CHAPTER THIRTEEN
An hour later, the little table in the break room was on the verge of collapse, under the weight of all the files they’d amassed. Rylie groaned as she read through another k********g case in Cheyenne—this one, committed by an old man in a red sportscar, clearly wasn’t related. They’d even had Beeker run a check on anyone in the area with a criminal record and a black pick-up truck and send over those files. They were about halfway done with the files from the past ten years, but nothing seemed to stand out.
Brisbane closed a file, yawned, and stretched his arms over his head. “Find anything?”
She shook her head. “No. You?”
“Not a thing.” He patted his stomach. “My stomach’s growling.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a dollar. “Go get yourself something.”
He
