“What fifteen-year-old has a burner phone?”

“I checked to see if she had mirrored an account. Like set it up so her father wouldn’t find it. There’s nothing like that on her phone or computer. That just leaves a device we don’t have access to. Maybe she kept a phone her dad didn’t know about. Would she have the money to pay the bill?”

“My guess is she has the money to buy anything she wants.”

“I’ll keep everyone on this, but if she left to meet someone, she coordinated through a device we don’t have access to.”

“Thanks. Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Hit me.”

“Just…go over that security footage with a fine-tooth comb. This isn’t adding up.”

“Or you just don’t like what it’s adding up to.” Erik is always direct. I like that about him. But I dislike what he’s insinuating.

“What does that mean?”

“Trevor said this is one of your old Navy buds.”

“So?”

“Forget it. There’s nothing to implicate him. Other than it looks like his daughter didn’t want to keep living with him.”

When the call disconnects, I re-watch the video. I hadn’t wanted to live with my parents. Trevor hadn’t wanted to keep living with his. But Trevor and I both stayed under heavy hands until we could leave. Trevor left at age seventeen for the Navy. I waited until high school graduation. But neither of us ran. Does Jack have a heavy hand? When they fight, could he hit her? I don’t think so. Maybe she kept any issues close to the vest, in the same way Jack is keeping his daughter’s disappearance out of the media.

Alex sits on the sofa in the suite, her suitcase upright beside her. She’s texting back and forth with someone. She’s smiling softly, entertained by her correspondence. As if aware I’m watching her, her gaze lifts.

“Erik called.” I approach her, my phone held out. “We found security video that shows her leaving. By herself. On her own.”

She watches it, and I peer over. This time I notice a long palm branch flutter in the breeze. Her head is down, as if she’s aware of the camera above her head.

“Let’s go show Jack,” she says.

“That’s at ten forty-five Monday night,” I tell Jack, after he watches the video.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jack says. “I was home by ten. I searched everywhere for her.”

Alex’s lips scrunch together. Her brow wrinkles. She appears uneasy, and I give an encouraging nod. Whatever she’s thinking, we need her to say it.

“In this house?” she asks. “If she wanted to hide, she could. Easily.” She sounds apologetic.

Jack’s head hits the back of his office chair, and his eyelids fall shut. I can only imagine what he must be feeling. I expect he is battling a sense of failure. How devastating would it be to have your child willingly leave you? And leave you with no idea where she’d gone or that she was okay?