Page 45 of Whispers in the Night

He should let go. Should put distance between them before this became something neither of them was ready for. But he couldn’t make himself move.

“Silas,” Harper said softly.

He turned his head, found her face inches from his. Saw the question in her eyes, the vulnerability. Felt his own pulse quicken.

This was a bad idea. This was crossing a line they shouldn’t cross. She was a consultant, he was the lead detective, they were in the middle of an active case hunting a serial killer who was obsessed with her. This was every kind of wrong.

But God, he wanted to kiss her. Wanted to close that last bit of distance, feel her lips against his, lose himself in something other than fear and guilt and the weight of responsibility.

Harper leaned in slightly, her breath warm against his face. “We shouldn’t,” she whispered.

“No. We shouldn’t,” Silas agreed.

Neither of them moved away.

Silas’s free hand came up, cupped her face. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone. Harper’s eyes fluttered closed, and he heard her breath catch.

Kiss her,his brain demanded.Just kiss her and deal with the consequences later.

But even as he thought it, images flashed through his mind. Williams dying in the rubble. Michael Ward in that warehouse explosion. Nicole Merrin on the ground with symbols carved into her skin, looking just like Harper.

Everyone he got close to got hurt. That was the pattern. That was the curse.

If he kissed Harper now, if he let this become something more than professional partnership, he’d doom her. The universe would take her away the way it took everyone else. The killer would win. She’d die.

And it would be his fault.

Silas pulled back abruptly, dropping his hand from her face, untangling his fingers from hers. “We can’t do this.”

Harper’s eyes opened, confusion and hurt flickering across her features. “Silas—”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” He stood, putting distance between them. “You’re right. We shouldn’t. This is unprofessional. Dangerous. We’re in the middle of a case, you’re a target, I’m supposed to be protecting you, not—”

“Not what?” Harper stood too, her voice sharper now. “Not caring about me? Not letting yourself feel something? Not being human?”

“Not putting you in more danger than you’re already in,” he snapped. Silas glimpsed the hurt in her eyes before it was quickly masked, and ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. “Harper, everyone I get close to gets hurt,” he explained—again. “My team in Afghanistan. Partners I’ve tried to work with. Everyone. I’m not doing that to you.”

“That’s not how it works—”

“Isn’t it? Look at the pattern. Look at my history. People around me die, Harper. That’s just a fact.” He forced himselfto meet her eyes. “So yeah, we can’t do this. Whatever this is. Because I will not be responsible for getting you killed too.”

Harper stared at him for a long moment. Then she shook her head. “You’re being irrational. Superstitious. Bad things happening in your past doesn’t mean—”

“Doesn’t it? Michael died because you made a call that went wrong. My team died because I made a call that went wrong. That’s not superstition. That’s cause and effect. That’s pattern recognition.” Silas’s voice was harder than he intended. “And I’m not letting it happen again. Not with you.”

The words hung between them, brutal and final.

Harper’s expression closed off. “Fine. If that’s how you feel.” With sharp movements, she grabbed her laptop, tucking it under her arm. “I’m going to bed. We’ll talk about the tactical setup for tomorrow in the morning.”

“Harper—”

“Good night, Detective Kane.”

Her words slapped harder than he would have thought possible.

She disappeared into her bedroom, the door closing firmly behind her.

Silas stood alone in the living room, staring after her, hating himself. He’d hurt her. Pushed her away. Made her feel rejected when all she’d wanted was connection, was comfort, was something good in the middle of all this darkness.