CHAPTER FOUR
At near midnight, Rylie sat in the passenger seat of Michael Brisbane’s new pick-up, reading through sparse case files as he drove west through the wilds of Montana.
She glanced at the speedometer as he drove. “The speed limit here is eighty,” she reminded him, in case he forgot.
Of course, he hadn’t. He’d spent most of his life growing up in Missoula, as the story went. So he should’ve known the speed limit. And though he’d mentioned something about other agents having demons that led them into law enforcement, Rylie didn’t think Michael had a single scar, physical or otherwise. His life seemed too perfect. He was too perfect, with a smile that practically tinged whenever he flashed those dimples of his. No, he was a regular all-American Howdy Doody, the kind of man who’d
