“All right.” So far, they had a possible name and a possible vehicle. That was a good start. But without any physical contact or coercion, the incident wasn’t likely to be written up as an attempted kidnapping.

She leaned forward. “Do you understand why I’m upset?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really? I mean, some middle-aged man approaches my daughter—”

“I understand.”

“And he knows Vanessa. That’s the worst part. She works with a doctor named Mason at Pura Vida. I’m beginning to think they had a relationship or something.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “And then . . . he did something to her.”

Antonio scooted his chair closer. He looked her right in the eye.

“I understand why you’re upset.”

She shook her head. “I really don’t think you do.”

“I do. But you’re making some assumptions here, okay? First, you’re assuming he is who he said he was. He could have used a false name. Did Kelly give a description?”

“Yeah. She said he was tall. Dark hair. She couldn’t tell his eye color because the streetlight was behind him, and his face was shadowed.”

“Okay, but she got a description. That and the SUV will help us a lot.”

He was trying to reassure her, and he couldn’t tell whether it was working.

“Even if he isn’t who he claimed—don’t you think he has something to do with Vanessa’s disappearance? Don’t you think he did something to her?”

The raw desperation in her voice got to him, and she swiped a tear off her cheek.

“Okay. Let’s go with that.” He held her gaze. “If he had something to do with it, why would he need her phone number?”

She just stared at him, and he could tell that in her worried frenzy, she hadn’t thought it through.

“If he hurt her or took her somewhere, why would he need her number and why would he want to draw attention to himself to get it? That would be a big risk for him. Why would he do that?”

“So . . . you don’t think it’s weird that some man who knows Vanessa is approaching my teenager and asking about her and—”

“No, it’s definitely weird. I agree. We just don’t know what it means yet.”

“Well . . . can’t you drag him in for questioning and figure it out?”

Anger was starting to replace the desperation in her voice, which was probably good. Anger, Antonio could handle. Desperate tears were much worse.

“We can, yeah.”

“Well . . .” She trailed off, looking frustrated as she stared at him in the dimness.

“We’ll definitely follow up. I promise. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I have another question for you.” He watched her face, wishing there were more light out here so he could see her reaction. “Do you keep a gun in the house?”

She stiffened. “No. I hate guns.”