Page 73 of Whispers in the Night

They reviewed the files together, but Harper’s focus kept drifting. She was acutely aware of how close Silas was sitting, of the way his arm brushed against hers when he reached for his coffee, of the low rumble of his voice when he spoke.

“Harper.”

She blinked. “Sorry. What?”

“I asked if you wanted to look at the fiber evidence again.” Silas was watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “But you’re not really here, are you?”

“I’m here.”

“Physically, yes. But your mind is somewhere else.” He set the laptop aside, turned to face her fully. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Harper didn’t know how to articulate what she was feeling. The frustration of the failed operation mixed with exhaustion mixed with something else—an awareness of Silas that went beyond professional.

“I’m just tired,” she said, which was true but not the whole truth.

“Liar.” But he said it gently, without accusation. “You’re frustrated. Angry. Scared that we’re not going to catch him in time.”

“Yes. All of that.” Harper leaned her head back against the couch. “And I’m tired of feeling helpless. Tired of being three steps behind. Tired of women dying while I can’t figure out the pattern fast enough.”

“That’s not on you.”

“Isn’t it? I’m the one who gave that press conference in Nevada five years ago. I’m the reason he fixated. Every woman who’s died since then died because of me.”

“No.” Silas’s hand found hers, fingers intertwining. “Every woman who’s died since then died because of him. His choices. His evil. You’re trying to stop him. That’s not the same as causing it.”

Harper knew he was right logically. But emotionally, the guilt still weighed on her like a stone.

“I keep thinking about what you asked yesterday,” she said quietly. “About what happens after. When this is over.”

“What about it?”

“I realized I don’t want it to end. Whatever this is—” she gestured between them, “—I don’t want to lose it when the case closes.”

Silas was quiet for a moment. Then, “What do you want, Harper?”

“Honestly?” She sighed, her gaze traveling the room. “I don’t know. I’ve spent so long being alone, being independent, not letting anyone get close. And then you showed up and just...broke through all of that without even trying.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s terrifying.” Harper met his eyes. “Because everyone I care about ends up gone. My father. Michael. What if something happens to you because of me? Because I let you get close?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“You’re right. I can’t.” Silas shifted closer, his free hand coming up to cup her face gently. “But I can promise that I’m here now. That I choose to be here, knowing the risks. That I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to go.”

Harper’s breath caught. The air between them felt charged, electric. She could feel her heart pounding, could see her own desire reflected in Silas’s eyes.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered.

“Then I won’t.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then Silas leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away. Harper didn’t. She met him halfway, their lips coming together in a kiss that was gentle at first, tentative, testing.

Then Harper’s hand came up to thread through his hair and the kiss deepened. Silas’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. All the tension and frustration and fear of the past weeks poured into that kiss, transforming into something hot and urgent and necessary.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Silas rested his forehead against hers.