“I’m an associate professor at UCSB.” Dr. Rolfe points out the window in what she most likely presumes is the direction of the campus. “I also consult on criminal cases.”

At the elevator, I had registered her eyes as dark brown, yet I misjudged. Her dark green eyes remind me of a forest, a soothing, earthy shade easily mistaken for ordinary brown. The pale skin around those green eyes is noticeably smooth, her lips full, her cheekbones pronounced.

“And exactly how many cases have you consulted on?”

“Two cases for the Santa Barbara Police Department. I moved here last summer. Most of my experience stems from cases in Great Britain.” Stems from?

“Her father is Dr. Henry Rolfe.” Sullivan says it as if the name should mean something to me. It doesn’t, but I mentally store it for a background check.

A missing persons case. “And her mother hasn’t seen her?”

Alex’s gaze falls to her lap. Sullivan’s chest rises several inches. He swallows.

“Cassandra died almost three years ago. Sophia came to live with me after her mom’s death. Sophia and I…we’ve gone through a lot together. That’s why I don’t believe she would run away. But…” He stretches out his hands again, palms flat on the table. His chest rises on his inhale. “I don’t know. I’ve been told I can be hard to live with.”

“Why?”

He answers with a loaded look that seems to ask seriously?

“I mean, what kinds of things happened that might have caused Sophia to leave?”

“Normal stuff.” He rests back against the chair. “At least, I think it’s normal. She didn’t like her curfew. Said it was earlier than anyone she knew. She had plans to go to a concert with friends, and I said she couldn’t go without a parent. I was apparently the only parent who required an adult chaperone.” He gazes out the window. “I didn’t allow her to date.” His fist raps the desk. “I’m strict. But I’ve observed my nephew. I don’t want Sophia to be some Paris Hilton.”

I glance at Alex. Her expression is sympathetic. Soft.

“What about the FBI? Don’t they handle missing persons cases?”

“Twelve and under, they would automatically become involved. They are less likely to take on a case like this,” Alex answers.

“Have you tried?” I direct my question to Sullivan.

“No. If the police aren’t taking it seriously, why would the FBI?” His professional mask slips, exposing hints of the emotional father within.

“I have contacts within the FBI. None in missing persons, but I can inquire.”

Sullivan clasps the knot on his tie and wiggles it loose. “Do whatever you need. Just be discreet.”

“You’ve contacted all of her friends? Anyone you can think of that she might be with?”

“All of them. It’s pretty efficient to do that these days, thanks to texting.” He places his head in his hands and roughly massages his forehead. “I don’t know what to do. Please. I’ll pay you whatever you want. Tell me your fee, and I’ll double it.”