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“Here you go.” Dylan set a plate down with a grilled cheese sandwich on it.
“Thanks, Mama. I like grilled cheese samiches.”
“Sandwiches,” Dylan corrected.
Zoey put her hands over her mouth and giggled.
“That’s what I said.”
Dylan laughed. “If you say so.”
“Can we see Aunt Peyton and Aunt Marlowe?”
“Not today, baby. It’s snowing.”
“Can we build a snowman?”
“There’s not enough snow for that. Maybe later. Eat.”
“Okay, Mama.” Zoey picked up her sandwich and ate.
Dylan made herself a cup of coffee then sat at the table. She wondered when she’d hear from Agent Reeves. A week had passed since she’d talked to him and to her that didn’t seem like he was keeping her in the loop.
“Damn men,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, baby. Just talking to myself. Men make you do that.” Dylan shook her head when she knew she shouldn’t have said that and especially to her daughter. “Just ignore me.”
Her cellphone buzzed and she picked it up to see Agent Reeves’ number. Speak of the devil. Taking a deep breath, she answered.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Walters, this is Alex Reeves.”
“Have you found my bull, Agent?”
“Straight to the point, huh? No, ma’am, but I have a lead. I wanted to let you know that you might not hear from me for a few more days. I have to travel to Whitefish.”
“About my case?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Dylan.”
“Dylan. I’m not sure how long I’ll be, but if you prefer, I can call you if I find out anything on this trip.”
“You think whoever took Toga is in Whitefish?”
“Very possible.”
“Who is it?”
His sigh came over the line.
“I’d rather not—”
“Don’t,” she snapped. “You said you’d keep me in the loop, so who is in Whitefish?”
