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.

MILLS & BOON

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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.

“What can you tell me about the victim?”

“It’s the damnedest thing. Good kid. Comes from a great family. Her name is Rhia Daniels, sixteen, popular, pretty. Cheerleader, academic scholar, volunteers at the animal shelter, hell, she’s the poster child for the all-American teenager. We’re running into a brick wall as to who might want to hurt the poor girl.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Silas murmured. “What do you know about the family?”

“Solid. Good people. They didn’t deserve something like this.”

How many times had he thought the very same thing when delivering bad news to grieving parents?

No one deserved to lose a child.

Mankins switched gears. “How’s your mama? She still in Florida?”

“Yes, sir. Loves the sun, sand and the fact that when it rains, it’s sunny five minutes later.”

“And your dad?”

“He passed a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good man. How about your brothers?”

Silas knew polite conversation was expected but he had little interest in chewing the fat. He kept his answers short. “All well. Thank you.”

“It’s a damn shame your family didn’t stay local. The Kellys are good folk.”

Port Orion had lost its charm after Spencer died. His parents split and soon as the boys were done with school, the Kellys put Port Orion in their rearview.

Too many memories.

Too many unanswered questions.

He rose. “Thank you for your indulgence. I’ll try to stay on the peripheral. When is the autopsy scheduled?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll check in afterward.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances, but it’s good to see you again,” Mankins said. “You turned out pretty good.”

Silas accepted the comment with a subtle nod and a definite burn in his cheeks. Sheriff Mankins had been one of the people who’d seen a kid eaten by grief and guilt instead of the little shit that everyone else thought he was.

And now, seeing Mankins again, brought back all those feelings he’d long since put to bed.

He’d never properly thanked Mankins for his help. But now wasn’t the time. Silas wanted to keep things professional.

“It’s good to see you,” Silas offered by way of goodbye then saw himself out.

He drew a deep breath once outside the station. It felt as if an elephant was sitting on his chest.

Silas hadn’t expected to see Mankins still serving as sheriff. But hell, nothing changed in Port Orion it seemed, so why would he assume that Mankins would be retired?

Port Orion wasn’t exactly a hotbed of crime. Aside from Spencer’s abduction and murder and now this young girl, Port Orion was the picture of tranquility.

But what Silas had learned through his investigations with the FBI was that nothing was perfect. There was no perfect family, no perfect town.

Everyone had secrets they didn’t want to share.

Every place had dark shadows.

So Silas was going to do what he hadn’t been able to do back when he was thirteen—throw some light on the shadows...and rattle some closets to see what skeletons fell out.

Port Orion was about to have its bloomers blown up.

* * *

Quinn arose early, as she always did, and hustled down to Reba’s, her favorite diner, for breakfast. She had a standing order of coffee and Reba’s bestselling zucchini bread. Quinn liked to tell herself that she was getting her greens by eating zucchini bread for breakfast but deep down, she knew it was just delicious cake.

And she was okay with that.

She walked into the cozy diner and smiled at the waitresses, noting every familiar face that was always in the diner at this hour—Bill, Nancy, Georgia, Edwin—but her gaze skidded to a stop at one particular person who was certainly not local. Talk about tall, dark and mysterious.

And easy on the eyes—in an intense sort of way.

Black, austere wool coat, slicked back dark hair and an air about him that said, I’m not friendly so don’t even try, which pricked Quinn’s need to know more.

Either he was part of the Trenchcoat Mafia or he was a Fed.

Quinn was putting her money on a Fed.

And what exactly was a Fed doing here in Port Orion? Well, there was one way to find out.

She scooped up her order and went straight to his booth, sliding in on the opposite side with a smile.

“You’re not from around here,” she said, going straight for the obvious. “So who are you?”

He looked up and she was hit with stormy gray eyes that mirrored the skies when it was about to drop a bucket of water on the land. Her usual witty comebacks died on her tongue as she was momentarily stunned by the energy coming off him in waves.

“You first,” he countered, holding her gaze, taking her measure as surely as she’d tried to take his.

Remembering herself, she smiled brightly and extended a hand across the table, which he accepted briefly then released quickly. “Quinn Jackson. Reporter for the Port Orion Tribune and my Spidey-sense is telling me that you are a federal agent.”

“Your Spidey-sense is not wrong,” he answered, though his gaze had narrowed a bit. “And to what do I owe the pleasure? Are you part of the welcoming committee?”

“Not at all. I’m curious as to why a federal agent is in town, right when our poor town is being overrun by strangers because of the recent murder of Rhia Daniels, a pretty, little cheerleader girl, who, at first glance, was universally loved. Seems highly coincidental, right? I mean, what does the FBI care about a murder in a small town?”

He took a slow, measured sip of his black coffee. Quinn grabbed six tiny cream buckets and dumped them into her own coffee, adding about five packets of sugar.

She liked her coffee...less like coffee.

“What did you say your name was?” Quinn asked, blowing on her coffee.

“I didn’t.”

“Ah, that would explain why I still have no clue as to who you are. Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?”

A brief smile lit up his mouth before he answered. “Special Agent Silas Kelly, FBI.”

Triumph at being right sang in her voice. “See? I knew it. Now my next question...what the hell are you doing here?”

“I used to live here.”

“Yeah? When?”

“My entire family was born here.”

“Hmmm, I’ll have to verify that statement from different sources. Back to my original question...what are you doing here? It has something to do with Rhia’s death, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps.”

“Cryptic,” Quinn stated with a frown. “Okay, I’m going to assume that you’re here because of Rhia’s murder. So what’s so special that the FBI is getting involved? Government conspiracy? Not likely. Aliens? Probably not. Some connection to a different case? I can’t imagine. So you’ve got me stumped. Help a girl out and give me a hint.”

“I’m not here to give interviews, Miss Jackson.”

“What are you here for?”

“That would be my business.”

“So this is a personal trip, not official?”

He hesitated and she capitalized on his minute pause. “Aha! Let me guess...you are here on semi-official business but you’re not taking over the investigation, which means you’re here on a fact-finding mission,” she finished, pleased with herself. “Tell me I’m not wrong.”

But he couldn’t. All he would say was, “You can believe what you wish.”

Well, this was going nowhere.

“Let me tell you what I think... I think—” she began, fishing a little “—that Rhia Daniels was killed by someone that the FBI is interested in.”

“Everyone is entitled to their opinion...or speculation.”

“So you’re really not going to tell me anything, are you?” When he graced her with a sardonic expression, she said, “All right. Fine. Play it your way. I mean, we could work together and help each other out, but if you’d like to go it alone in a small town where the locals are wary of strangers...then I guess that’s your choice. But don’t come crawling to me when you get stonewalled at every turn.”

“I’m not a stranger.”

“Yeah, but how long has it been since you’ve been gone?”

“Fifteen years.”

“A lot can change in fifteen years.”

She left him with that thought.

And a smile.

With any luck, that seed she’d just planted would sprout and grow wild.

Chapter 3

Pastor Forrest Simms was in his office when two members of his flock came in, eyes and noses red from uncontrollable weeping.

Violet and Oliver Daniels, Rhia’s parents.

“Pastor,” Violet started, turning to her husband and clutching at his jacket. “I can’t tell him. You do it.”

Oliver nodded gravely and swallowed before saying, “We wanted to tell you before you heard through the grapevine... Rhia is dead.”

Forrest felt the blood drain from his cheeks. “How?”

“She was murdered. Someone took our Rhia away. Who could do such a thing?” Violet was seeking answers that Forrest couldn’t give her.

His gut churned as he searched for something to ease their heartache but his thoughts were crashing into each other. He leaned on platitudes to get him through. “She’s in a better place. She’s with Our Father. Take comfort in that where Rhia is, she is loved by the Almighty and knows only peace.”

“I want her back,” Violet wailed, sobbing against her husband’s chest. “She was my baby. My miracle baby. And now she’s gone. Who would do such a terrible thing to such a sweet girl?”

Oliver tried to hush his wife but he was barely hanging on himself. He looked to Forrest with an apology. “We’re sorry for interrupting your private time, Pastor. We just wanted to share the news personally, on account of how close you and Rhia were. She really looked to you for spiritual guidance and we will always keep you in our hearts for that.”

Forrest nodded, his discomfort making his skin itch as if a thousand fire ants were biting him. “She was a lovely girl.”

Violet nodded and Oliver walked with his bereft wife out of the office, leaving Forrest alone for a brief moment before Gladys, his secretary came in, her expression one of shock.

“Rhia Daniels? Did I hear that correctly?”

“Yes.”

Gladys fluttered her hands like a bird trying to take flight and then pressed her hands to her chest as if she was going to faint. “What is this town coming to? The wickedness is overwhelming. I mean, just the other day I was at the grocery store and someone stole cash right out of my purse when I had my back turned. The nerve! And now a murder?” She shuddered, adding, “This brings up so many bad memories. Hasn’t this town suffered enough?”

Forrest nodded, knowing that Gladys was referencing the death of Spencer Kelly almost twenty years ago. He and Spencer had been in the same grade. His death had been a major blow to the community.

Then Gladys thought of something. “Oh goodness, that must be why I saw all those news vans milling around downtown. That means the restaurants are going to be full. Darn if I’m going to get a table tonight now.”

“Gladys,” he admonished and she was immediately contrite.

“Excuse me, Pastor. Where is my head? I don’t know what’s wrong with me. We should host a gathering so people can come and grieve for poor Rhia.”

Forrest knew that was the right thing to do. But he struggled to say the words. Rhia was, indeed, a special girl. He didn’t know if he was ready to face all the grieving friends and family.

But he also knew with everyone in a lather about a potential murderer in their midst, he had to tread cautiously.

“That’s a beautiful idea, Gladys,” he finally murmured with a faint smile. “Please make the necessary arrangements. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel the need to pray. My heart is heavy.”

“Yes, of course.” Gladys quickly left the room and Forrest exhaled a shaky breath.

Rhia.

No more flirty smiles from across the pew.

No more struggling with his guilt.

His hands were still shaking.

He just had to get through the next few weeks.

God would provide solace and understanding.

Please, forgive me.

* * *

Silas checked into the hotel and, after making quick work of hanging his clothes and setting up his toiletries, he loosened his tie and sank into the small chair by the window.

Condensation gathered between the window panes from the damp air. Silas could already feel the cold creeping into his bones.

You’re tired, he rationalized. He wasn’t about to let his imagination start messing with him.

There was still time to head out to the scene.

Doing something was preferable to staring at the peeling wallpaper while he waited for his brother’s case file.

Grabbing his coat, he scooped up his keys and headed for Seminole Creek.

The road was bumpy just as he remembered. Only the locals swam in Seminole. It was difficult to find and easy to miss.

But in the summer it was the best place to hole up, drink a few beers and make out with your girlfriend away from prying eyes.

Except Silas had never much cared for the place after Spencer had been found there.

None of the Kelly boys hung out at Seminole after that.

The fact that he could still remember the way was a testament to how it was burned into his memory for all the wrong reasons.

You had to climb down to the actual creek from a short embankment, which was something someone else had known, too.

A Jeep was parked on the shoulder.

Silas pulled up behind the vehicle and climbed out, his gaze sharp.

Woodland creatures skittered behind ferns and tall trees flanking the wide creek bed. His breath plumed in frosty clouds as he surveyed the area.

Nothing had changed.

But then nothing changed in Port Orion it seemed.

It was as if the town had been caught in a time loop. Nothing moved forward or behind—everything was static.

He climbed to the top and looked down.

A huge rock jutted out across the water, a popular jumping point above a deep spot on the creek bed.

Spencer’s voice echoed in his mind.

“Silas, watch me!”

Spencer, the precocious shit, had wanted to prove himself. He was going to jump from the high rock, like the rest of them.

Their oldest brother Sawyer didn’t approve. “It’s too high for him.”

“Stop babying him,” Silas had shot back. “You practically pushed me off this rock when I was his age.”

“I can do it,” Spencer boasted to Sawyer with a tiny amount of pleading. “C’mon, let me try.”

Silas wanted to see Spencer jump. Everyone babied Spencer and he was sick of it. Why were the rules always different for Spence? “Go on, I dare you, you little mama’s boy,” Silas had taunted with a grin. “You’re too chicken to do it.”

Before Sawyer could tell him not to, Spencer flipped Silas off and then leaped from the rock, screeching like a little girl the entire way down.

Silas had laughed until Sawyer had picked him up and tossed him off the rock to join Spencer, saying, “You made him jump. You can make sure he’s okay.”

Silas’s balls still ached from the awkward way he’d landed in the water.

Yeah, his brothers had thought that was hilarious.

The memory of that day faded and Silas returned to the present only to see that aggressive reporter, Quinn Jackson, nosing around the crime scene.

“Hey,” he called out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is an active crime scene.”

Quinn looked up, caught, and tried blinding him with a bright smile as if that was going to work.

The young woman was nice to look at. In another time, another place, he might even be tempted to get her number, but in this current circumstance, he had zero interest so that pretty smile was wasted on him.

“You can’t be down here,” Silas told her sternly as he joined her. “Exactly what do you hope to accomplish aside from contaminating a crime scene?”

“Hold on, there, Mr. Grumpy Pants, I’m not stupid. I’m not touching anything on the other side of the tape, I’m just trying to get a feel for the scene. It helps for my story.”

Silas narrowed his gaze, seeing her for what she was—a soulless shell of a person who only cared about her story.

Much like the reporters who’d ruined Spencer’s case.

Over-eager, aggressive and completely disinterested in how their meddling affected the outcome of a case.

“Get out of here before I call your boss,” Silas growled. “Try to show some respect for the girl who died.”

Quinn stiffened, taking immediate offense. “Excuse me? I knew that girl. I took her picture plenty of times for the paper so don’t lecture me on something you have no moral ground to stand on. You are the trespasser here. Try to remember that.”

“Her family is grieving,” Silas returned, disgusted with all press. “The last thing they need is some nosey reporter digging around, contaminating the case. Now, get out of here.”

“This is public land,” Quinn said, lifting her chin, her eyes flashing. “I can be here all I want as long as I don’t cross the tape. So deal with it.”

Silas shook his head. Reporters were all alike. Intent on their own purposes, and damn anyone else.

“What are you here for?” Quinn asked.

But Silas disregarded her question and walked away, prepared to tune her out. If she refused to leave he couldn’t make her, but he didn’t have to be polite and suffer idle chatter.

Quinn took the hint but he sensed she was put out. Small town—she wasn’t used to being on the outside of a local issue. She probably got what she wanted by using charm and sweetness but he got the feeling Quinn was more than she seemed.

Quinn’s surface was a cultivated act that she’d honed over the years but past the superficial layer of candy was nothing but rock.

He’d have to watch out for her. She was going to be trouble.

Silas gave her a covert glance, catching her scribbling notes in her notepad, her nose pinking from the chill.

What was she writing?

The creek, high for this time of year, rushed over rocks, creating small whitecaps. Although Seminole was technically a creek, it was quite wide and deep in some areas.

The gurgle of the water as it traveled was soothing to some—but Silas didn’t care for it.

Rushing water reminded him of Spencer’s murder.

Swearing mentally at his inability to stop his brain from throwing too many pieces from his childhood into his way, he realized without the report, he was wasting his time at the crime scene.

Maybe he’d already known that at a core level but he had to come to test himself.

He didn’t see the raw, lush beauty of Seminole Creek—he saw the place someone had dumped his brother’s body.

Oppenshaw had probably been right; his thought process was too cluttered with shit from the past to be of any use here.

But he wasn’t leaving.

Hell, he couldn’t if he tried.

The pull to remain was too strong.

Without another word, he left Quinn behind at the scene. It was getting dark, anyway. If she wanted to stumble around without any light that was her business.

He needed food, a shower and bed.

In that order.

Tomorrow he was attacking this case with his head on straight.

Chapter 4

Quinn knew when the FBI agent, Silas Kelly, had left the scene, because she found herself releasing the breath that must’ve been pent up inside.

There was something about the austere man that troubled her.

He wasn’t friendly in the least.

But that wasn’t it.

Okay, so he was good-looking. Older than her by close to ten years, but he wore his age well.

His skin was clear, his eyes sharp.

If she was being honest, he probably could double as a model or something.

But that wasn’t what was pulling at her, either.

Quinn sensed something beyond the stoic face, the stern glance.

Pain.

The man was hiding something really painful, something that he preferred to keep private.

Which, of course, only pricked at her need to know more.

Her uncle Leo was always telling her that she was the cat that curiosity eventually killed.

A little morbid but probably true.

What could she say? She loved uncovering details that others would rather hide.

Such as...why was an FBI agent poking his nose into a local case that, on the surface, had absolutely no connection to anything with federal jurisdiction?

Time for a little fieldwork. Someone in town had to know more about Silas Kelly.

Seeing as the sheriff was being unaccountably mum on the subject of this recent murder, she’d just have to go to a different source.

The one man she knew who knew everything about Port Orion was right under her nose.

Uncle Leo.

Pocketing her pen and pad, she wandered a few more times up and down the bank, steering clear of the tape, and when she found nothing that stood out, she followed Silas’s lead and left the scene.

Just in time, too. Her nose felt ready to fall off.

Quinn popped into the diner to grab some soup—minestrone for her and chowder for Uncle Leo—and went home.

The best way to get her uncle to start talking was to ply him with his favorite foods.

Chowder was his weakness.

“I’m home,” she called out, carrying her bags of goodies. “And I’ve brought something yummy.”

Leo hollered from his office. “I’ll be right there. I can smell the chowder already!”

Quinn chuckled and found some bowls to ladle up their portions. She broke off some sourdough bread and liberally buttered it so by the time Uncle Leo appeared she had everything ready to go.

“You are an angel from heaven,” he said, sinking into the chair at the table, his eyes as round as the soup bowl. “How did you know that I was craving chowder?”

Quinn pretended to think then answered, “Because it’s a day that ends in Y.”

“Clever girl,” Leo quipped before dipping in, his expression of glee tickling her.

Uncle Leo was like a father to her but cool like an uncle. She liked to call him her funcle.

After a few bites, Leo leaned back and eyed Quinn with suspicion. “All right, out with it, missy...what’s on your mind? You always bring me chowder when you want something.”

“Not true,” she protested but she couldn’t help the smile because it was true. “Maybe I just love seeing you happy and I know chowder is the way to your heart.”

“Exactly,” he returned drily. “What do you need?”

Since there was no further point in denying it, Quinn said, “Okay, since you asked... I need information.”

“Is this on the record?” he said semi-seriously. “Because I don’t need to be quoted on nothing.”

“Off the record,” she assured him. “I just need to know some Port Orion history.”

Leo lost his seriousness. “Oh, then. That’s easy. What do you need to know?”

Quinn jumped right in. “So, there’s an FBI agent in town, seemingly interested in the murder of Rhia Daniels, and he says he’s from here but I don’t know him. I mean, he’s older than me, but I thought you might have some insight.”

“What’s the name?”

“Silas Kelly.”

At the mention of the name, Leo’s gaze shuttered and he shook his head. “Sad story there. Hard to believe he came back.”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s an FBI agent interested in the Daniels case for?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I was hoping I could find out by learning who he is to this town. Can you help me?”

“I don’t know much more than what was told in the papers,” Leo said, tearing off a chunk of bread to dunk in the chowder.

“Yeah, but surely there must’ve been chatter. Just tell me what you remember.”

Leo fidgeted, seeming lost for a minute. Finally, he roused himself when he realized Quinn was still waiting.

“Sure, sure. Okay, well, it’s a terrible story. Here’s what I remember. The Kelly family used to live here. Good family. Good people. But then something bad happened to the youngest Kelly boy and nothing was ever the same again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when you live in a small town, where everyone knows everyone else, you feel insulated against the troubles of the world. So when something real bad happens, it shakes people up, makes them realize that they’re not immune to the dangers everyone else faces. Losing that Kelly boy...and never finding the killer...well, it was just too much.”

“His brother was murdered?” Quinn’s eyes bugged. “How awful.”

“And the family picked up and left town as soon as Silas graduated from high school. I heard the family broke up, went in separate directions.”

Quinn thought of the austere air about Silas and pitied the young kid he’d been. That was some rough stuff.

“Do you think there could be any connection between Spencer Kelly’s murder and Rhia Daniels?”

“No, I really doubt it,” Leo answered with conviction. “Whoever did that terrible thing is probably long gone but people who crave closure will grasp at any straw. I can’t blame the man for trying.”

She couldn’t, either.

The gears in her mind were moving quickly, testing out theories and possibilities.

“I imagine if, by some incredible chance, the cases are connected...that would be a pretty amazing coup to solve them both.”

Leo shrugged as if he thought the possibility was far too remote to contemplate and returned to his chowder, pausing to ask, “What’s with all the curiosity? You think you’re going to bust this case wide open and report on it?”

“And if I did?”

“I’d say that’s a helluva long shot.”

Quinn smiled. “That’s okay. I like a challenge.”

Leo’s brief smile felt vaguely patronizing but Quinn let it slide. Everyone was allowed an off day.

Besides, she had bigger fish to fry.

First and foremost...she needed to find a way to get Silas Kelly to trust her.

Given the fact that he seemed to have little respect for the press that would be a challenge indeed.

* * *

Silas felt it prudent to let his brothers know that he was in Port Orion. His call to Shaine went to voice mail—not surprising, Shaine was always undercover somewhere—so he left a brief message and called Sawyer.

Sawyer picked up on the first ring.

“You’re up late,” Silas said, checking his watch. “Working a case?”

“Yeah, possible fiduciary elder abuse case in Wyoming. Pretty sophisticated operation, too. What’s up?”

Silas decided to go straight for the meat. “I’m in Port Orion, working a murder case.”

A beat of silence followed before Sawyer said, “Why? Is it related to Spencer’s case?”

“I don’t know, but the victim was found in Seminole Creek around the same time as the anniversary of Spencer’s murder. Seemed like a good idea to follow up.”

Silas could feel the weight of his brother’s concern from across the line. “You know the likelihood that the two cases are related is very slim,” Sawyer said carefully. “I just don’t want you chasing after a ghost.”

“I’m only here for a few days to sniff things out. If it looks like the cases aren’t connected, I’ll leave.”

“Will you?” Sawyer didn’t sound convinced.

“Of course.”

“Good. Nothing but sadness left in that place. You need to give yourself some closure.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“No, you’re trying to find forgiveness. No one blames you for what happened to Spence.”

Silas struggled for a minute. That familiar choking sensation pressed on his windpipe. He was to blame. It was his fault. “I shouldn’t have left him.”

“You were a kid,” Sawyer said. “Spence should’ve gone home like he was supposed to. No one could’ve known what was going to happen that day.”

Silas knew all the rational arguments—didn’t matter. His guilt still crushed him every day.

And returning to Port Orion had only dredged up those buried feelings.

As if reading his mind, Sawyer asked, “How’s it being back?”

“Weird. Uncomfortable. Sad.”

“Seems about right.”

“Nothing has changed. Everything is as it was. Time doesn’t exist here. Mankins is still the sheriff. He should’ve retired a long time ago.”

Sawyer chuckled. “If it weren’t for Mankins, your ass would’ve landed in jail. He saved your skin more times than I can count.”

That much was true. After Spencer’s death...well, let’s just say that being a good kid hadn’t been big on Silas’s list.

“I went to the crime scene. You know that big rock that we used to jump off from?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks the same. Reminded me of the time Spencer wanted to jump and you didn’t think it was safe, but he did it anyway and then you pushed me off to make sure Spencer was all right.”

Sawyer chuckled at the memory. “Racked your nuts if I recall correctly.”

“Hell, yes. It’ll be a miracle if I can have kids.”

“Well, we all babied Spencer.”

Everyone but Silas. “Yeah, made me jealous. Why did he get special treatment?” he said, half joking but it was difficult to talk about Spencer without sinking into the tar pit of banked grief. Silas returned to the reason he called. “Look, if there’s a chance to solve his murder, I have to take it. My boss thinks I’m chasing after a ghost, too. But I don’t care. My intuition says I have to be here. For whatever reason that may be. But I can’t leave.”

“So tell me about the recent case,” Sawyer said, resigned. “What are the details?”

“Sixteen-year-old girl, popular, pretty. Dumped into Seminole Creek two nights ago. I’m waiting on the autopsy report to see if there were any trace forensics that I can compare to Spencer’s case.”

“No preliminary cause of death?”

“Hand marks on the neck suggest strangulation.”

“Similar to Spencer. But choking a victim out isn’t unique,” Sawyer pointed out.

“True. That’s why I’m pulling Spencer’s case file to refresh my memory.”

“I would’ve thought you had that case file memorized by now,” Sawyer said.

Truth was, Silas had put Spencer’s case far out of his mind so he could focus on the cases that landed on his desk today. “I could use a refresher. I know the basics but I don’t want any detail left on the table.”

“I don’t know, Silas. Refreshing the details of Spencer’s case seems like an unnecessary agony.”

Silas knew that it was different for his older brothers. They’d mourned Spencer’s death like any sibling would, but they would never understand Silas’s driving need to find who had killed the youngest Kelly.

A beat of silence passed between them and then Sawyer exhaled, knowing Silas wouldn’t be deterred. The Kelly men were known for being stubborn.

“I know you’re going to do whatever you feel is necessary. Be careful and keep me updated.”

“I will,” Silas agreed.

“All right. It’s late. Be safe, brother.”

Sawyer clicked off and Silas plugged his cell in to charge for the night. It felt good to talk with Sawyer. Even though they were all adults, the Kelly brothers had a special bond.

Spencer’s death had drawn them together in a way that he would never wish on anyone but he was thankful for their support.

He couldn’t say the same for his dad.

Silas was the only Kelly boy who hadn’t attended the funeral.

Dad never forgave Silas for what’d happened to Spencer. Messed up, yeah, he knew. But even though he could rationalize his father’s feelings, the kid inside him still hurt for the rejection.

And he’d never get closure from his father.

Dad had died a handful of years ago with harsh words lodged between him and Silas.

He stiffened his backbone as a shock of pain jolted him. Even if Silas had been willing to patch things up, his dad couldn’t.

Just...couldn’t. Each time his dad had looked at Silas, the corners of his mouth would pull as if he was being reminded all over again that it was because of Silas that Spencer was gone.

Thankfully, his mother hadn’t drawn such a harsh line. Though there were times Silas wondered if deep down, she harbored a secret resentment against him. Maybe it was his guilty conscience, but it was hard to ignore just the same.

Climbing into bed, he closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep. His alarm was set for five a.m. and seeing as it was past midnight already, that didn’t leave much time for shut-eye.

But as he was drifting, Quinn Jackson popped into his last conscious thought and he was left with a feeling that he hadn’t seen the last of the redhead.

Silas frowned, irritated at himself that his thoughts kept gravitating toward Quinn.

What was it about her that his brain stubbornly refused to latch loose?

The easy answer—her looks.

But that wasn’t it.

Silas was old enough to recognize the pitfall of chasing after a pretty face and perfect figure.

She had a sense about her that made people stare.

Including him.

Raw, boundless energy crackled around her.

Like a...kitten.

No, not a kitten.

Like something wild.

Untamed.

And completely dangerous.

If he were smart, he’d steer clear.

Chapter 5

“Please, Lester,” Quinn pleaded. “What’s the point of being local if I can’t even get some kind of exclusive content?”

“Isn’t there some environmental catastrophe you could report on? Maybe go piss off some timber company and leave this case alone.”

“Why are you so intent on pushing me away from this case?” she asked. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re afraid I’m going to uncover something you’d rather keep hidden.”

Oops. Too far.

Lester narrowed his gaze at her. “Watch it,” he growled and she immediately changed her tactic.

“I just want justice for this poor girl. I mean, the whole school is grieving right now. The town is hungry to know what happened. We need to be able to give them the answers they seek in the most responsible manner possible. Do you really think that the big presses are going to care if the case is handled sensitively? Hell, Lester, I saw news vans camped out in front of the Danielses’ family house yesterday! How awful, right? You don’t see me doing that, but if you don’t give me something I can work with, I might have to.”

Lester appeared to take her point under consideration. After a long pause he said, “All right. You’re worse than a damn bloodhound. The autopsy is scheduled for this morning. If you want, you can sit in and watch.”

Watch an autopsy? That wasn’t exactly what she had in mind but she’d take it. “Perfect! Am I allowed to ask the coroner questions?”

“No. Keep your lip zipped.”

“Then why am I watching?” she said, frustrated. “C’mon, Lester, you’re tying my hands at every turn. Don’t you love me?”

At that Lester softened. “Of course I do. I just think this case is above your pay grade, sweetheart.”

That really stung. Quinn tried not to let her bruised pride overrun her mouth but it was hard. “I’m trying to elevate my pay grade,” she replied with quiet dignity. “I need a case like this to do it.”

“What does your uncle think of you poking around on this case?”

“He doesn’t have an opinion,” she answered, frowning at the odd question. “Why would he? It’s my job.”

Lester nodded, conceding the point but not before adding a few stipulations. “You are to be quiet so the doc can do his work. The only reason I’m letting you do this is because you need to see the ugly side of the work you want to do. Rhia Daniels is more than just a story angle for your career. She was someone’s daughter, and her parents are grief-stricken.”

“Of course,” Quinn said quickly. “I’ll be very respectful.”

“See that you are. Or else this will be the last time your pretty pleas will work on me.”

“Is that it?”

“No. I want you to steer clear of Silas Kelly, too.”

“Why?”

“Because his agenda has nothing to do with yours.”

That stipulation put her in direct opposition with her plans. She needed Silas. Seems out of everyone, Silas was her best bet to get solid leads.

The irony was not lost on her.

“Sure,” she lied. “I mean, it’s a small town so we’re bound to run into each other but I won’t go out of my way to spend time with him.”

“Fair enough.” Lester leaned back in his chair, looking suddenly very weary as he gestured for her to go. “You’ve got your marching orders, now go on.”

“Thank you, Lester,” Quinn said, pleased with her victory. “You’re the best.”

Lester snorted at her flattery and she left with a smile.

Her first autopsy. Should be...fun.

It might be disgusting, but at least she could get a look at the condition of the body, which might turn out to be good color for her story.

Quinn pulled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head, wound her scarf around her neck and headed for the morgue.

The tiny flutter in her nerves betrayed her nervousness. Even if she didn’t want to admit it, she wasn’t entirely sure how her stomach was going to react to seeing a dead body.

What if she puked?

She liked to think she was tougher than that but the only way to know was to go through with it.

Quinn pushed open the double doors of the morgue and shivered at the icy chill in the sterile room. She found Silas already there, looking austere and unapproachable. Maybe if he smiled more...no, don’t go there. Even when he was looking as if a giant stick was wedged up his behind, he was still pretty handsome.

So...no smiles necessary.

“What are you doing here?” Silas asked.

“I have permission to be here,” Quinn answered, lifting her chin. To the coroner, she assured him, “I promise I won’t get in your way.”

Quinn didn’t know the doctor, and she didn’t usually make a habit of rubbing elbows with the man who poked and prodded the dead, but he didn’t give off the impression that he was open to making friends either.

With a faint scowl, the coroner nodded and motioned for them to come over to the table where the body of Rhia Daniels lay beneath a white sheet.

“Is this really necessary?” Silas asked her in a low tone. “What can you possibly hope to put in your story from this angle? Try to remember her grieving family.”

“Why does everyone assume that I don’t?” Quinn shot back, irritated. “Maybe her family would like some closure. I imagine your family would’ve liked to know who killed your brother.”

A flash of heat in his eyes warned her to tread carefully. Maybe that comment was a little too much. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be hurtful. I’m just trying to put things in perspective.”

“Perspective for whom?”

“You, of course,” Quinn answered. “You seem to have something against me and you don’t even know me.”

“You’re press. That’s all I need to know,” he said.

“Well, that’s painting with a wide brush. Not all press are the same.”

“In my experience, they are. The story is always more important than the feelings of the people involved. I’ve watched reporters step all over people to get their story, no matter who was standing in their way. Reporters are worse than ambulance-chasing lawyers.”

The coroner looked up, annoyed. “If you’d like to continue your conversation elsewhere, that would be appreciated. I’m trying to do my job.”

“My apologies,” Silas said, shooting Quinn a look as if she was the problem and not him.

Quinn chose to ignore Silas for the moment and concentrate on taking in every detail she could without losing her breakfast.

Rhia Daniels, young, beautiful and dead.

Black-and-blue smudges betrayed where fingers had gripped her slender neck, squeezing the life out of her.

The hands looked large on her small body. Quinn struggled with the little voice inside her head that disapproved of being there.

It seemed...disrespectful.

Silas’s expression remained stony, stoic—devoid of emotion as the doctor went about his exam, speaking his notes out loud to his digital recorder.

“Victim is female, age sixteen, healthy, with visible defensive wounds on her arms and legs. Bruising around the neck that suggests strangulation.”

Quinn couldn’t imagine how terrified the girl must’ve been. Had a stranger done this to her? Or was it someone she’d known?

A jealous boyfriend, perhaps?

“A sexual assault exam, as well, Doctor,” Silas reminded the coroner, which was not appreciated as the older man cast Silas a dour look.

“You do your job; I’ll do mine.”

Silas didn’t bristle at the rebuke.

Probably because the man was made from stone.

He wouldn’t know a genuine emotion if it was dumped on him.

Harsh, Quinn. Don’t play into the stereotype of a heartless journalist.

Quinn managed to hold herself together until the doc started the incisions, then she had to excuse herself.

Quickly.

Gulping big breaths of fresh air, Quinn struggled to keep from upchucking her breakfast burrito.

Moments later Silas joined her, a small smirk on his chiseled face.

“Maybe you could do a narrative piece on your first autopsy.”

“What makes you think it was my first?” Quinn bluffed, still feeling hot and shaky. She pressed a cool hand against her cheek, fishing a bottled water from her purse.

“Because you look green, which surprisingly isn’t a good look with your red hair.”

“Okay, it was my first,” she said, blowing out a breath before guzzling the water. Quinn wiped her mouth. “I take it you watch autopsies in your spare time?”

“I’ve seen my share—and it’s never something I take lightly.”

Darkness rippled around Silas like an aura, emanating mystery.

There was something primal about Silas, something alluring. She caught herself when she realized she was leaning toward him, trying to catch a whiff of whatever spicy, manly cologne he was wearing.

“Eau de FBI,” she murmured, mostly to herself but Silas caught it.

“Excuse me?”

Heat flushed her cheeks and she shook her head, saying quickly, “Nothing,” before adding, “Sheriff Mankins says I should steer clear of you. Says you have your own agenda. What would that be, I wonder?”

Instead of denying the claim, Silas just shrugged and said, “You ought to listen to your sheriff.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe he’s right.”

“So what is your agenda?” Quinn asked boldly.

Silas regarded her with a quiet intensity that she felt like a physical thing as he replied with a faint smile, “That would be my business, now, wouldn’t it?”

And then he left her standing there, looking like a dope.

Quinn groused to no one. “Well, that went swimmingly,” and tossed her empty water bottle in the trash before heading to her car.

She wasn’t sure what she could use from the autopsy and she’d learned less than nothing from Silas.

Time to do some more digging on her own.

* * *

Silas left the autopsy and headed for the sheriff’s office. Spencer’s case file should be ready as well as the preliminary report from the investigating officer on the Daniels case.

He entered the building and went straight to the receiving window where a woman sat behind thick glass.

He flashed his credentials. “I’m here to pick up the case files on Spencer Kelly and Rhia Daniels.”

The woman nodded and pulled two manila envelopes then pushed a log book under the window opening. “Just sign here.”

Silas scrawled his name across the book and accepted the envelopes, tucking them into his jacket to protect them from the weather.

It wasn’t raining yet but the dark clouds signaled that a deluge was imminent.

He was nearly to his car when he ran into someone he would’ve been content to avoid while in Port Orion.

“Well, look who’s gracing Port Orion with his presence. Big shot Silas Kelly...what are you doing around here?”

Marc Boggs, former friend turned adversary, still wearing his jealousy over Silas’s accomplishments like part of his uniform, eyed him with banked dislike.

“Marc,” Silas acknowledged with a small nod. “Just doing legwork on a case.”

“Here? In Port Orion? It’s gotta be that young girl we fished out of Seminole Creek.” Marc didn’t wait for Silas to confirm or deny. “Hell, that girl is giving our little town as much publicity as the last time a kid was found in that place.”

Silas narrowed his gaze at Marc. “Yeah, it would seem.”

Marc sighed as if he felt some kind of empathy for Silas but Silas knew better. Marc only cared about Marc. But it seemed he was interested in playing the part of “long-lost friend” and threw out an offer to get a beer. “Me and a few buddies, you know those of us who chose to stick around, we get together on Saturday nights to blow off some steam down at The Pier. You’re welcome to come by and join us.”

“Sorry, another time. I’m on the clock.”

Marc chuckled. “Damn, Silas, loosen up. Big shot now, can’t hang with the lowly peasants, right?”

“Not here for a good time,” Silas said.

The subtle downturn of Marc’s mouth gave away his displeasure at being rebuffed. Likely the scenario that played out in Marc’s head was a night of getting under Silas’s skin with veiled insults and condescending jokes.

Yeah, no thanks, Silas thought.

“Catch you later, Marc.”

He didn’t wait for Marc’s reply.

Silas sat in his rental car, wondering how many sour apples he’d run into while in town.

Damn this place. Same people, same buildings. Same bullshit small-town politics.

Everybody talking about everyone else’s business with little regard for how their tongue-wagging might hurt someone else.

He preferred the anonymity of a large city. His neighbors didn’t bother him or poke their noses where they didn’t belong.

Quinn came to mind and he grimaced, though not entirely for the same reasons as he would’ve liked.

That red hair...it was like a halo of fire around her head, which only accentuated the green of her eyes.

She looked out of place in Port Orion but she’d fit right in walking the shores of Ireland.

An odd moment of whimsy struck him. Ireland with Quinn.

The discordant thought twanged like an out-of-tune guitar string.

Shake that shit off. What was he doing thinking of Quinn in any way aside from professional?

It was the strain of being here, he rationalized. His brain was clawing at any possible way of providing relief, a distraction from the bone-deep grief that remained lodged in spite of how many years had passed.

Quinn was annoying, a pest. And way too young. He preferred women with more seasoning.

But that hair was distracting.

Flowing down her back in wavy ripples, curling at the ends.

The stubborn cowlick near her forehead probably gave her fits.

Silas shut his eyes, trying to push Quinn from his mind.

But all that did was provide a rich curtain for thoughts that immediately caused him to shift inside his trousers.

Damn it. He needed release. All the tension from arriving in Port Orion, memories jamming his brain, were causing his impulses to come out sidewise.

He didn’t want anything to do with Quinn.

He didn’t want to work with her and he certainly didn’t want to bed her.

Focus on the case.

He breathed deeply as he willed his stubborn erection to fade.

Maybe later he’d take care of himself. Release that tension. Quick and efficient.

In the meantime, it was time to get to work.

That was a better distraction anyway.

Chapter 6

Quinn pulled up to the Daniels home and frowned when she saw news vans still camped out in the street.

That’s not very classy, Quinn thought with a sniff, even though she was there for the same reason.

But it was different for her. She actually cared about the family.

She started up the steps when a car door closed behind her.

“You’re like an unlucky penny.”

Quinn bit her lip and swore mentally before turning to face Silas.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for answers. The question is...what are you doing here? I would’ve thought that picking at the family during their time of grief was going too far for a local who supposedly cares about them.”

Quinn seamed her mouth shut. The man had a comeback for everything. “I do care about the family. I wrote a story about Rhia’s award-winning photography in the amateur division at the state fair level. It was a big deal around here. And the story was very well received.”

“Something tells me the family isn’t going to embrace you with open arms to chat about their dead daughter, no matter how many fluff stories you wrote about her.”

“Feature stories are not fluff,” Quinn retorted, freshly irritated. “But what would you know about journalism? Nothing. I won’t tell you how to do your job and you won’t tell me how to do mine.”

“Well, the press’s place is over there.” Silas pointed to the row of vans lining the street. “I’ve got work to do.”

Quinn knew that if Silas gained access to the Daniels family before her, he’d find a way to shut her out. Swallowing her pride, she hustled after Silas with a quick proposition. “Look, we both have jobs to do and we are both at a bit of a disadvantage. I say we help each other. We don’t have to be enemies.”

“I don’t work with press,” Silas said, climbing the steps and knocking on the door. “Now, get out of here before you upset people.”

Before Quinn could counter, the front door opened and a haggard Mrs. Daniels answered.

Silas produced his credentials. “I’m Special Agent Kelly. May I take a few moments of your time to talk to you about your daughter’s case?”

Mrs. Daniels swung red-rimmed eyes toward Quinn and recognition broke. “Are you...with him?” she asked.

“God no,” Quinn answered quickly, actually stepping forward to put some distance between them. “We just happened to have the misfortune of arriving at the same time.”

“Why is the FBI interested in Rhia’s case?” Mrs. Daniels asked, her fingers clutching at her necklace.

“May I come in so we can discuss the case?”

“I...” Mrs. Daniels’s gaze darted again and Quinn took the opportunity to insert herself.

“Mrs. Daniels, if you’d be more comfortable... I’d be happy to sit with you. I can only imagine the pain you’re going through. Rhia was an amazing and talented girl. The story I wrote on her photography has always been my favorite.”

Mrs. Daniels nodded, tears brimming. “Yes, she was.” Then she gestured for Quinn to come in as she said to Silas, “I suppose I can answer a few questions if it would help Rhia’s case.”

If Silas was pissed that Quinn had outmaneuvered him, he didn’t show it. Quinn had come to the conclusion that Silas was built from ice.

The man was as stoic as they came.

Did he ever smile? What did his laugh sound like?

Quinn couldn’t even imagine his face allowing a smile to happen.

But if it did...man, he was probably devastating.

Again with the smile. She was annoyed at the broken record of her thoughts. Give it a rest already.

Quinn shoved aside the unwelcome meandering thought and smiled for Mrs. Daniels as they each took a seat in the family room.

It was as Quinn remembered.

Several clocks interrupted the silence with soft ticks while the house seemed to sigh with grief.

Quinn wasn’t one to entertain woo-woo stuff but the sadness in the air was almost a physical thing, and not even Mrs. Daniels’s fondness for crocheted doilies could lighten the mood.

She fingered one of the delicate lace creations draped across the arm of the sofa like a frozen lily pad, murmuring, “So pretty,” for Mrs. Daniels’s benefit.

The grieving mother accepted the compliment with a nod. “My grandmother always said, ‘A bit of lace will brighten any room.’”

“So true,” Quinn agreed, wondering when Silas was going to pounce. She’d prefer that he be the bad guy in this scenario but she desperately wanted any information that could help her story.

Quinn already knew Rhia’s backstory—miracle child, beloved darling of much older parents, indulged and pampered—but in spite of all this, Rhia had been a decent kid.

At least what Quinn could remember of her.

Who knew what kids were really like when their parents weren’t around?

“Is there any reason you can think of why Rhia would be around Seminole Creek at this time of year?” Silas asked, going straight to the hard questions.

Sheesh, man, way to go for the soft spots right away.

Quinn took a different approach. Sidestepping Silas’s brutal question, Quinn interjected with kindness.

“How are you holding up, Mrs. Daniels? I can only imagine the hell you’re in right now. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Mrs. Daniels sniffed back tears but cast a grateful smile Quinn’s way. “You’re such a good girl. Thank you.” She drew a halting breath to steady her nerves and said to Silas, “I haven’t a clue why she was down at the creek. She wasn’t the kind of girl who snuck off in the middle of the night.”

“Maybe she was meeting with a boyfriend?” Silas suggested.

“Rhia didn’t have a boyfriend. She wasn’t allowed to date until she was seventeen,” Mrs. Daniels said, shaking her head. “Rhia was a very good girl, focused on school. She wanted to go to...Berkeley University in California. It’s all she talked about.”

Whether Mrs. Daniels wanted to admit it or not, kids often held back information from their parents. Censoring was normal. But Quinn knew they gained nothing by pointing that out to the grieving mother.

Quinn caught the subtle shift in Silas’s body posture and she sensed that he was on the same wavelength. She held her breath. Was he going to go there?

But he didn’t and she was a little disappointed.

Now you pull back? Go figure.

“Can you lead us through the timeline, Mrs. Daniels?” Silas asked, his voice gentling.

The bereft woman took a moment to collect herself. The pain Mrs. Daniels suffered was almost palpable. Quinn shifted against the pinch of conscience that tempered the hunger she had for a breakout story.

“My husband and I went to dinner that night. Rhia said she had homework and stayed behind. We got home around eleven and went straight to bed.” Suddenly, her eyes started to brim. “We didn’t think to check if she was in her room. Maybe if we’d checked...”

But Silas shook his head. “Don’t go there. I’ve seen too many parents blame themselves for something that was completely out of their control and it eats them up inside. Please don’t do that to yourself.”

Quinn was silently in awe of Silas’s gentle handling. What happened to Mr. Frosty?

Mrs. Daniels nodded, fresh tears tracking down her face. “That’s very kind of you. I can’t get it out of my head how she must have suffered. I...I can’t sleep or eat. All I think about is that my daughter is gone.”

“What happened next, Mrs. Daniels?” Silas asked.

“We got a call from the sheriff saying that Rhia’s body had been found by a fisherman the next morning.”

Silas nodded, jotting down notes. “Is there anyone you can think of who might want to hurt Rhia?”

“No one,” she answered, shaking her head almost desperately. “Everyone loved Rhia. She was kind and considerate to everyone she met. I can’t imagine anyone having a problem with her.”

Quinn would normally chalk Mrs. Daniels’s statement up to a parent’s bias but to be honest, Quinn knew that Rhia was well liked.

“How about friends? Who are Rhia’s closest friends? Sometimes kids censor themselves around their parents but they’re more open with peers.”

Mrs. Daniels seemed troubled by that possibility but gave up a few names. “Well, she’s very close with Britain Almasey. She’s another cheerleader on the squad. They’ve been best friends since grade school. But Rhia didn’t keep secrets from us. We were very close.”

“I appreciate that, but I like to cross all the Ts and dot the Is.”

Mrs. Daniels nodded, relief coming from understanding. “Of course. I appreciate your diligence, Mr. Kelly.”

Silas offered a business card to Mrs. Daniels. “Please feel free to call me anytime. Even if you just need to talk.”

Quinn felt foolish trying to follow in Silas’s footsteps. Instead, she said, “Rhia was a lovely girl and she will be missed. Your family will be in my prayers.”

“Bless you, child.”

Silas pocketed his notebook and they rose to leave. Quinn didn’t like the way her mind was churning.

Whatever she’d hoped to get by talking with Mrs. Daniels, she’d discarded out of guilt.

It was one thing to chase a story when you weren’t staring at the grieving parents of a murdered child, quite another when you could practically feel the grief covering you like a blanket.

Once outside, Silas scrutinized Quinn openly. “Do you pray?”

Quinn scowled. Of course he would ask her that question. “No.”

“Then why’d you say that?”

“Because it seemed the right thing to do.”

Silas chuckled at her logic. “If you were so concerned with the right thing, you never would’ve walked inside that poor woman’s house.”

Quinn stared as Silas drove away.

I kinda hate that man.

Because he was right? A voice questioned.

Her scowl deepened.

Shut up, Inner Voice of Latent Conscience—you’re not helping.

* * *

Silas returned to his hotel room with takeout Chinese and a plan to reacquaint himself with Spencer’s case file, when a knock at his door interrupted his process.

He peered through the peephole and saw Quinn Jackson, of all people, standing outside his door.

What did she want?

For a heartbeat, he was tempted to pretend that he wasn’t there.

But clearly she must’ve tracked him down and she knew he was on the other side of the door so ignoring the woman would just be childish.

Silas exhaled and opened the door. “What can I do for you, Miss Jackson?”

“First, you can call me Quinn. Second, you can admit that if it weren’t for me, Mrs. Daniels wouldn’t have let you in the front door. And third, you can definitely serve me up a plate of that Chinese food that I can smell because I’m starving.”

The girl had balls, he’d give her that. “And why would I want to do any of those things?”

“Because we need to work together, not against one another.”

At that he laughed. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Oh, yes, it is,” she disagreed, darting past him and into the room. Quinn did a quick survey and said, “Couldn’t the FBI spring for a better room? This place looks like the kind of hotel Dean and Sam Winchester would hole up in because they’re trying to catch a wendigo or something.”

“Dean and Sam?” Silas asked, confused.

“Do you live under a rock? Supernatural, of course. Best show ever. I mean, every season you think they can’t outdo themselves and bam! They come up with something even more amazing than the last season. That’s talent.”

“I don’t watch a lot of television.”

“Your loss. If you want to borrow a few seasons, I have them all on DVD. Or you could stream it from iTunes. Whatever your poison.”

“Back to the point. I don’t work with reporters.”

“You know, you keep saying that but you haven’t given me a good reason why. So, what gives? Why don’t you work with reporters?”

Her bald question threw him off guard. The woman was as in-your-face as a stereotypical redhead. Or a cartoon character.

“Because I don’t,” he answered.

“What happened to Mr. Nice Guy? Are you like a Mr. Jekyll and Dr. Hyde kind of person?”

“You have that twisted. It’s Dr. Jekyll—”

“Whatever.” She waved away his correction. “You get my point. You were, actually, pretty amazing with Mrs. Daniels. I thought maybe you had been possessed by the spirit of someone with an actual heartbeat but now I see that was an act for her benefit.”

“It wasn’t an act,” he growled. “And if we’re calling people out, what about you? You manipulated that poor woman into letting you in. So what sensational little story are you going to write about the woman’s grief?”

“I’m not writing about that,” she shot back. “Give me some credit. Why do you hate reporters so much? I have a job to do, just like you. But you seem to think it’s okay to beat me with the guilt hammer because of mine. What gives?”

Quinn settled into the chair and started checking out the contents of his takeout.

“What are you doing?”

“Eating. Duh.” She scraped a few pieces of his garlic chicken onto a paper plate and then went for his rice. “I told you...starving. Try to keep up. I thought the FBI were supposed to be the sharpest of the bunch. So far, you seem to have a problem holding on to details.”

The woman exasperated him but there was something daring about her that intrigued him, even if begrudgingly. Hell, he wanted to toss her out, but something kept him from doing just that.

Maybe because he didn’t trust putting his hands on her. Silas was already suffering the urge to touch that creamy skin. If he accidentally brushed one of those lush, full breasts, hiding his insta-erection would be an embarrassing challenge.

He frowned. Well, if he didn’t grab a plate, there’d be nothing left. The girl could put some food away.

Silas took the seat opposite her and made his own plate, watching her enjoy his food without shame.

“Do you always barge into strange men’s hotel rooms and eat their food?”

“Only on Tuesdays but for you, I’ll make an exception.” When he continued to stare, she added, rolling her eyes, “That was a joke. Look, I get it, you don’t like me. And maybe I’m not terribly excited about you, either, but the fact is we need each other.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that but I don’t see it that way.”

“Let me break it down for you. You’ve been gone a long time. Doors are closed. They don’t trust you. I, on the other hand, am everyone’s trusted local reporter. I’m the one who takes their kids’ pictures for Student of the Month and I write about when little Johnny places at the Science Fair. Yes, stupid stuff, but it paves the way to their trust. You, by comparison, are the big bad FBI agent who is, I might add, mysteriously poking around a local case that should have no federal jurisdiction.”

Silas offered a cold smile. “Just because I don’t share the Bureau’s interest, doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

“Oh, I know your interest. That’s pretty easy to figure out. This is all about your little brother. Don’t look so shocked. You’re not the only one who is capable of poking around. How are you hoping to tie Rhia’s murder with a case that happened twenty years ago?”

Silas shifted, fighting against the urge to shut her down for hitting too close to home. But for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, he answered. “Because they were both found in Seminole Creek, both strangled.”

“Not to be a buzzkill, but strangulation is a pretty common way to die. I mean, no tools required, you know? What else do you have that might lead you to believe they are connected?”

“Good try,” he said, withdrawing as he speared a nugget. “Not interested in sharing.”

“You’re a stubborn little muskrat, aren’t you?”

He nearly choked on garlic chicken. “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, well, I like to be original.”

“You also like to poke around where you’re not wanted.”

Quinn didn’t take offense. “That’s my job,” she said simply. “No one wants the press to air their dirty laundry. I hardly think politicians are clamoring for the chance to have their secrets splattered all over the New York Times, but that happens and the public is thankful for the information.”

“Politicians are fair game. Little kids aren’t.”

“I’m not trying to capitalize on Rhia’s murder—”

“How do you say that with a straight face?”

Frustration laced Quinn’s voice as she chewed vigorously. “You are impossible. Let me guess, single? You don’t have to confirm. I can tell. You’re rigid as a freaking plank.”

He was single. The job was his life. But hearing Quinn make such an easy and flippant observation pinched.

“I date.”

“Sure you do.”

Was he really going to debate his dating habits with a reporter who was at least ten years younger than him? “Shouldn’t you be getting home? I’m sure there’s a curfew of some sort.”

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious. Not a kid. I’m actually twenty-four.”

“Whoa. Practically an old lady,” he retorted. “What about you? Let me take a crack. Also single, because you’re too damn pushy for anyone to handle on a daily basis.”

He must’ve hit a nerve. But Quinn wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “Wrong. I’m single because I choose to be. I don’t need a man to validate me. I have big dreams, and getting hitched and popping out kids are not on my agenda.”

“What is your agenda?” Silas asked, going straight to the point.

“Getting out of this town.”

He saw the hunger, the drive to succeed beyond the borders of her environment, and he recognized that need as something he’d often struggled with in the early days.

“What happened to the Port Orion champion?”

“It’s a good town. But I want more.”

“And you’re going to use the Rhia Daniels case as your stepping stone to bigger and better,” Silas guessed with a wry chuckle. “You may think you’re an original but that’s the tune every reporter has sung in my experience, and they never care about the cases they ruin or the lives they shatter on their way to the top.”

“I care about the people here,” Quinn replied, stung. “I grew up in this town. I have a vested interest in seeing that this story is handled with sensitivity.”

“By the very nature of your job, that’s not possible.”

“You don’t know how to do my job.”

“Sure I do. Go for the jugular...if it bleeds, it leads.”

“Damn, Silas. Who pissed in your cornflakes? Do you hate all reporters, or just me?”

Silas laughed and trashed his empty plate. “Don’t take it personal—I hate all reporters. Now, seeing as you’ve eaten all my garlic chicken, I’m going to have to send you on your way, unless of course, you’d like to finish the fried rice.”

This time, there was no negotiating.

Quinn seemed to sense that he wasn’t kidding. She rose with an unhappy glare but before she allowed him to send her out the door, she snatched his only fortune cookie.

“That’s bad luck, you know,” he told her.

Her voice on the other side rang out as she said, “You will work with me, Silas Kelly. You may be a muskrat but I’m a badger!”

A reluctant smile crept onto his lips.

Quinn Jackson was a major pain in his ass but at least she wasn’t boring.

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