The Killer You Know. Kimberly Van Meter
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.
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