The Killer You Know

When a killer strikes a sleepy small town, terror strikes...and passion flares!

After a teenage girl is murdered, FBI agent Silas Kelly reluctantly returns to the hometown he swore never to visit again. This tragedy bears devastating similarities to the unsolved killing of his younger brother twenty years ago, and Silas is determined to find the link, the culprit, and maybe some peace for himself and his fractured family. But the hardened loner has another problem to tackle in beautiful redhead Quinn Jackson. The ambitious reporter is trailing him for answers about the cold case and the current investigation, and Silas can’t shake her. When the shocking truth is revealed, no one will be the same again.

“So what’s your agenda for bringing me this intel?” Silas asked.

“So suspicious.” Quinn tsked but her grin was filled with mischief. “Okay, you got me. I do want something.”

“Spit it out.”

“I want you to work with me,” she said. “Give me access to exclusive content so I can break the story, whatever that may be.”

Back to that argument again. “It goes against my personal values to make deals with press.”

“C’mon, Silas...you can’t honestly be this rigid.”

“Is this your idea of driving a hard bargain? I’ve yet to hear why I shouldn’t just run with your lead and leave you out.”

She stared at him. “Because you have more integrity than that.”

“You don’t know me.”

“It’s something I can sense,” Quinn said, and this time she wasn’t joking or playing around.

This was probably the first time Silas had seen her completely serious. That turn was intensely arousing. It was easy to keep her at arm’s length when he saw her as an irritating kid. But when he saw her as an adult...it changed things.

* * *

Dear Reader,

As a pantser, it’s rare when a story comes to me fully formed and ready to be written, but when it does, the result is simply wonderful.

That’s what happened with this book. I knew the characters so well. I knew the town, I knew the victim—I even knew the ending.

Silas is one of those characters that takes on a life of its own, grabbing the muse in a chokehold because it’s so strong, and I was happy to let him drive the bus.

Conversely, Quinn is my favorite type of heroine—sassy, classy and a little smart-assy—but her growth arc is huge from the beginning of the book to the end.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I love hearing from readers. Connect with me on Facebook, Twitter or drop me an email. Or you can also write me a letter at PO BOX 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361.

Happy reading!

Kimberly

The Killer You Know

Kimberly Van Meter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KIMBERLY VAN METER wrote her first book at sixteen and finally achieved publication in December 2006. She writes for the Harlequin Superromance, Blaze and Romantic Suspense lines. She and her husband of seventeen years have three children, three cats, and always a houseful of friends, family and fun.

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This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever

searched for closure in their life.

May you find it, may it provide solace, may it heal.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue

Extract

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Special Agent Silas Kelly opened the door to the Chicago Bureau office, the biting cold in the air nipping at his freshly shaven jaw. He’d been in Chicago for five years but he still hadn’t gotten used to the wind chill of his new city.

A summons to the director’s office never boded well. He was still dealing with the aftermath of his latest case—one that he hadn’t been able to solve in time, and a kid had died.

As a member of the Child Abduction Unit, it was his job to save kids.

They’d managed to catch the perp but not before the man had slit the boy’s throat.

Thomas Fielding, age six, snatched from the park when the babysitter wasn’t looking.

Now Thomas’s parents were making funeral arrangements.

Maybe that was what the director wanted to talk about, to go over where they’d failed young Thomas so that, hopefully, next time, the news they brought to frightened parents was good.

Silas walked into Director Beatrice Oppenshaw’s office and closed the door for privacy. She gestured for him to take a seat.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” she said, clasping her hands together. “There’s been a homicide in Port Orion, Washington, that might catch your attention. I want you to ignore the urge to follow up.”

Port Orion, his hometown. Usually the location of his nightmares.

“The body of a sixteen-year-old girl was dumped in Seminole Creek. Based on the marks on her neck, the preliminary cause of death is strangulation, pending the autopsy results.”

A shock wave rippled across his body. Seminole Creek.

Flashes of his childhood followed an echo of his little brother’s voice.

“There’s no reason for the FBI to get involved. Local jurisdiction will handle the case,” Oppenshaw said when she saw Silas gearing up to object. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

Silas knew why she was warning him to keep his distance. This new case hit too many triggers. Oppenshaw knew how Silas’s little brother Spencer had died.

How his body had been found in that same creek.

And how Spencer’s killer had never been found.

“What if there are similarities to my brother’s cold case?” he asked, using reason to win his boss over. “This could be a break in a twenty-year-old case.”

“A case that just happens to be your youngest brother’s,” Oppenshaw replied, shaking her head. “It’s a conflict of interest. Out of deference to you, if you think there might be some leads, I will send another agent up there to check things out but I don’t want you near that case.”

“Port Orion is a small town. They won’t talk to a stranger. I have an advantage—”

“And a handicap,” Oppenshaw countered firmly. “You know you’re too emotionally invested to be unbiased. The answer is no.”

But Silas’s mind was already moving. Oppenshaw could forbid him to go on federal time but she couldn’t control his vacation choices.

The Bureau shrink had suggested some R&R—which he’d previously declined—but he suddenly saw the merit.

“I’d like to take Dr. Lyons’s suggestion for a little time off.”

Oppenshaw’s jaw tensed. “Fortuitous timing,” she commented drily. “You previously declined therapeutic time off.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Bullshit. You want to go chase down this case.”

He remained silent, knowing his boss’s hands were tied.

The last case had left everyone on the team shaken. And if the Bureau doc had suggested some leave, it was her duty to sign off on it.

It was the kinder, gentler Bureau.

And Silas was going to take full advantage.

Because there was nothing that would keep Silas from investigating that case in Port Orion.

Oppenshaw swore under her breath, conceding the inevitable but she had some stipulations of her own. “You go to Port Orion, you go without your badge. You’re not going to use your federal status to open doors. If you go for anything more than a visit home to walk down Memory Lane, then you’re doing it completely off-books.”

Silas leaned forward. “My brother’s killer went free. His death shattered my family. The strain of a failed investigation ruined my parents’ marriage. If there’s even a slim chance that this case is connected, I’ll do whatever I have to do to chase it down. You’re right—I’m biased. No one wants to solve my brother’s cold case more than me. I was supposed to be watching him. He died because of me. You think that doesn’t stick with me every single damn day?”

Oppenshaw held his stare for a long moment then exhaled in irritation. She wasn’t known for being a pushover but Silas was one of her best team members.

“All right. I’ll give you a few days to go up there, check things out. You can take your credentials but you’re not to step on the local investigation unless you find something that warrants federal jurisdiction. If you don’t find anything, you come home. Got it?”

Silas nodded, knowing that was the best offer he was going to get. “I’m taking the first flight out.”

“Keep me informed. I want to know every move you make. This has the potential to blow up in our faces. You know local authorities don’t take kindly to the FBI poking their nose where it’s not justified and I don’t need that kind of grief right now.”

Silas agreed, thanked Oppenshaw and left.

His mind was already moving, already preparing to face his childhood home. Unlike his brothers, he hadn’t been back. Although no one blamed him for Spencer’s death, Silas blamed himself.

And the guilt was a familiar weight on his shoulders.

If he could finally find justice for Spencer, nothing would stop him.

He owed Spencer that.

Solving his brother’s murder wasn’t going to bring Spencer back...but it might make it easier for Silas to look in the mirror every day.

At least he hoped.

Silas’s worst fear was that, win or lose, he would carry his little brother on his back until the day he died.

Because nothing could erase the shame of letting your family down in such a grievous way.

There was no “I’m sorry” deep enough to change the fact that Spencer was dead because Silas had ditched him that summer day twenty years ago.

* * *

Quinn Jackson held her notebook and clutched her pen tightly so as not to betray the shaking in her fingers.

This was her big break.

Finally.

This was the kind of story that she’d dreamed about, the kind that made careers, with the potential to take her away from Point Orion and on to something bigger. Maybe even out of Washington State altogether.

The New York Times was probably a stretch but she liked to aim big.

But the pressure to make something happen—and keep the story fresh without the bigger news outlets scooping her—was immense.

“Can you tell us about the victim?” Quinn asked, angling for a better spot in front of the sheriff as he addressed the throng of reporters crowding the station. “How did she die? Preliminary reports say that the victim is Rhia Daniels, a junior at Point Orion High. Can you confirm this information?”

Sheriff Lester Mankins scowled at Quinn’s question but read from a prepared statement. “At 0600 hours this morning, the body of a young girl was found in Seminole Creek. Cause of death has not been determined. We will release the identity of the victim after the next of kin has been notified. That’ll be all.”

Quinn frowned at the sparse information but waited for the television reporters to file out before chasing after the sheriff, catching him before he disappeared behind the security door.

He started talking before she could. “Don’t give me those puppy dog eyes, Quinn Jackson. I gave you all the information I’m going to.”

“C’mon, Lester, you have to give me something that the others don’t have. I’m trying to make a career move here. Bigger news outlets don’t want to see a portfolio filled with potluck dinners, Little League pictures and city council squabbles about cobblestones. I need something big and this is the biggest thing since...well, in a very long time and you know it.”

Lester had known her her entire life. He was a good friend of her uncle Leo’s and, thus, a frequent visitor to her uncle’s place.

And right now that connection was her ticket to information no one else had.

Unless Lester continued to be a stick in the mud.

Lester fixed a stern stare on her. “Quinn...a girl is dead. As much as I want to help you find your way to bigger and better things, we have to remain cognizant of the fact that a young lady isn’t going home to her family. Forgive me if your ambition is going to have to take a backseat.”

Okay, so that wasn’t entirely out of line but Quinn couldn’t let a setback derail her. That was not what the professionals did.

“I’m sorry, that was terrible of me. I really want justice for this poor girl. I mean, someone snuffed out her life and the local press can help put some pressure on. Just one nugget, Lester. Please? Just one.”

“No,” he answered before closing the door behind him.

She stared, unable to believe that Lester had stonewalled her like that. Quinn chewed the inside of her cheek, a habit she’d picked up in grade school when she was confounded, and wondered what was so special about this case that Lester couldn’t give her a tiny tidbit of information, separate from the boilerplate he was giving everyone else.

Well, he hadn’t denied that it was Rhia Daniels. So she’d start there. But first...she wanted to see the crime scene.

Seminole Creek was a tributary to the inlet and a popular swimming hole with the locals—in the summer.

It wasn’t exactly swimming weather right now.

Quinn wound her scarf more snugly around her neck and burrowed into it. The wind pushing off the water of Puget Sound made for some brisk air. It was the kind of damp that dug into your bones and stayed there.

The weather was one reason Quinn was ready for a change of scenery. Washington was so wet and melancholy. Sure, it was green and “pretty” but for people with Seasonal Affective Disorder, it was the pits.

Quinn didn’t have SAD, but that was beside the point. It was a real problem for some people. And just because she didn’t have SAD, didn’t mean she enjoyed the constant rain. There was more to life than galoshes and rain jackets.

And the smell of fish...yuck. Not a fan.

I know, I know, how can I live on the coast and gag at the smell of fish?

Because Quinn suspected, in a past life, she’d been more of an arid desert kind of dweller because a dry heat didn’t bother her at all.

However, high humidity...made her lungs seize.

She climbed into her Jeep and made her way to Seminole Creek. News vans passed her on the road going the opposite direction and she was glad. She didn’t want to share any clues she might pick up with the bigger outlets.

It did feel odd to see strangers trampling all over Port Orion, almost as if they were trespassing.

Port Orion was small—a mere blip on the map—and most people completely bypassed it for more interesting places, such as Spokane or Tacoma.

Who wanted to visit a dinky little seaside town with all of its 8,500 people and with a lighthouse as its biggest tourist attraction when they could visit Seattle in all its grungy glory?

Yeah, not me.

So, having people in town who were clearly not local...made for some discomfited feelings.

But she’d been waiting for something big, something worth writing about that would make people sit up and notice. Let’s get real, writing about bake sales and fund-raising efforts weren’t going to further her career. Sure, currently she worked for the Port Orion Tribune but that was just to build her résumé. Not that the Tribune was sending her on ground-breaking news leads but opportunity was what one made of it, so Quinn never treated one story above another.

Which, she’d admit, wasn’t easy when she was tempted to “forget” the deadline for a fluff piece on the church Sunday school daycare when she really wanted to focus on something that could actually make a difference, such as the time she discovered the school district central kitchen had been using food stuffs that were past their expiration.

Maybe the threat of a little soured milk wasn’t all that dire in the big scheme of things but Quinn liked to think that stories like that helped build her foundation for later.

For example, if she hadn’t followed up on the expired foods, she wouldn’t have been able to put the dots together when a rash of kindergartners caught a whiff of food poisoning and ended up in the hospital after a vomit-fest had followed afternoon snack.

The school was lucky the parents didn’t sue.

But if they had, Quinn would’ve been right there to catch the story, which given the fact that she’d discovered the misdeed in the first place, would’ve been a huge feather in her cap.

However, no one sued.

The school called it an “oversight” and in response, put a new committee in place to ensure it never happened again.

They also fired the head cook, although not because of the food situation but because it was discovered that he had been going up to Seattle on weekends to do things best left unsaid, and the district didn’t think it was prudent to keep him on staff.

Another story that fizzled to nothing under the suffocating veil of a “confidential personnel issue.”

And Quinn was tired of her hard work going down the tubes.

This story was the one that was going to change everything. She could feel it in her bones.

Nothing was going to stand in her way.

Chapter 2

Silas pulled into the sleepy coastal town of his birth and took a moment to adjust. A barrage of memories assailed him as he maneuvered the rental car through the tiny downtown, the storefronts nearly the same as the day he’d left, and swallowed against the continuing echo of his brother’s voice.

The chill in the air was damp. This was the kind of weather that got stuck in your lungs and stayed there throughout the winter, as storms lashed the seas and battered the coast.

He parked outside the sheriff’s department, choosing to go straight to the authorities before checking into his hotel.

A lone seagull screeched and he glanced at the bird. After losing Spencer, the sound had always creeped him out.

Silas walked over to where the dispatcher sat behind a heavy glass window and flashed his credentials.

“Special Agent Silas Kelly here to see the sheriff about the recent Seminole Creek murder investigation.”

The woman behind the glass gave Silas a once-over but buzzed the sheriff.

Moments later Sheriff Lester Mankins appeared, looking older, grayer, with more lines on his face, but certainly the same guy he remembered from when he’d been a misguided teen, acting out from grief.

He would’ve thought that Mankins would’ve retired by now.

“As I live and breathe... Silas Kelly, the most stubborn, angry cuss that I’d ever dragged by the scruff of the neck down these halls. How are you, son?”

And just like that he was fourteen again. Silas struggled against the pinch in his sternum and extended a hand. “Can’t complain, Sheriff. How about you? Why haven’t you retired yet? Isn’t there some fish out there with your name on it?”

“Every damn weekend,” he joked, patting Silas heartily on the back. “C’mon back. Let’s talk in my office.”

Silas followed Mankins and took a seat once the office door was shut behind them.

Mankins spoke first. “I can only imagine that you’re here because of that poor girl we fished out of Seminole Creek early this morning. Bad news surely does travel fast.”

Silas confirmed with a nod.

Mankins sighed. “I figured. But I gotta say, seems a little out of federal jurisdiction. Tragic as it is, the case is likely just a grim statistic. Girls find themselves in bad situations and things get out of hand.”

“Is that what you think happened?”

The sheriff shrugged, spreading his hands. “Well, it’s how the case presents at first blush.”

“I’d like to see the case file.”

“Hold on, hold on, big shot. My investigating officer hasn’t even had time to put thought to paper. Have you checked into your hotel yet?” At Silas’s head shake, he said, “Well, how about you get checked in, go eat some chowder, warm up your bones and then tomorrow morning we’ll see how things look.”

Silas hated waiting. “I’d like to pull my brother’s cold case.”

That caused Mankins to do a double take. “Whatever for, son? Let the boy rest in peace. There’s no sense in dredging up painful memories.”

“I can appreciate that, Sheriff. But I think the two cases might be linked.”

“And why would you think that?” Mankins asked. “Your brother disappeared almost twenty years ago and there’s been nothing like that since. This girl has nothing in common with your little brother. Whoever did that terrible thing to Spencer...they’re long gone. I can almost guarantee it.”

Silas didn’t believe that, no matter how many people had suggested the same theory.

It was too random.

Most murders were rarely random.

“If it’s all the same...I’d like to pull the files.”

Mankins heaved a sigh as if Silas were chasing ghosts and wasting his time but he pressed a button on his phone, saying, “Janice, can you get Hanford to go into the archive and pull all the files pertaining to Spencer Kelly? He’s likely gonna have to go to storage. I don’t think they’re still in the building.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

Mankins leaned back. “Satisfied?”

“Thank you.”

“Look, those files aren’t going to be ready until tomorrow, either. So either way, you’re going to have to cool your jets, get settled in and try to enjoy the salty air. Does wonders for the soul.”

Silas had no plans to wander the streets, drinking in the sights or the ambience. He was here for one purpose—to determine if this girl’s case had any connection to Spencer’s.