They Can Find You Anywhere.
They Can Get To You Anytime.
Society's Rejects Are Striking Back.
Disgraced former FBI agent Kevin Arneson once hunted the world's most dangerous terrorists. Now, back home in a tense, post-George Floyd Minneapolis, he takes on a new challenge when one of his closest friends receives serious death threats. The suspects: group of embittered, sex-starved, and sometimes violent young men called incels, who are terrorizing and then killing successful middle-aged women with no apparent connection to each other. Each victim inexplicably admits the killers into her home, despite widespread publicity and hysteria over the serial murders. Arneson, defying warnings from the FBI and police to stand down, recruits his friend Camryn Becket, an ex-lover and former deep-cover CIA agent, to help track the mystery assailants. As the death toll mounts, Arneson and Becket pursue the killers, burrowing through layers of deception. In a stunning climax, they uncover a monstrous scheme that goes beyond the murders, reaching back into their own troubled past.
They Can Find You Anywhere.
They Can Get To You Anytime.
Society's Rejects Are Striking Back.
Disgraced former FBI agent Kevin Arneson once hunted the world's most dangerous terrorists. Now, back home in a tense, post-George Floyd Minneapolis, he takes on a new challenge when one of his closest friends receives serious death threats. The suspects: group of embittered, sex-starved, and sometimes violent young men called incels, who are terrorizing and then killing successful middle-aged women with no apparent connection to each other. Each victim inexplicably admits the killers into her home, despite widespread publicity and hysteria over the serial murders. Arneson, defying warnings from the FBI and police to stand down, recruits his friend Camryn Becket, an ex-lover and former deep-cover CIA agent, to help track the mystery assailants. As the death toll mounts, Arneson and Becket pursue the killers, burrowing through layers of deception. In a stunning climax, they uncover a monstrous scheme that goes beyond the murders, reaching back into their own troubled past.
âIt was a little unnerving, to be honest,â said Renee Hoynes. âItâs not every day somebody actually threatens to kill you.â
âHad you gotten threats before these?â The two sat in Reneeâs south Minneapolis kitchen late at night, drinks in front of them on the table. Next to the glasses sat the visitorâs cell phone.
âOh, sure, but not like this. I mean, people write in all the time. Or call or email. And some of the stuff I get isnât very savory. Proposals of marriage, invitations for one-night stands. Then there are the pictures of . . . you know. Disgusting.â
The visitor responded with a knowing smile. âOf course.â Renee, a local news anchorwoman, was beautiful, the stuff of male fantasies.
âUsually,â Renee said, âthe threats come because I havenât taken somebody seriously. Or sometimes they come from wives, whose husbands are obsessed. Refill?â
âNo, thanks. So, whatâs different about these threats?â
Reneeâs lovely face crinkled a bit. She worried about crinkles. One of these years the ratings would slip. She, along with her big contract, would be jettisoned, replaced by somebody younger, cheaper, and without the dreaded crinkles. âIâve been getting them for a few months now. Theyâre terrible, absolutely vile. Unlike anything Iâve gotten before. Plus, I find out the same people are trashing me on some wacko social media site for incels and white supremacists.â
âIncels?â
ââInvoluntary celibates.â We did a story on them once. Young guys, nerdy, awkward and angry. They spend a lot of time online. Theyâve been rejected by women, and they donât take it well. They blame the women rather than themselves. Theyâre filled with rage. Iâve read that some of them are also white supremacists.â
âWhy threaten you? Itâs not like any of them has tried to date you, right?â
Renee shrugged. âWho knows? Maybe any attractive or self-confident woman triggers their anger. Itâs not like Iâve personally encountered any of them, at least that I know of.â She exhaled. âAnyway, this group has threatened to rape and kill me in all kinds of creative and exquisitely painful ways.â
âReally? Such as?â
Renee recoiled. âYou donât want to know the details, do you?â
The guest smiled. âOf course not. Have you told the police?â
âThe stationâs security people reported it, yes. The cops sort of threw up their hands and said they couldnât trace the threats so be extra careful.â
âCareful,â said the guest. âSo, you donât go to your car alone after the ten oâclock news.â
âRight. They have a guy who will go with you. I took advantage of that tonight.â Renee felt an uncomfortable vibe. She wanted another drink, but her visitor had declined.
âAnd youâve got an alarm and cameras here at the house,â the visitor said.
âSure. And ever since the divorce, Iâve made sure theyâre turned on.â
âYou look a little worried there, Renee.â
She looked around her expensive kitchen. âTruth be told, Iâm petrified. You wouldnât believe the stuff theyâve posted online and sent me in emails.â
The smile again. âYou know, I believe I would.â
Renee felt flat-out spooked now. She looked around again. âI hate to be inhospitable, but Iâve got to hit it.â
âThereâs no hurry,â said the guest, who reached into a small backpack, produced several items, and began placing them onto the table next to their glasses.
âWhat on earthââ Renee began, realizing for the first time that she had sat herself in the corner of the kitchenâs breakfast nook, and the only way out was past the guest to the doorway. Stupid.
âYou live in a beautiful home, Renee. Unfortunately, things are about to get a bit messy. Now, itâs a mess that has nothing to do with me, because, well, I was never here.â Renee stared in horror at the items lined up on the table. A small hand vacuum. A bottle of bleach. Several rags. A plastic bag. And the final items, two rubber gloves. âMy disappearing kit. I was never here.â
âWhat do you mean? What on earth . . .â
With that, the visitor produced a large knife.
Renee looked frantically around her kitchen, at the expensive pots and pans hanging from racks above the island. âMy God, what are you doing?â
The visitor tested the knifeâs edge with a thumb. âPeople like you, Reneeâbeautiful, wealthy, adored, entitledâyou have no idea whatâs going on. You donât take threats seriously. You donât take the rest of us seriously. And thatâs a problem. A problem for me. But most of all for you.â
Renee began to stand up, but it was too late. The visitor was around the table and had plunged the knife into her abdomen before she had any chance to react.
Renee, clutching her stomach in unspeakable agony, fell over sideways onto the floor, realizing her guest was right. She hadnât had a clue.
Kevin Arneson is a disgraced FBI agent. He succeeded at a game he wasn't supposed to win, and that didn't sit well with his superiors. The FBI has now shuffled him off their payroll and into a consulting business in Minneapolis. He's to keep his head down, nose clean, off the radar - and he definitely isn't supposed to get involved in any high-profile investigations. If anyone even thinks he's going to be in a position to talk about what he knows, he will disappear so deep, he may never resurface.
But when his friend Shelby makes the so-called Incel Killers' target list, Arneson takes notice. Women in positions of authority, like Shelby, are being threatened in graphic, nasty ways and then brutally killed. But there's no apparent connection between the women, no common thread that might reveal the killer's identity. Various law enforcement agencies claim to be investigating, but the killer seems to always be one jump ahead, and leads are thin on the ground.
Arneson can't be officially involved in any investigation. But he can and does put himself on mighty thin ice in the interests of justice and to save a friend's life. He asks for help from his former lover, Camryn Becket, herself a disgraced CIA agent who was too good at her job for the higher-ups' peace of mind. The two of them aren't even supposed to be in the same place, much less working together to solve a crime. But they're on the hunt regardless, doing anything they can to get information without running completely afoul of the local Special Agent in Charge, who's made it clear that he's looking for any reason to take Arneson out.
This book, y'all! From the opening chapter, I was hooked. The action kicks off immediately with the first dead body and no clues left behind, and the tension just keeps ramping up. I was about 66 percent through with the book when it looked like the whodunnit had finally been figured out. I thought it seemed a bit early, but maybe...? Nope. But if not this one, then who could get close enough to these women to engage them and then kill them with no real sign of a struggle? Lutterman did a great job of keeping me guessing.
I'm not going to give away the plot. I will say that this is a taut, tense, compelling read that kept me up way past my bedtime. There was no point where I felt like this book dragged. There are some descriptions of ugly, brutal acts, but they don't feel gratuitous. They serve to give you a peek into the killer's (or killers') minds. The characters, even seemingly minor ones, are integral to the story and well-developed.
And when that penny finally drops, may you be as surprised as I was! The ending has me hoping we'll see more of Kevin Arneson in future books, and Incel deserves a place on your summer reading list.