Page 26 of Whispers in the Night

Harper’s chest tightened. He’d said it all so matter-of-fact, emotionless, but the tense set of his shoulders and the way his hands balled into fists on either side of his plate told a different story. One she understood all too well. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was my mistake. My call. My responsibility.” He finally looked at her. “That’s why I work alone. That’s why I don’t do partners. Because when you work with people, when you trust people, they can die. And I’m done watching people die.”

“But you’re working with me now.”

“Because I don’t have a choice. Captain made it clear.” Silas picked up his burger but didn’t eat. “But don’t mistake that for trust, Harper. I’m working with you because I have to. Not because I want to.”

The words stung, even though Harper knew they were coming. “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends.”

“Do you think I can still do this job?”

Silas was quiet for a long moment. “I think you’re brilliant at reading crime scenes. I think you see connections I miss. I think your profile work is exceptional.”

He was holding back. Afraid to hurt her feelings? “But?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “But I think you’re too close to this case. I think the killer’s fixation on you is clouding your judgment. And I think if you’re not careful, you’re going to make the same mistake you made in Chicago—rush in without thinking because you need to prove something.”

Harper felt like she’d been slapped. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” Silas leaned forward. “You said it yourself earlier. You need to prove you can still do the job. But who are you proving it to, Harper? Ellery? Holloway? Me?” He paused. “Or yourself?”

The question hit too close to home. Harper looked away, blinking back sudden tears. Damn it. She was not going to cry in front of Silas Kane.

“I need to prove I’m not broken,” she said quietly. “I need to know that Michael’s death didn’t destroy me. That I can still be useful, still help people, still make a difference.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Is that so wrong?”

He held her stare for a long, intense moment. “No. It’s not wrong.” Silas’s voice gentled. “But there’s a difference between proving you’re not broken and getting yourself killed trying. And right now, I’m not sure which one you’re aiming for.”

Harper opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Because he was right. Part of her—a dangerous, self-destructive part—almost wanted the killer to come after her. Wanted the confrontation, the risk, the chance to redeem herself or die trying.

That wasn’t healthy. She knew that. Her therapist would have a field day with it.

“I don’t want to die,” Harper said finally. “But I don’t want to hide either. I want to catch him. And if using myself as bait is what it takes—”

“Then we’ll find another way.” Silas’s tone left no room for argument. “We’ll work the evidence. We’ll follow the leads. We’ll do this right. Together.”

Together. There was that word again.

Harper picked up her spoon and finally tasted the soup. It was good—warm, comforting, exactly what she needed. They ate in silence for a while, the tension between them easing slightly.

“Tell me about Michael,” Silas said eventually.

Harper looked up, surprised. “Why?”

“Because if we’re going to work together, I need to understand what happened. Not the official version. The real version.”

Harper set down her spoon. She didn’t want to get into this, but he’d shared his story with her, and fair was fair. “Michael was my partner for three years,” she began. “Good agent. Smart. Steady. The kind of person you wanted watching your back.” She paused. “We were working a case—domestic terrorist cell planning an attack in Chicago. Got a tip about their location, a warehouse on the south side. I thought we had time to check it out before backup arrived. I was wrong.”

“The warehouse was rigged,” Silas guessed.

“Completely. Pressure plates, trip wires, enough explosives to take down the whole building.” Harper’s voice was steady, clinical. Talking about it like it was someone else’s story. “I tripped something. Don’t even know what. Suddenly, the place was coming down around us. Michael was behind me. He could have run, could have gotten out. But he tried to reach me instead.”

“And the building exploded.”

“Yeah. I was close enough to the entrance that the blast threw me clear. Michael was deeper inside. They found his body three days later.” Harper’s hands were shaking again. She pressed them flat against the table. “If I’d waited for backup like I was supposed to, he’d still be alive.”

Silas was quiet for a moment. “Did he have family?”