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
