CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There was a quiet smack as Ilse slapped the ice pack on her neck. She winced, tilting her head, and then staring in accusation across the table.
Amos Reck's bruises and superficial cut had already been tended to. Now he just sat there, glancing furtively about, and rubbing at the backs of his knuckles one at a time. His cuffs scraped against the metal table, eliciting a sound similar to the one accompanying the collision of his truck against their sedan. Both vehicles would eventually end up in one of the very scrapyards they were investigating, most likely.
Sawyer was sitting now. A rarity for him in an interrogation room. But he had twinged his back in the collision and was doing his best not to look in pain. This was interspersed by the occasional glare towards their
