CHAPTER FOUR
This time, Rylie was thankful that Brisbane didn’t eat his pistachios. Instead, he sat in the passenger seat of her truck, leafing through the files of the k********g victims. But when she glanced over, she quickly found something else to grouch at. She wasn’t in a particularly grouchy mood—in fact, she felt pretty good—but Brisbane just made it so easy.
“Uh . . . Bris?” she said, using the nickname she’d heard Beeker call him. “Watch what you’re doing?”
“Hmm?” he said, staring hard at the paper. “No sign of struggle.”
That was another pet peeve of hers. People who couldn’t read to themselves in their head and had to move their lips and say things aloud. She pointed. “Could you look at what you’re doing? You’re smudging the papers with your grubby fingers.”
He glanced up
