Killer Style (Stella Knox FBI Mystery Series Book 2), page 24
KILLER STYLE
STELLA KNOX SERIES: BOOK TWO
MARY STONE
STACY O’HARE
Copyright © 2022 by Mary Stone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Stella Knox Series
Acknowledgments
About the Author
DESCRIPTION
Evil never goes out of style.
Special Agent Stella Knox thought she’d seen it all in her two years with the Nashville PD. But after two weeks at the FBI, she’s already witnessed more than she could have imagined, including her newest case. The bodies of two women have been found in an alleyway, both missing one arm, one leg, and all their fingers and toes.
Now, a third woman is missing.
Shasta daisies artfully arranged over the bodies and at each crime scene indicate the work of a serial killer. But every victim is unique, with nothing to connect them. They are all different ages and different ethnicities, with different upbringings and different lives.
With nothing to link the victims, preventing the next murder is nearly impossible.
Anyone can be next.
When a fourth person goes missing, the clock is ticking...and Stella and her team are already running behind. Can they find the killer before another mutilated body turns up or will one of them become part of their unsub’s fantasy?
Chilling and engrossing, Killer Style is the second book in the new Stella Knox Series by bestselling author Mary Stone and Stacy O’Hare—a puzzler that will make you realize anyone can be a killer...no matter how harmless they seem.
This book is dedicated to all those who have experienced the unfairness of losing a family member too soon.
1
I’m going to die.
Kati Marsh’s chest ached. Her breath scraped the inside of her throat, and the muscles in her thighs burned. The stitch in her side was worse, though. So much worse.
She couldn’t run anymore. She just couldn’t.
Too exhausted to even be pissed at herself, Kati dropped to her haunches and was promptly ambushed from behind. As the huge weight knocked into her back, she fell face-first onto the grass.
Claws raked over her skin. As she rolled onto her back to fight off her attacker, a wet tongue slid over her face.
Gross.
“Juno…stop!” Kati pushed the giant Rottweiler away. The dog collapsed next to her, tongue lolling as she panted quick, hot breaths into Kati’s face.
“Come on, Juno. You can’t be tired. You’ve got twice as many legs as me. C’mon, girl.”
Attempting to be a good example, Kati pushed herself up and grabbed Juno’s leash. In response, the black and brown dog rolled onto her back, legs in the air.
“You big lug. Was that all you wanted? Here.” Smiling, Kati rubbed her dog’s tummy before giving her broad chest a good scratch. “Now, come on. You’re supposed to protect me out here. You could at least look like you know what you’re doing. Can you give me a growl? Come on. A small one.”
Juno lifted soulful, black eyes to Kati. She stood, blinked twice, then pushed her side against Kati’s leggings and flopped onto her back again.
Kati pulled her feet out from under the dog. “Useless. All looks and no bark. Or bite.”
Knowing Juno would follow, she began to walk, needing to cool down and let the fire in her thighs ease. Right on schedule, Juno trotted at her hip. “To be fair, some people are scared of Brodie too. In this day and age.” A cloud of sadness gathered around her, and she fought back the rise of emotion that came each time she thought of the racism her boyfriend still endured. “You’d have thought they’d have grown out of that by now. He’s an even bigger softie than you.”
She scratched Juno’s broad head with both hands. “And that’s why I love you both sooo much. Come on. Almost there. Let’s sprint to the end.”
Kati broke into a run, hoping her body would be more cooperative this time. Though she regretted the third taco she’d eaten earlier, she always enjoyed her evening jogs in the park with its wooded trails and cool air. Running gave her time to think. Gave her something to escape to, be proud of. Especially in a home where very little she did was a source of pride.
“Come on, girl.”
Racing away from those depressing thoughts, Kati picked up speed. Face intent, Juno matched her stride for stride, the hard muscles in her shoulders flexing with each movement. Kati understood why many people hesitated at the sight of the muscular dog. Her Rottweiler looked intimidating as hell, but she had the disposition of a cuddly kitten.
But why would anyone be frightened of Brodie? People, like her parents, were judgmental of her boyfriend’s shoulder-length dreadlocks and dark skin without taking the time to get to know the book under the cover. It was crazy. Brodie was soft and quiet and loving, a true gentleman in a world filled with jerks.
Reaching the end of the trail, she slowed her pace to a walk again, but not because the stitch had returned. She simply wanted to stretch and breathe in the fresh Tennessee air. Nashville had become as polluted as most big cities, but here, she felt removed from that. She gloried in the peace surrounding her as the sun moved closer to the earth.
Lowering her arms from a deep shoulder stretch, she examined her hands. The ring finger of her left hand was bare. Was that going to change soon? She wasn’t sure.
Brodie had been acting a bit strange lately, especially when he’d asked her to keep Wednesday night clear. He’d also asked what her favorite cupcake was. It wasn’t her birthday for months yet, so why had he needed to know that? And why had he been so nervous when asking her? His hands had been shaking, but a huge smile had broken over his face when she’d said Wednesday was all his.
Unless she’d misread the signals, Wednesday would be a very special day indeed.
Resisting the urge to pull a Julie Andrews twirl right there, she bit back her burst of excitement, not wanting to get her hopes too high.
Scanning the horizon, she realized the sun was lower than usual at this part of her run. Unless she wanted to crash into a tree later, they’d better go. “Come on, Juno. It’ll be dark soon. Let’s head for home.”
Picking up speed, they made good time on the last mile. Kati was smiling as she and Juno left the wooded trail and headed up the hill toward the small lot where she’d parked. This was always the hardest part…trudging up the steep incline after a hard run.
On the grass verge marking the entrance to the parking area, a man sat on a folding chair behind an easel. He must have been about sixty. His wild, brown hair was gray in patches, as though his head wanted to try every color it could find. He looked to be in good shape, though. Muscles rippled in his arms as he dipped his paintbrush into paint.
When he looked up, Kati jolted, knowing he must have caught her staring. She needn’t have worried, though. His attention wasn’t on her but on the setting sun at her back.
Circling around, Juno rubbing against her legs, Kati turned and took a few moments to breathe in the sight herself. This was the real reason why she ran in the evenings. It was cooler, sure, but witnessing the miracle of the sky changing colors, the hues and shades merging and melting across the horizon, was the perfect way to end a busy day.
It must have been the same for the artist. He’d been there at the same time over the last couple of weeks, capturing the majestic Tennessee evenings on his canvas.
Kati couldn’t blame him. The scenery was beautiful in this park, especially as the dying sun darkened the green leaves and spread a lilac wash across the sky. She really wanted to see how his painting was coming along. He must almost be done by now. She hadn’t dared ask, though. Artists could be touchy about the creative process. She’d just let him be, enjoying nature and art in his own way.
The man smiled as Kati and Juno made it to the top of the hill. He dabbed at the canvas before lowering his brush and lifting a hand in greeting. “Good evening. Isn’t the sky extra beautiful tonight?”
Kati followed his line of sight. High on the hill as they were, he had a spectacular view of the trail snaking into the woods, the curving t
“It really is.”
“But then, isn’t every sunset beautiful?” The man’s chuckle reminded Kati of her grandpa’s, making her smile. “Even the best of us are just daubers compared to the artistry of Mother Nature. And she’s more productive too. She churns out a new work of art every night.”
Kati wanted to give him a hug. “But you put on canvas what nature has created. That’s art too.”
He beamed. “Well, I’d like to think so.” The man sat back from his easel and smoothed his hair. It sprang right back up. “You talk like someone who appreciates art.”
Perceptive.
Once upon a time, Kati painted or sketched every day. She wasn’t sure how comfortable she felt talking about her love of painting, but the man seemed warm and friendly. And he was a working artist.
Juno lifted her nose in the air, searching for some scent that only canines can detect. Kati scratched the dog’s ears, considering how much of her story she wanted to tell.
Screw it. What could it hurt?
“I do.” That came out wrong, so she corrected herself. “I did.” When he appeared to be puzzled, she rushed to explain. “I was planning to major in art history in college.”
“But?” There was no judgment there. Only genuine curiosity.
“But…” Kati sighed. “My folks pushed me toward accounting. Much more secure, they said.”
The man smiled and gave a small nod. He checked the sky again and dabbed his paintbrush near the top corner of his canvas. “I can’t blame your folks for that. Not much job security in art.” He tapped the handle of his brush against his chin. “But maybe accounting is kind of an art too. The more creative you can make your accounting, the more your clients pay, no?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Kati mentally shuddered as she imagined getting an unexpected visit from the IRS. “Getting creative with numbers sounds more dangerous than artistic.”
Wrinkles fanned out from the painter’s eyes as he chuckled. “Some of the greatest artists were considered a bit dangerous, getting told they were too creative in their lifetimes. Van Gogh. Monet. Picasso. Henry Darger worked as a janitor and died in poverty. His works sell for three-quarters of a million now.”
Henry Darger?
“You sound like a real connoisseur. Are those your favorite artists?”
The man swished his paintbrush in a jar filled with grayish water. “Oh, yes. You can’t go wrong with the impressionists and the modernists and finding outsider art is such a thrill. But there are some very talented local artists around here too. Do you know Gary Glenderson? Or Liz Richards? Darwin Rhodell or Sofia Benson?”
All those names were familiar, but she hated to admit that she was so out of touch with the local art scene. Kati couldn’t name one of their works. She couldn’t put their faces with their names. “I’ve heard of all of them, but I’m sorry to say that I’ve allowed myself to get so busy with my job that I haven’t experienced the joy of seeing their work.”
“Oh, that’s fine.” He capped the gray water tightly before running a cloth down the brush. “I’m just an old man with far too much time on my hands, and I like to spend it at art fairs and galleries. But you should check them out sometime. They really are amazing talents.”
“Thanks.” Kati made a mental promise to take the kind man’s advice. “I’ll do that.”
The artist’s neck popped as he turned his head to inspect the area around them. The sky had darkened, turning the purples a navy blue and almost hiding the trees entirely. “Well, light’s gone. Guess I’m done for the day. You have a good night now.”
He opened his paint box and tucked his brushes inside. Peeking over his shoulder, Kati’s mouth sagged open as she caught a glimpse of his canvas. Glowing bands of mauve and lilac and plum slashed by curving, black lines of trunks and branches made Kati’s heart ache a little.
If she had carried on with art, would she have been able to paint like that? She wanted to think so, and to hope that she hadn’t entirely lost her chance. “Well…it was lovely speaking with you. Have a good evening. C’mon, Juno. Let’s go.”
But Juno didn’t want to go. She was still sniffing the air and pulling on the leash, wanting to inspect the artist more closely. Her stubby tail was like a tiny windshield wiper set on high.
“C’mon, Juno.” She blushed when the dog disobeyed and tried to pull her closer to the artist. “Sorry…I really need to get her some training.” She tugged harder. “Juno, stop it. Let’s go.”
The artist only chuckled and held his hand out for Juno to sniff. The dog got even more excited, making the man laugh harder. “I think she likes me.”
Well, I’m not liking her very much right now.
Giving a sharper tug, Kati lowered her voice like Brodie taught her to, forcing some command into it. “Juno. Stop. Come.”
Juno ignored her.
The artist opened his box and pulled out a mostly eaten sandwich. “I’m betting she’s smelling the ham. May I?”
Anything to get Juno to listen. “That’s very kind of you. I swear I don’t starve her.”
“She certainly looks very well taken care of.” He winked. “But don’t we all want a treat sometimes.”
Kati grinned. “I guess so.”
Holding the bite of sandwich out on his palm, the artist seemed pleased at how gently Juno took the offering. “She’s a good girl, isn’t she?”
Proud to her toenails, Kati nodded. “She sure is. Needs some manners, but she’s still a pup officially. Just eleven months old.”
“Gracious. I can’t imagine how big she’ll be when she’s fully grown.”
“Her parents weigh more than me, so I imagine she’ll be that big someday soon.” Kati tugged on the leash. “Well, we’ll get out of your way so you can get packed up before it’s fully dark.” She was relieved when Juno didn’t fight her this time. “Have a good evening.”
The man picked up his painting, holding the wet canvas facing outward while tucking his easel under his arm. “You, too, my dear.”
Stepping toward her car, Kati glanced back to see the man clutching his box of paints and chair in his free hand. As she watched, the easel slipped from under his armpit and now leaned against his leg. Without a free hand, he was trying to hook it back up with his elbow.
Crap.
She couldn’t leave him to struggle like that, so she backtracked. “Here, let me help you. I’ll take that.” Wrapping the handle of Juno’s leash over her wrist, she took the easel from under his arm, allowing the man to stand straight and lift his painting higher off the ground.
“Thank you. That’s very kind. My car is just here.”
Only when she was halfway to his vehicle did she think how odd it was that she was willing to get this close to a person she didn’t know, especially in such an isolated area. Her parents had tried to scare both Kati and her sister half to death about talking to strangers. Their warning rang in her head.
She pushed the thought out as soon as it entered. She always carried a bottle of mace in her pocket. And there was Juno. The dog might be a big lug, but Kati was sure that, if push came to shove, Juno’s muscles and sharp teeth would shove back.
Besides, this old guy looked harmless, with his wild artist’s hair and arms packed full of gear.
Kati followed him past her own car to a gray Volkswagen parked under a poplar close to the steepest side of the hill. The man leaned his painting against his leg, then fumbled in his pocket for his key.
