“We think you know more about John Smith than you might even realize.” Walker never takes her eyes off Sarah. “You were dating him. You must have some information that would be relevant to our investigation. Something that might help us to decipher exactly what happened at your school.”

“I hardly knew him,” Sarah says, staring down at the table. “We weren’t dating.”

“We saw a video that looked like he was flying out of your burning house,” the woman says to me. She turns back to Sarah. “He was carrying you.”

Sarah smiles.

“It’s crazy what you can do with cameras and a few hours on the computer, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Sam was always good at stuff like that when we had presentations at school,” I add. “He probably did it.”

Sarah kicks me under the table. I can’t figure out why until the agent turns to me and smiles.

“Samuel Goode. His mother, Patricia Goode, is a nurse. Father is Malcolm Goode, a . . .” She pauses for a moment before smiling a bit. “Current whereabouts unknown. Sam hasn’t been home since that night either. His mother is worried sick about him. It would be nice if she had any assurance that her son was alive.”

“Sam is . . . ,” Sarah starts, but then stalls. I recognize the look on her face. She’s trying to connect all the dots and carefully plotting out what she’s going to say.

Speaking carefully has never been my strong suit.

“Sam Goode is a conspiracy theory nut job,” I say, lounging back in my booth a little. “That little twerp wears the same NASA T-shirt every day of the week. You should hear the kinds of things he talks about. Aliens. The Illuminati. Personally, I think it’s his way of trying to get people to notice him when all the attention goes to me and my buddies on the team. He probably finally had enough of it and ran away, using the school thing as an excuse. He’s smart, but he’s also a total wuss. Trust me when I say he can’t handle himself in a fight. Not exactly terrorist material. If you ask me, he’s probably hunting for Sasquatches in the woods somewhere. That’s where I’d try to find him, at least.”

I take a big swig of my soda and glance over at Sarah, who’s looking at me with a mixture of disgust and confusion. I give her a little kick under the table, and she manages a smirk.

I take a chance and lean forward, grabbing Sarah’s hands in mine. They’re soft and tremble slightly. I have to hold them still against her initial urge to pull away.

“Isn’t that right, babe?” I ask, flashing the toothiest grin I can muster her way.

“That’s probably true,” she mutters.

“Well, that’s very enlightening, Mr. James,” Agent Walker says.