Page 74 of Whispers in the Night

“We should stop,” he said, though he made no move to let her go.

“Why?”

“Because you’re exhausted and emotionally wrung out and I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

“You’re not taking advantage,” she insisted. “I want this.” Harper pulled back enough to look at him directly. “I want you.”

“Harper—”

“I know all the reasons we shouldn’t. I know it’s complicated. I know we’re in the middle of a case and we should be professional and we’re both running on fumes. But I also know that I’m tired of denying what I feel.” Harper’s voice was steady, certain. “I’m tired of being careful and logical and keeping everyone at arm’s length. I want something real.” She edged closer. “I want you.”

Silas searched her face, looking for any sign of doubt. Whatever he saw there must have convinced him, because hekissed her again—harder this time, more demanding. Harper responded in kind, her hands sliding under his shirt to feel the warm skin beneath.

They broke apart only long enough for Silas to ask, “Bedroom?”

“Yes.”

Like a couple of teenagers, they practically jumped up from the couch, Silas holding her hand as he pulled her along with him.

They made it three steps before Harper’s phone rang.

They froze. Harper wanted to ignore it, wanted to throw her phone out the window and go back to kissing Silas. But years of training kicked in. A call at one a.m. meant something urgent.

Reluctantly, she pulled out her phone. Captain Holloway’s name glowed on the screen.

“Sinclair,” she answered, her voice rougher than usual.

“We’ve got movement. Team at the twenty-four-hour grocery store just flagged someone. White male, late thirties, watching a woman who matches the victim profile. He’s been in the store for forty minutes but hasn’t bought anything. Just following her aisle to aisle.”

Harper’s arousal evaporated, replaced instantly by intense focus. “We’re on our way.”

She hung up, met Silas’s eyes. His expression mirrored her own frustration and resignation.

“Duty calls,” he said.

“Yeah.”

They grabbed their jackets and weapons, the moment shattered. But as they headed for the car, Silas caught her hand, squeezed briefly.

“To be continued,” he said.

Harper squeezed back. “Definitely to be continued.”

***

The twenty-four-hour grocery store was nearly empty at one-thirty a.m. The undercover officer—posing as a night shift worker stocking shelves—met them near the entrance.

“Subject is in aisle seven,” he said quietly. “Female shopper is in aisle nine. He’s been maintaining distance but tracking her movements. Every time she moves, he moves a minute later.”

Harper and Silas split up, approaching from different directions to avoid spooking the suspect. Harper grabbed a shopping basket and meandered toward aisle nine, pretending to shop. She spotted the woman immediately—brunette, mid-twenties, petite, wearing scrubs. Probably a nurse or medical worker grabbing groceries after a late shift.

Exactly the victim profile.

Harper moved to aisle eight, giving her a view into both seven and nine. She spotted the suspect—male, approximately thirty-eight, medium build, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans. He was studying a display of cereal, but his attention was clearly on the woman in the next aisle.

As Harper watched, the woman moved toward the checkout. The man waited thirty seconds, then followed.

Silas appeared at Harper’s elbow. “That’s him. That’s Oliver Webb.”