Page 42 of Whispers in the Night

“I’m tired of being afraid,” Harper said quietly. “I’m tired of women dying in my place. I’m tired of feeling helpless.”

“You’re not helpless. You’re a brilliant profiler who’s helping us understand this killer better than anyone else could.” Silas squeezed her hand gently. “We’ll catch him. I promise you that. But we do it the right way. Not by feeding you to him.”

Harper nodded slowly. “Okay. We do it your way. For now.”

“For now,” Silas agreed, though he had no intention of ever letting Harper put herself in danger. Not if he could help it.

They sat like that for a moment, hands connected on the table, morning light filtering through the cabin windows. It felt domestic. Intimate. Like something more than partners working a case.

Silas pulled his hand back. “We should get to the station. Morris probably has updates from the overnight canvass. And I want to review the fiber evidence from Nicole Merrin.”

“Right. Yeah.” Harper stood abruptly. “I’ll shower and change. Twenty minutes?”

“Take your time.”

While Harper freshened, Silas checked his phone. Multiple texts from team members—updates on leads, dead ends, witness statements that went nowhere. The investigation was stalling out. They had DNA that didn’t match anyone. Security footage of a killer who kept his face hidden. Victims who’d been drugged and taken from public places with no witnesses.

The killer was smart. Careful. Aware.

But he was also escalating, losing control. Making mistakes. That’s when they’d catch him—when his obsession with Harper pushed him into doing something reckless.

Silas just had to make sure Harper survived long enough for that to happen.

***

At the station, the case board had grown. Photos of six victims—three from Nevada, three from Blackridge. All young women with dark hair and similar features. All looking, Silas could now see clearly, like Harper.

How had they missed it? How had Harper investigated the Nevada cases for a year without recognizing she was looking at versions of herself?

“Because she was focused on catching him, not on being his target,” Silas muttered to himself.

“Talking to yourself, Kane?” Morris appeared with a coffee and a file folder. “That’s the first sign of madness, you know.”

“Little late for that.” Silas took the folder. “What’ve you got?”

“Background checks on everyone who appears in the gym security footage. Staff, members, anyone with regular access to Summit Fitness.” Morris pointed to the board. “Ninety-two people total. We’ve cleared most of them—wrong age, wrong build, solid alibis. But there are fifteen we’re still looking at.”

“Narrow it further. Focus on anyone who also appears near The Daily Grind. Our guy was watching victims at both locations.”

“Already on it. Cross-referencing now.”

Harper appeared, looking professional in dark slacks and a blazer, her hair pulled back. She carried her own coffee and a determined expression that Silas was starting to recognize. She had a plan, and he wasn’t going to like it.

“I’ve been thinking about the victimology,” Harper said, joining them at the board. “All the women worked out at gyms, drank specialty coffee, maintained healthy lifestyles. They were visible, social, part of their communities. Not isolated or vulnerable in the traditional sense.”

“So the killer doesn’t target vulnerability,” Silas said. “He targets visibility. Women who are out in the world, living their lives, not hiding.”

“Like me.” Harper’s voice was steady. “I’ve been going to The Daily Grind almost every morning since I moved here. I’m visible, predictable. He knows my routine.”

Silas’s stomach dropped. “Harper—”

“Which means we can use my routine to draw him out. I keep doing what I’ve been doing—going to coffee shops, going to the gym if I joined one, maintaining visibility. You stay close but not obvious. We wait for him to make contact.”

“That’s what I was afraid you’d suggest,” Silas said flatly. “And the answer is still no.”

“Silas,” she sighed, “be reasonable—”

“I am being reasonable,” he argued, ready to dig his heels in on this. “You’re suggesting we dangle you in front of a serial killer who’s spent five years obsessing over you, who’s killed six women—probably more—as practice for taking you. That’s not reasonable. That’s suicidal.”