Page 25 of Whispers in the Night

“You’re thinking about the note,” Silas said after the waitress left.

Harper looked up, startled. “How did you know?”

“Because I’m thinking about it too.” He leaned forward, hands folded on the table, elbows spread out wide, his voice lowered as those pale-blue eyes pierced hers. “Why did you really come to Blackridge, Harper?”

The use of her first name caught her off guard and she instantly bristled. He’d been calling her Sinclair since they met.The shift felt significant, intimate in a way that made her uncomfortable.

“I told you. Mandatory leave. My therapist thought I needed somewhere quiet to process—”

“That’s the official reason. I’m asking about the real reason.” His pale-blue eyes were intense, searching. “Why Blackridge specifically? Why not stay in Chicago? Why not go home to...” He paused. “Where are you from?”

“Boston originally. But my family’s not...we’re not close.” Harper looked away. “I needed distance. From the FBI, from Chicago, from everything that reminded me of Michael. Blackridge was random. Small city, Pacific Northwest, far enough away that nobody would recognize me.”

“Except someone did recognize you,” Silas said quietly. “Someone knew you were here. Someone who’d been waiting five years for the right moment.”

Harper’s hands tightened around her water glass. “You think he’s been watching me. This whole time.”

“I think it’s possible. I think maybe he didn’t just follow your career. I think he became obsessed with you during the Nevada investigation. You were on TV, giving press conferences, talking about the case. He saw you. And he fixated.”

“That’s...” Harper trailed off. It made horrible sense. Serial killers did sometimes fixate on the investigators hunting them. Became obsessed with being seen, understood, caught. “If that’s true, then he’s been planning this for five years. Waiting for the right moment to resume killing. Waiting until I was...vulnerable.”

“Six months after Michael’s death. When you’re on leave, isolated, struggling.” Silas’s voice was gentle. “He knew you’d come investigate. He knew you couldn’t resist. And now he’s got you exactly where he wants you.”

The words made Harper’s skin crawl. She rotated the glass between her palms, watching a few bubbles work their way to the top. “Then we use that. We use his obsession against him.”

Silas tilted his head. “That’s what you meant earlier. About using yourself as bait.”

“Yes.” Harper met his eyes. “If he wants me, let’s give him a chance to come after me. Under controlled conditions. With backup. We set a trap and we catch him.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Silas—”

“No.” His voice was hard now, final. “I’m not using you as bait for a serial killer. That’s how people end up dead.”

Harper was livid. “People are already dead! Two women in three days, and he’s promised more. How many more have to die while we chase leads and wait for DNA results?”

“As many as it takes to do this right.” Silas leaned back, his jaw set. His voice remained calm, but she could see the same fire raging inside her burning behind his eyes. “I’m not losing another person on my watch, Harper. Not because we rushed, not because we took unnecessary risks, and sure as hell not because we turned a consultant into bait.”

“I’m not asking for permission—”

“Too bad,” he growled. “Because I’m the lead detective on this case, and I say no. End of discussion.”

They glared at each other across the booth. The waitress appeared with their food, her smile vanishing instantly when she caught the vibe, set their meals down carefully, and retreated without a word. Smart woman.

Harper picked up her spoon but didn’t eat. Her appetite had completely vanished. “Why did you really become a cop?” she asked.

The question seemed to catch Silas off guard. “What?”

“You were military. Rangers, if I’m reading your bearing correctly. You could have stayed in, made a career of it. Or gone private sector, made real money. Instead you’re here, working homicides in a small city for probably half what you’re worth.” Harper tilted her head. “Why?”

Silas’s expression closed down. “That’s not relevant.”

“Isn’t it? You’re asking me why I came to Blackridge. I’m asking why you did.”

A long silence. Outside, rain had started to fall, pattering against the diner’s windows. Finally, Silas spoke.

“I lost my team in Afghanistan. Eight men. We were clearing a compound and I missed a suicide vest. Boom. Three dead instantly. Two more died before we could get them to the hospital. The other three survived but with injuries that ended their careers.” His voice was flat, emotionless. “I came home, couldn’t stomach going back, took an honorable discharge. Became a cop because...I don’t know. I needed to feel like I was still doing something. Still protecting people.”