CHAPTER THREE
Rylie absently took another donut out of the bag, even though she wasn’t hungry anymore, and took a bite as she listened to Kit speak.
“There was a body of a hitchhiker found last night,” their special agent in charge said, in her usual sensible, unemotional, businesslike voice. “Outside of a town called Bearmouth.”
It was vaguely familiar to Rylie, again along the I-86 corridor, but she couldn’t quite place it.
“Bearmouth?” Michael asked.
“You know it?” Rylie asked.
“It’s east of Missoula,” he said with a short nod. Of course, Missoula. His hometown. “Used to go hunting there with my buddies.”
She stared at him. Though Michael Brisbane was always talking—he could carry on a conversation with a wall—he never did say much about himself. She’d thought that unlike her, su
