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“Shut up.”

“Aunt JoJo!” Eight-year-old Harris Quinn sprinted across the yard, a blur of blond hair and little boy energy. He threw himself against her, his arms wrapping around her waist.

Josie looked down into his smiling face and wished it could be this easy with Wren. In Harris’s eyes, she could do no wrong. Then again, she and Noah didn’t have the responsibility of parenting him. Plus, they had been in his life from the time he was born. His mother, Misty Derossi, had dated Josie’s late husband, Ray Quinn, after they separated. Ray had died before Harris’s birth. Back then, when the end of her marriage had been a sore spot, Josie hadn’t wanted anything to do with Misty. Then Harris came along and changed everything. She’d loved him from the moment she held him in her arms. So had Noah. Now, Misty was one of their best friends.

“Mom said no water guns or balloons,” he complained.

“Your mom makes the rules,” Josie reminded him. “Maybe after everyone’s eaten, she’ll change her mind.”

“I’m gonna ask!” Harris said brightly, running back across the yard to where Misty sat in a lounge chair, long, tanned legs stretched out so that her feet were submerged in the kiddie pool Josie and Noah had bought. Her blonde hair was tied in a bun. Sunglasses shielded her blue eyes.

Josie took two steps toward Trinity and stopped when she realized Turner hadn’t moved. He was staring, dumbfounded, at Misty. He’d met her for the first time a month ago and Josie had done everything she could to discourage any interest he had in her. Seconds later, he tore his attention from Misty and met Josie’s eyes.

“Relax, Quinn, I’m going through a divorce.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that would stop you.”

“Stop me from what? A man’s allowed to flirt.”

“Do not make me homicidal twice in one day. Come on.”

Trinity stood up from the table when she saw them approach. She looked no worse for wear given their ordeal, though her complexion was paler than usual and dark circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes. “You want to talk about him?” she asked quietly. “Inside.”

They followed Trinity into the dining room, which they rarely used. Josie knew she’d chosen it because they were less likely to be overheard or interrupted by Harris, Wren, or Cassidy.

Taking a seat, Trinity flipped open her laptop and typed in a password. A file folder marked “LKK” was already open.

Josie sat on one side of her, Turner on the other.

Trinity clicked open a PDF with several photos spread across the first page. “The Last Kiss Killer murdered six women in just over two years. All of them lived in different towns in Central Pennsylvania. All were in their thirties or early forties. They were single, living alone.”

Josie leaned in and studied the photos. The women didn’t look all that similar. Different hair and eye colors, different facial features. “He doesn’t have a type beyond a thirty- to forty-year-old who lives alone?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Trinity replied.

“How does he choose them then?” asked Turner. “How does he know they live alone?”

“I’ve always thought he starts with the location,” Trinity said. “He goes to a town, hangs around awhile, sees them or meets them somewhere. A certain amount of surveillance would have been required for him to zero in on these women.”

“Could he have found them on social media?” Josie asked.

“That’s what I thought,” Trinity replied. “But two of them didn’t have social media.”

“There are no connections between any of them?” Josie said. “Or all of them?”

“Nope,” Trinity said. “Maybe the investigators know more but I haven’t been able to find any and I’ve been on the ground in all of these towns.”

Of course she had. Trinity would have been able to get some information from police. Of that, Josie had no doubt. She was persistent and persuasive. Plus, with a case this old, detectives might have been willing to part with more details than normal, hoping for a break but on the whole, they would not have shared very much. Most of what Trinity had gathered had been from following the path of the killer, talking to anyone who had known the victims: their families, neighbors, employers, coworkers. Anyone who would talk to her.

“Pretty much everyone had cell phones fifteen years ago,” said Turner. “There were no texts or calls to any of these women from someone new? What about security cameras? They were around back then. No one ever caught him on camera? In the background of a photo?”

“Again, the investigators might know something I don’t but I’m pretty sure they have nothing. He was very active during those two years. If any of them had had cell phone information of any kind, it seems to me they would have chased that down pretty hard.”

“The technology was not as good as it is now,” Josie said. “It’s entirely possible there were calls or texts but they couldn’t trace them to anyone.”

“True,” Trinity agreed. “But I don’t think they had any photos or videos. If they had, I think they would have released something.”

It’s what Josie would have done. She read the dates under each woman’s photo. He’d moved quickly, killing three women a year. The dates didn’t follow a pattern but he was still killing a lot of women in a short amount of time.