Page 100 of Whispers in the Night

“It’s the best I can offer,” she whispered.

They stood close together, foreheads touching, neither wanting to let go. Tomorrow they’d start hunting Sutton in earnest. Tomorrow they’d plan how to draw him out, how to end this once and for all.

But tonight, they would simply hold each other in the darkness and try not to think about all the ways this could end badly.

Because somewhere out there, Dale Sutton was planning his endgame. And Harper knew with absolute certainty that she was at the center of it.

Chapter 20

Harper didn’t sleep. She lay in bed beside Silas, listening to his breathing gradually even out as exhaustion claimed him, while her own mind churned through everything they knew about Dale Sutton.

He’d cleared out his apartment and storage unit with military precision. He had twelve hours head start. His dark sedan was last seen heading east toward the mountains. No electronic trail, no credit card usage, no cell phone pings.

He’d gone ghost.

But ghosts left traces if you knew where to look.

At four a.m., Harper gave up on sleep. She slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Silas, and moved to the kitchen table with her laptop. She pulled up maps of the areas east of Blackridge—mountainous terrain, national forest, logging roads that wound through wilderness for miles.

Lots of places to hide. Abandoned mining towns, old logging camps, summer cabins that sat empty nine months out of the year. Sutton could disappear into that wilderness and stay hidden for weeks if he wanted.

But he wouldn’t. Harper was certain of that. He hadn’t spent five years building toward this moment just to run away and start over somewhere else. He had unfinished business.

And that business was her.

She pulled up the folder from Sutton’s apartment—the one filled with newspaper clippings and photos of her. Studied his notes in the margins, trying to understand his thought process. He’d been meticulous, documenting her cases, her movements, her patterns. Learning everything about her the way a predator learns its prey.

The photo taken at the cabin made her stomach turn. How long had he been watching? How many times had he stood outside in the darkness, looking through the windows, planning?

“Can’t sleep either?”

Harper jumped. She looked up to find Silas in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, concern etched on his face.

“Just thinking,” she said.

Silas gave a small, understanding nod and moved to the coffeemaker, started a pot brewing. “About Sutton?”

“About where he’d go. What he’s planning,” she clarified. Harper turned her laptop so Silas could see the maps. “All this wilderness east of the city. Hundreds of square miles of forest and mountains. We could search for months and never find him.”

“Unless we make him come to us,” Silas said quietly as he turned to lean against the counter, watching her, his arms folded over his chest.

“The bait plan.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“I know. But it might be our only option.” Harper stood and moved to the window. The sky was beginning to lighten, dawn just a hint on the horizon. “Sutton’s fixated on me. Everything he’s done has been building toward some confrontation with me. If I make myself available—”

“Then you become a target.”

“I’m already a target. At least this way, we control the circumstances.” Harper turned to face him. “We set it up perfectly. Surveillance, backup teams positioned close enough to respond immediately. I wear a wire, we monitor everything. The second Sutton makes contact, we move in.”

Silas poured two cups of coffee and crossed the room, handing her one. “And if he doesn’t take the bait? If he sees through it like he saw through everything else?”

“Then we’re no worse off than we are now.” Harper sipped the hot coffee, avoiding those penetrating blue eyes. “But I don’t think he’ll be able to resist. His ego won’t let him. He thinks he’s smarter than us, that he can stay ahead. The opportunity to prove that by taking me—his ultimate trophy—will be too tempting.”

“You’re talking about yourself like you’re an object. Like you’re already his victim.”

“I’m talking tactically. Strategically.” Harper set down her cup and finally met his concerned gaze. “This is what I do, Silas. I get inside killers’ heads, understand how they think, use that knowledge to catch them. Sometimes that means putting myself at risk.”