The Killer You Know

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “It’s that obvious?”

  Both brothers nodded.

  Honestly, he was relieved. “Good. I wanted you to meet her first.”

  “Before you ask her to move to Chicago with you?”

  Silas laughed nervously. “No, before I ask her to marry me.”

  “Are you serious?” Shaine asked.

  “As a heart attack,” Silas answered. “I know it’s sudden. But this is real. She’s the only one I want.”

  “And how does she feel about it?”

  Quinn’s soft voice trembled with tears as she answered from behind them.

  “She feels lucky.”

  Silas met her gaze, his heart beating so hard he thought he might pass out.

  “So it’s settled?” Silas asked, his own voice breaking. He was in great danger of bawling like a baby. “You will be my wife?”

  “Before I answer, I have one question.”

  “Ask.”

  “Will you stand in my way of whatever career choice I choose even if you hate it or think it’s dangerous?”

  He ground his teeth but shook his head, making a promise. “I will support whatever decision you make. I will always have your back.”

  Quinn wiped at her eyes and smiled. “Good. Then let’s do this and get the hell out of this town. I’m ready.”

  Sawyer kicked at Silas’s shin. “This is where you go kiss your woman and seal the deal, you jackass.”

  Silas didn’t have to be told twice.

  He kissed her long and hard, loving her from the tips of her red hair to the points of her painted toes.

  Port Orion had taken something precious from him but it’d given him something to treasure in return.

  Silas could finally put Spencer to rest.

  And just like Quinn...he was ready for whatever was to come.

  Epilogue

  Quinn rubbed at her arms, listening to the rain and wind lashing at the windows in their apartment.

  “Man, they weren’t kidding when they called it the Windy City. Are the storms always this bad?”

  Silas smiled. “Yeah. You get used to it. Wait until it starts to snow. Makes driving to work real fun.”

  Since moving to Chicago, Quinn had settled in with Silas but she hadn’t decided what she was going to do with her life, and Silas had given her the space to figure it out on her own time schedule.

  Each time she’d started to send out résumés to the newspapers and news stations, she’d held back.

  She loved writing but after Port Orion, she’d lost her taste for chasing leads.

  Still, the need to write continued to nag at her so she’d started journaling. At first, it’d been a way to vent the pain that’d lingered but soon it became a cathartic way to deal with her feelings.

  And to find forgiveness.

  The wound remained tender and probably would remain so her entire life but she was able to talk about it without breaking down.

  Not that she opted to do that very often but when she did, she held it together.

  Mostly because she knew Silas had her back.

  The ensuing investigation into Rhia, Sara and Spencer’s deaths had erupted into a firestorm of big stories with reporters coming at her from every angle.

  In light of everything, Lester had finally retired but not before firing Harrison Rex for conduct unbecoming an officer after he’d confessed to his actions against Quinn, as well as the intimidation tactics he’d used with the dead cat. Quinn wished she’d had ringside seats for that show. She would’ve brought popcorn.

  Thanks to a convincing letter Quinn had written to the Board of Supervisors, Port Orion had decided to open up the search for a new sheriff outside town and had found a suitable candidate from Seattle.

  But as more reporters hounded her for an interview, to tell her side of the story, the more Quinn distanced herself from journalism as a career choice.

  Being the pursued was a completely different perspective and she surely hadn’t enjoyed it.

  She understood why Silas had been biased against her at the beginning.

  But Quinn knew only she could tell the story as it was meant to be told, how it had to be told.

  So, that’s what she did.

  At first, written long-hand then transcribed onto the computer and before she knew it, Quinn had written the narrative. She basically opened a vein and let it pour out, messy and heartbreaking in the hopes that she could be reborn from her own ashes.

  It’d been the most difficult and the most rewarding journey in her life.

  And now, producers were coming to her with offers to turn her story into a movie.

  She still hadn’t decided if she wanted to go that far.

  The book was finished; she felt complete.

  That chapter of her life was finished.

  Closure, as Silas had said, was a beautiful gift if you were willing to work for it.

  And she’d worked her ass off.

  Nothing was going to stop her.

  Most certainly not the past.

  A slow smile found her lips as Silas walked into the room.

  She had too much to look forward to in the future.

  * * * * *

  If you loved this novel, don’t miss other

  suspenseful titles by Kimberly Van Meter:

  TO CATCH A KILLER

  GUARDING THE SOCIALITE

  SWORN TO PROTECT

  COLD CASE REUNION

  A DAUGHTER’S PERFECT SECRET

  THE SNIPER

  MOVING TARGET

  THE AGENT’S SURRENDER

  DEEP COVER

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  SHIELDED BY THE COWBOY SEAL by Bonnie Vanak.

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  Shielded by the Cowboy SEAL

  by Bonnie Vanak

  Chapter 1

  The late-autumn snowstorm promised to be a killer and her car was dead.

  Fat flakes swirled lazily in the wind outside the battered 2010 sedan. A curtain of darkness had fallen, turning the pretty country road ink black. She should have checked the battery before leaving Florida. Certainly it would have saved her from being stranded here on a lonely stretch of New Hampshire road.

  Meg August—no,
she was Meg Taylor now; the “August” part of her life was back in Palm Beach with her soon-to-be ex-husband—tried the engine again. Nothing. She turned and looked at her traveling companion. “Well, Sophie, looks like we are up a particular creek without a paddle or a life raft.”

  Woof!

  Snug inside her pink-and-black Louis Vuitton dog purse, Sophie licked her hand. Shivering, Meg patted the dog’s head. She’d stopped to let Sophie out for a rest break and the car had died. The icy rain had turned to snow, but not before soaking her blue suede jacket. Perfect for chilly nights in south Florida. Not so perfect for this.

  Meg removed the wet jacket and tossed it onto the backseat. Clad only in a thin yellow sweater and black linen trousers, she kept shivering. She went to rub her arms and winced.

  Her left arm still felt tender. Prescott’s fists had landed there two weeks ago, shortly after she confronted him about her discovery that he’d shipped out defective body gear manufactured by Combat Gear Inc., the company she’d founded to provide quality, low-cost body armor to US soldiers and law enforcement personnel. Not only did he authorize the shipments months ago, but he’d filed the incorporation papers for Combat Gear Inc. with her first and middle initials, Margaret Elizabeth, and her maiden name, Franklin, as the CEO.

  She was the one responsible for any deaths resulting from use of those vests. She had to make this terrible wrong right.

  Prescott disagreed. When she’d threatened to call the authorities, he beat her. The bruises were myriad rainbow colors instead of black. She could silently endure his growing rages.

  But she would not stand for others getting hurt because of her product.

  She’d called her former college roommate, Lacey Adler. Asking for help was the hardest thing she’d had to do since burying her grandmother a week ago. Lacey told her about her charity that helped women flee their abusive husbands.

  She’d asked for a safe house in New England, and Lacey had given her directions to a remote farmhouse in New Hampshire. Cooper Johnson, a Navy SEAL friend of Lacey’s husband, Jarrett, agreed to give her shelter through Project SOS Securities, his security firm.

  Cooper would give her a place to stay with Sophie as long as she needed. She’d be safe. Coop, as he was called, was great with dogs.

  Meg hated relying on strangers. But she needed a hiding place until she could obtain the proof that Prescott knew the body gear was defective.

  If Prescott didn’t find and kill her, the New England storm surely would.

  Now, they were parked alongside a dark road, no one in sight. She glanced down at her fashionable clothing. Perfect for leaving Palm Beach and avoiding suspicion from any of her neighbors.

  Not so perfect for braving the chilly temperatures of the north. She tried turning the ignition again. Nothing.

  After putting Sophie on the backseat, Meg climbed over the console and joined her. She reached for her grandmother’s antique quilt, her most precious possession, and wrapped it around them both. Sophie wagged her tail and licked Meg’s face, as if to offer reassurance.

  Shivering, she curled up next to Sophie, the cold spiking her body like steel nails, and said a little prayer for some kind stranger to find them.

  And not her soon-to-be ex-husband.

  * * *

  Cooper “Coop” Johnson rubbed the shoulders of the quivering mare. “Easy, girl,” he murmured.

  Betsy was going on thirty, and had a mild case of colic. Colic had already killed one horse on the Sunnyside Farm, and he wasn’t about to see his baby sister’s favorite mare succumb to it. He walked her around the barn, mindful of her arthritis, rubbing her down, hoping the heavy blanket would help.

  Jarrett, his former squad leader from the teams, had asked him to give refuge to a woman in trouble. Coop agreed because he would do anything for his ex-boss, but family came first these days. He’d taken leave from the Navy to help his mom run the bed and breakfast while her sister’s family visited relatives in Oregon. Mid-November was the slow time, so his aunt, uncle and their three sons decided to combine a family wedding with a much-needed vacation while Coop helped out with the farm and inn.

  They’d closed the inn after his oldest sister, Brie, had died. Fiona, his mother, had reopened it two months ago, but with the approaching winter, only a few guests had registered. Keeping horses was expensive. Summer boarders helped pay for food and overhead. Those boarders had packed away their mounts into shiny trailers and headed south.

  Probably to Florida, where it was warm.

  Or Palm Beach, where it was warm and wealthy, where his assignment was supposedly traveling from.

  Meg. He didn’t know anything about her, other than the photo Jarrett sent and the fact that she lived in wealthy Palm Beach and she needed a place to stay while her divorce was being finalized.

  No one would take her in because her dog was vicious and bit people.

  Jarrett said Meg’s money was all tied up until the divorce and she couldn’t afford a pet-friendly hotel. Coop doubted she was in trouble. The photo Jarrett sent showed a brunette woman who looked like a beauty queen dripping in diamonds. But it wasn’t his place to judge, just give her shelter.

  All Jarrett had told him was that Meg had a dog that Coop needed to train. He refused to share anything else out of respect for Meg, who was supposed to arrive six hours ago.

  Maybe she had to stop somewhere to buy the dog a prime rib dinner.

  Coop stopped walking Betsy and placed her in the stall. “Good girl,” he crooned.

  His sister had had a way with animals, and could always make Betsy better.

  Betsy nosed around, looking for the carrot Brie had always placed there as a treat. Coop’s throat tightened. He stroked her withers.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You can’t eat yet, not until you get over this colic.”

  Betsy whinnied.

  “I know,” he whispered, laying his head against the horse. “I miss her, too. But I promise, I’m going to do everything she would have to get you well again.”

  Giving her a final pat, he headed outside, pulling up the collar of his faded sheepskin jacket. Dark storm clouds had blotted out the moon, and the night had turned wicked cold.

  Inside the house, he went into the private family living room and found his mom sitting by the fireplace in the rocker Brie had always liked to use when she was home. Fiona glanced up, lines furrowing her brow.

  “How’s Betsy?” she asked.

  “Better.” Not exactly a lie, but he wasn’t going to worry his mom any more than necessary. “Horses are all fed, bedded down. They’ll be fine. And the guests?”

  “They left a while ago. They wanted to get a head start away from the storm. I refunded the rest of their stay.”

  Cooper wanted to protest, but his mother’s warning look stayed him. “Why?” he asked.

  “Return business is important, Cooper. I didn’t want them to think we put our guests’ safety last and money first.”

  It sounded like a wonderful principle, but it wouldn’t pay the bills. They were okay for now, but the first payment on the refinance of the farm was due soon.

  Not to mention the costs of burying Brie...

  He rubbed at the tightness in his chest. Sabrina was only twenty-six when a stray bullet pierced her body armor. She’d been responding to a routine domestic disturbance call with her partner. The husband shot them both, but Brie’s partner wore the standard departmental body armor.

  He lived.

  Brie died.

  Cooper had purchased the armor especially for his baby sis when she started working as a beat cop in dangerous areas of the city. He didn’t want her having the standard body armor the department issued. He wanted the best.

  Now Brie lay six feet under, and Combat Gear Inc., the company that produced the defective
gear, kept rolling in profits. He would hire a lawyer to sue, but the company’s owner, M. E. Franklin, probably had enough money to purchase a cruise ship filled with attorneys. Coop had googled his name, but found nothing. He seemed a total mystery.

  All he’d found so far was that the bulletproof vests were invented by Randall Jacobs, vice president of Combat Gear Inc. Coop had done a little more checking and found out the man owned a posh summer home on a lake near here. Once he got over some of his grief, maybe he’d pay the man a visit.

  He studied his mother, worried about the purple shadows beneath her eyes. Today had been a tough day. Federal authorities had opened an investigation at last into Brie’s death after someone tipped them off about the faulty bulletproof vests. He’d sent the family lawyer to give a statement to the Feds and the media.

  Dredging up Brie’s death had opened old wounds. For all of them.

  Fiona’s warm brown gaze sharpened as she looked up at the antique clock on the fireplace mantel. “Isn’t your guest overdue? I made up the cottage with fresh linens and blankets, and stacked firewood.”

  Coop stiffened. “I thought she could stay at the inn.”

  “She has a vicious dog. Better if she stays in the cottage.” His mother gave him a knowing look. “With you.”

  Uh-oh. He recognized that spark in her eye. “No. Maybe for the night, but, ah, no. I can find a place for the dog.” He flexed his hands in their worn leather gloves. The cottage behind the barn, with a fabulous view of the White Mountains, had been Brie’s retreat.

  “Brie would approve of a woman in trouble staying there,” Fiona said in her gentle way. “You can’t keep that house as a memorial to your sister, Cooper. You have to let go sometime.”

  “It hasn’t even been six months.” He went to the fireplace to warm his chilled body. “And I’m not sure how much trouble this Meg is in. She lives in Palm Beach and she’s rich. She looks like a spoiled beauty queen.”

  “Don’t judge. Your friend Jarrett vouched for her. Isn’t that enough?”

  Guilt pinched him. Coop turned around with a sigh and squinted at the now-darkened skies. “I’ll try calling the number he gave me for her cell phone.”