The Killer You Know. Kimberly Van Meter

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