Once He Knows (A Claire King FBI Suspense Thriller—Book Five)

By Molly Black

FBI Special Agent Claire King dies chasing a killer—and is resuscitated minutes later to realize she has changed. Dark images flash through her mind in a newfound power, visions leading her towards serial killers. But when a serial killer targets prison wardens, the list of suspects, in and out of prison, is long and deep, and Claire receives conflicting visions. Has her power met its match?



“Molly Black has written a taut thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat… I absolutely loved this book and can’t wait to read the next book in the series!”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder



Once He Knows is Book #5 of a long anticipated new series by critically-acclaimed and #1 bestselling mystery and suspense author Molly Black, whose books have received over 2,000 five-star reviews and ratings.



FBI Special Agent Claire King has a reputation for brilliance, for being able to crack serial killer cases that no other agent can. Before she died and came back to life, she relied solely on this brilliance. But now that she has this fleeting, newfound power, Claire is confused: should she follow what she knows? Or what she senses? Are visions more powerful than intellect?



Or will they lead her right into a killer’s trap?



A page-turning and harrowing crime thriller featuring a brilliant and tortured FBI agent, the Claire King series is a riveting mystery, packed with non-stop action, suspense, twists and turns, revelations, and driven by a breakneck pace that will keep you flipping pages late into the night. Fans of Rachel Caine, Teresa Driscoll and Robert Dugoni are sure to fall in love.



Future books in the series are also available!



“I binge read this book. It hooked me in and didn't stop till the last few pages… I look forward to reading more!”

—Reader review for Found You



“I loved this book! Fast-paced plot, great characters and interesting insights into investigating cold cases. I can't wait to read the next book!”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder



“Very good book… You will feel like you are right there looking for the kidnapper! I know I will be reading more in this series!”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder



“This is a very well written book and holds your interest from page 1… Definitely looking forward to reading the next one in the series, and hopefully others as well!”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder



“Wow, I cannot wait for the next in this series. Starts with a bang and just keeps going.”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder



“Well written book with a great plot, one that will keep you up at night. A page turner!”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder



“A great suspense that keeps you reading… can't wait for the next in this series!”

—Reader review for Found You



“Sooo soo good! There are a few unforeseen twists… I binge read this like I binge watch Netflix. It just sucks you in.”

—Reader review for Found You

• Language: English
• Publisher: Molly Black
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781094330884

Book preview

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O N C E   H E   K N O W S

(A Claire King FBI Suspense Thriller —Book 5)

M o l l y   B l a c k

Molly Black

Bestselling author Molly Black is author of the MAYA GRAY FBI suspense thriller series, comprising ten books (and counting); of the RYLIE WOLF FBI suspense thriller series, comprising six books; of the TAYLOR SAGE FBI suspense thriller series, comprising eight books; of the KATIE WINTER FBI suspense thriller series, comprising eleven books (and counting); of the RUBY HUNTER FBI suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting); of the CAITLIN DARE FBI suspense thriller series, comprising six books (and counting); of the REESE LINK mystery series, comprising six books (and counting); of the CLAIRE KING FBI suspense thriller series, comprising seven books (and counting); of the PIPER WOODS mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); and of the GRACE FORD mystery series, comprising seven books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Molly loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.mollyblackauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2023 by Molly Black. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Sisvorka Images used under license from Shutterstock.com.

BOOKS BY MOLLY BLACK

GRACE FORD MYSTERY SERIES

NEARLY MINE (Book #1)

NEARLY SAFE (Book #2)

NEARLY FREE (Book #3)

NEARLY GONE (Book #4)

NEARLY HIS (Book #5)

CLAIRE KING MYSTERY SERIES

ONCE HE SEES (Book #1)

ONCE HE LONGS (Book #2)

ONCE HE TAKES (Book #3)

ONCE HE FEELS (Book #4)

ONCE HE KNOWS (Book #5)

MAYA GRAY MYSTERY SERIES

GIRL ONE: MURDER (Book #1)

GIRL TWO: TAKEN (Book #2)

GIRL THREE: TRAPPED (Book #3)

GIRL FOUR: LURED (Book #4)

GIRL FIVE: BOUND (Book #5)

GIRL SIX: FORSAKEN (Book #6)

GIRL SEVEN: CRAVED (Book #7)

GIRL EIGHT: HUNTED (Book #8)

GIRL NINE: GONE (Book #9)

RYLIE WOLF FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

FOUND YOU (Book #1)

CAUGHT YOU (Book #2)

SEE YOU (Book #3)

WANT YOU (Book #4)

TAKE YOU (Book #5)

DARE YOU (Book #6)

TAYLOR SAGE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

DON’T LOOK (Book #1)

DON’T BREATHE (Book #2)

DON’T RUN (Book #3)

DON’T FLINCH (Book #4)

DON’T REMEMBER (Book #5)

DON’T TELL (Book #6)

KATIE WINTER FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

SAVE ME (Book #1)

REACH ME (Book #2)

HIDE ME (Book #3)

BELIEVE ME (Book #4)

HELP ME (Book #5)

FORGET ME (Book #6)

HOLD ME (Book #7)

PROTECT ME (Book #8)

REMEMBER ME (Book #9)

CATCH ME (Book #10)

WATCH ME (Book #11)

RUBY HUNTER FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

IF I RUN (Book #1)

IF I TELL (Book #2)

IF I LIVE (Book #3)

IF I FORGET (Book #4)

IF I RETURN (Book #5)

CAITLIN DARE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

COME GET ME (Book #1)

COME FIND ME (Book #2)

COME TAKE ME (Book #3)

COME CATCH ME (Book #4)

COME SAVE ME (Book #5)

REESE LINK MYSTERY

BEYOND REASON (Book #1)

BEYOND REACH (Book #2)

BEYOND REPAIR (Book #3)

BEYOND DOUBT (Book #4)

BEYOND NORMAL (Book #5)

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Violence and danger hung in the dank, reeking air. Threats and abuse reverberated off the stark white walls. The stench of sweat, testosterone, and far, far worse was almost overpowering, but those who called this home barely noticed it. If they did, it was like the smell of their mother to a newborn baby. That of a favorite blanket to an old arthritic dog.

Reg Kaplinsky didn’t live there, but he had spent every minute of his working life there for more than forty years. He felt more comfortable there in the noise, the stench, the cauldron of menace than he did at the small one-story house he shared with his wife and her yappy Pomeranian.

He could hear his name being called, abuse cascading along the corridor behind him. They were rarely brave enough to do it to his face. Not after the first time, anyway. They were mostly too stupid to realize he knew exactly who was saying what. Too stupid to understand that every little thing they said, every insult, slight, joke, was logged away in his brain, ready to be used against the perpetrator.

And they were always brought out, dusted down and used. That was one thing he was never, ever lax about.

He made his way, slowly, assuredly, down the long corridor like a man at peace in the world. And that was exactly what he was. And because he spent his days among people who were at the very opposite end of the scale, men who raged and fought against the world and those in it, that added to his inner peace. It was as if he took their negativity, their hatred, distilled it, and grew strength from it. As if to demonstrate exactly that point, he breathed in deeply through his hawklike nose, closing his eyes briefly, savoring everything about these last few moments before he left for the day.

Three feet to his left ran a breezeblock wall painted with thick, off-white paint. The unskilled workman had allowed great drips of the paint to run, leaving rivulets that streaked down to the bare tiled floor. Some of the drips and rivulets had been picked off by bored fingernails; others framed and marked the boundaries of names, insults, or both, scratched into the dirty white wall.

Two feet to his right were the cage-like openings to the individual cells. Through the bars, men lazed on simple bunks or stood, their arms hung through the bars, calling to their neighbors. Nothing was done quietly in that place. No one talked when they could shout. In a place with so many boundaries, unscalable walls, and locked doors, it was as if those who spent their lives there were loath not to let the one thing that had free range to travel anywhere – their voice – have the run of the place.

Kaplinsky was in no hurry. The black polished leather of his boots creaked as they slowly made their way along the corridor. He imagined everyone looking at him was thinking he would be out in twenty minutes. Could imagine them picturing his return to a pretty wife; she kissing him at the front door, taking his hat, handing him a cool beer, leading him to his favorite chair where he took off his boots, listening to her talk and laugh about some amusing incident that had happened at her bowls club, while fixing a steak dinner.

They needn’t know that that was almost as far from the reality as could be. It was the fact they would be thinking it that made his heart soar.

He pulled his shoulders a little further back, lifted his head a little higher, and thrust his chest - clad in the dark blue cotton shirt of his rank - a little further forward.

Someone calling his name insistently brought his wandering thoughts and his boots to a halt. He turned to look at the man peering through the bars to his right.

Mister Warden sir, Mister Warden sir.

Kaplinsky regarded the man, and his hand went to the foot-long hardwood truncheon at his belt.

Step away from the bars, Williams, he said, his voice hard as a flint.

Williams, dressed in orange overalls unbuttoned to the waist to reveal a scarred, scrawny chest, pulled his thin arms through the floor-to-ceiling bars and retreated a few steps into the shadows of his cell.

Kaplinsky stepped forward, his eyes roving over the inmate with distaste.

Do your buttons up, Williams, he snarled. That's the problem with you lot. No standards. Do you see me walking around with my buttons open down to my crotch, displaying my chest?

Williams shook his head, his fingers fumbling at the buttons on his overalls.

Well, do you, Williams? he barked. We are human beings. We communicate via the medium of speech. You may not like it, Williams, and nor may anyone else, but you are a member of the human race, so start acting like one.

No, sir. Yes, sir. In his haste, he had buttoned the overall up incorrectly, pulling the right-hand side and leaving a gap around the navel.

Kaplinsky’s lip curled in disdain. Neither man spoke for a few seconds. A shriek of laughter echoed from the far end of the corridor.

What is it, Williams? Unlike you, I have places to be. A home to go to, he spoke these last two sentences louder than was necessary, hoping they would carry down and into as many cells and straining ears as possible.

Someone said something he didn’t catch, something that was greeted with a whooping cry of laughter from several men.

Kaplinsky’s hand tightened on his truncheon. He shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet and back, rocking slightly.

Williams swallowed; the exchange hadn't gone as he had hoped so far. It's just that I'm just wondering, sir, if you have heard anything back about my parole. It's... It's a good few weeks now since our meeting, and I was wondering if you’d heard back… his voice trailed off.

Kaplinsky stared at the man in front of him. Do I employ you as my secretary, Williams? he said, his voice full of disdain.

No sir, no, you don't, mumbled Williams, his fingers playing with the button on his overall that he had missed earlier.

You’re damn tooting, I don't. I'd get me a darn better looking one and a darn more intelligent one, that's for sure. His hand went to his graying hair, combed and Brylcreemed to perfection, patting it, a habit he was unaware he had. Then why, Williams, he continued, are you talking to me about my calendar appointments and my administration affairs?

I don't know, sir, Williams mumbled.

No, you don’t know sir. That’s your problem, Williams. Do you not trust me, Williams?

Williams looked up and shuffled closer. He went to grab hold of the bars but thought better of it. Of course, mister Warden, sir, he said. It's just I thought…

"You don’t think Williams. You can’t think, Kaplinsky growled, his truncheon slamming into the bars both times he said the word 'think.' That is why you are on the inside, and I am on the outside. He glowered at the inmate for a few seconds. I will inform you when I hear anything back from the parole board."

He turned neatly on his heels and strode along the corridor, ignoring the ‘thank yous’ coming from Williams’ cell. His mind went back to the meeting for the parole hearing and the conversation afterward with the state governor. The instructions from the governor for Kaplinsky to file a report along with his recommendations that Williams be released.

Kaplinsky’s mouth stretched into an approximation of a smile when he remembered starting the letter, then thinking better of it and filing it in the trash can.

His final rounds of the day complete, he nodded to the guard at the door that separated that wing from the wider corridor that led to the large dining room and made his way slowly but steadily past the smaller rec room that led off at right angles. He continued out of the main building, crossed the exercise yard, and went into the smaller annex. His office was on the second floor.

He checked his hair in the small mirror he kept in the top drawer of his desk and then tidied the few items of paperwork on the surface into a neat pile and placed them carefully on his tray, giving the empty surface a satisfied nod.  

Then he stepped over to the window that overlooked the exercise yard and beyond it, the high wall, topped with coils of barbed wire. Just to the right of his vision, he could see the guard tower. His mind sought for the names of the two men on duty there, recalled them, and gave himself another nod of satisfaction.

His eyes roamed the exterior of his domain.

Everything was in order. In control.

Just as it had been for every day of his watch over this place.

A noise behind him from the corridor made his eyes halt midway between the tower and the basketball court.

He turned around, his ears listening for the sound to be repeated. There it was again. A light footstep, he could swear it.

He quickly tried to remember if there was anything going on that evening but knew there was nothing in his diary. There shouldn't be anyone else in this building, not at this time of the day. One of the guards must have come to see him. If it was Thomas about that darned leave he wanted, he would make sure he never got a shift he asked for again.

A frown creased his forehead as he stepped towards the door, wanting to preempt the knock and catch him off guard.

His hand reached out, and his fingers had just made it to the door handle when the heavy door suddenly swung inwards, slamming into him and knocking him against the wall.

He stood there, a wave of shock sweeping over his body, as he was trapped between the door and the wall in his own office. That shock was quickly morphing into anger when the door was pulled back.

His mouth opened, ready to tell whichever guard was on the other side of the door that they would never set foot inside this prison again when he froze.

His eyes widened. A small cry escaped his gaping mouth as the man in front of him, a black mask pulled over his features, loomed over him.

The only part of Kaplinsky that moved were his eyes, as they fixed upon the blunt knife held in the assailant's hand as it arced through the air toward him.

CHAPTER ONE

After several emails and three phone calls, aided by a stubborn perseverance and a rapidly diminishing supply of patience, Claire finally had the right person on the other end of the line.

She knew the principles of negotiation. Not to declare your hand, show the other party how much you needed something. God knew she had been in enough interviews trying to eke out vital snippets and nuggets of information from some of the hardest-to-crack people on the planet.

But with this, she was dealing with people on her own side. In her own team, as it were. Or so she thought. So why was it proving to be so difficult?

It would be unprofessional to tell the agent on the line that the outcome of her investigation – an investigation that simply would not get off the ground without his initial help – would result in more than simply the