“I’ll see what I can turn up, but a storm is shutting us down as I speak,” Bryn Bailey said. She looked at her watch and winced. She was already late for the Kirby clan dinner party, and the storm would slow her down even more, assuming she ever got on the road. “Whole city may be closed tomorrow.”
Bryn had been with the Bureau since graduating from college twelve years ago and could have been their poster girl—had they had one. Vigorous and driven, she was beautiful, but much less high gloss after a year in the wild, wild west. Her power suits had given way to designer jeans that were comfortable and collected an impressive collection of wolf whistles. The spiked heels were now snakeskin cowboy boots that had changed her walk from stabbing to kick-butt.
She told herself it was the wind
