CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Georgie kept examining her photos, enlarging them, scrolling over each portion. But she’d stuffed up. Without super-enhancing photo technology—and even that would only work if there was something to find—there were no discernible identifying marks on the flock.
She considered tailing the truck for an opportunity to take more pics and, if possible, to its destination. But while her classic convertible wasn’t expensive by modern car standards, it was rare, and in the relatively quiet countryside around Gordon, conspicuous.
Instead, she settled on parking along the main drag with a handful of vehicles, hoping the truck would pass. Even better if the truckie stopped at the general store or café.
After forty-five minutes catching up emails, phone calls, drafting a short
