CHAPTER SEVEN
Rylie slumped against the passenger-side door of Michael Brisbane’s car, sticking a finger in her left ear so her partner wouldn’t throw off her train of thought. He was asking the same questions of another family member of one of the victims, and after interviewing several people, she’d lost track of what she had or hadn’t asked this one.
“Hello, Sabina? Sabina Lopez?” she asked, balancing the file folder on her knees.
“Yes,” a tentative voice said. “Look, I don’t want any—”
“This isn’t a sales call. This is Rylie Wolf from the FBI. I’m calling to ask you a few questions about your fiancé, Nick Costas. Is now a good time?”
A pause. When she spoke, her voice was toneless. Emotionless. “Yes, I suppose. Have they found anything?”
“I can’t say that they have, but that’s wh
