CHAPTER EIGHT
It was after eight in the evening by the time Rylie and Michael returned to the Missoula police department. Rylie fixed them two strong cups of coffee, and she and Michael sat down in the conference room to scour the files of the two victims, looking for clues.
Rylie stared across the table, trying to make sense of everything she’d learned. That is, until she noticed Michael had turned his blazer pockets inside out and was picking something from the lining, putting it into his mouth. “What are you doing?”
He shrugged. “Cookie crumbs.”
She curled her lip. “Ew.”
“What do you want me to do? There’s no damn vending machine in this building.” He picked another crumb out and sucked it off his fingers. “I’m wasting away, thanks to you. What do you run on, the misery of those ar
