The Killer You Know. Kimberly Van Meter

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ