows chain of command issues and future career risk if a relationship goes bad.

But I am not a police officer. Working with Arrow represents a career opportunity, and if things don’t go well, then I might be sabotaging that career opportunity.