Free Borrowing Trouble by Stacy Finz

world.”
    She finished up with the witnesses. Got Clay’s statement too and sent everyone packing. It had gotten quite dark and Clay volunteered to take the kids without wheels home. Given that the man was Rhys’s best friend, she felt okay about him providing transportation. Sloane headed back to Rhys and Jake when her phone beeped with a text. She checked to make sure it wasn’t an emergency.

    Sloane McBride, you can’t hide. We’re coming to get you.

    They were back at it. Just when she’d thought they were finished making her life miserable. She let out a breath. It wasn’t worth changing the number again. They’d only find the new one. It was nothing more than a prank, Sloane told herself. Rhys flagged her over and she put the phone away.
    â€œThis is your case,” he told her, and she felt a rush of excitement. Sloane could use the distraction—something a little more challenging than directing traffic.
    It would probably turn out to be nothing. Some of these old historic ranches were bound to have family cemeteries on the property. One of the graves had probably been unearthed in a recent storm. But Sloane liked a good mystery.
    After the coroner’s investigators came and combed as much of the area as possible using the spotlights, they carted away the skeletal remains. Tomorrow they’d send the torso to the sheriff’s lab and hope to get DNA. A forensic anthropologist would also determine the sex and age of the John/Jane Doe.
    With nothing left to do, Sloane went home, planning to return during daylight to search the area for more remains. Fingers, teeth, a skull, anything that would help them identify the body. But it could be tough. Even if they got DNA or dental records, if the person wasn’t in the system, they wouldn’t have anything to match them to.
    At the duplex on Donner Road, she found Brady sitting on the porch with the light on.
    â€œHeard they found a body over by the high school,” he said.
    â€œBy the river. Skeletal remains.” By now, Harlee must’ve posted the story.
    â€œI gather you were there?”
    She nodded. “It’s my case.”
    â€œWhat kind of case is it?”
    â€œToo soon to tell.” She sat on the swing.
    â€œYou eat dinner?”
    Her stomach rumbled in answer.
    â€œCome in, I’ll make you something.” He led her inside his apartment, an exact replica of hers, except without much furniture. At least it was warm.
    â€œYou live light?” No pictures on the wall. No knickknacks. No nothing.
    Brady gazed around the living room at the thrift-store sofa, crate-turned-coffee-table, and flat-screen, and shrugged. “I’m hardly ever here.”
    She followed him into the kitchen. He’d hung all manner of pots and pans—good ones if Sloane had to guess—from hooks on one wall and lined shelves with cookbooks on the other. This clearly formed the bulk of his possessions.
    â€œGrab a seat and I’ll heat you up some potato-leek soup.”
    She watched him move efficiently through the kitchen, opening a bottle of wine, putting bread in the oven, and stirring the soup on the stovetop. Within seconds he put down place settings and the wine in the center of the table.
    â€œLet it breathe.” He must’ve known how badly she wanted a glass.
    â€œCan I help?”
    â€œI’ve got it covered.” On a board he diced vegetables. His big hands working the knife like it was a third arm. His biceps flexing through the sleeves of his thermal shirt. “A lot of people out there at the scene?”
    â€œRhys and Jake. A bunch of kids, Clay McCreedy, and Harlee from the newspaper.”
    Brady smiled. “She gets around. What was Clay doing there?”
    â€œHis son Justin was the one who found it. He called his dad. Clay called us.”
    â€œDid it freak the kids out?”
    â€œProbably a little.”
    â€œHow ’bout you?” He