Page 104 of Whispers in the Night

Silas pulled her into his arms, held her so tight she could barely breathe. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.”

“Promise me you’ll hit that panic button the second things feel wrong.”

“I promise.”

“Promise me—” His voice broke slightly. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

Harper pulled back to look at him directly. “I promise. I’m coming back to you, Silas. Nothing Sutton does can change that.”

They stood close together for a moment, foreheads touching, neither wanting to let go. She wanted to kiss him as much as she could feel he wanted to do the same, but they had an audience, and duty called.

The tactical teams assembled at four p.m. Full SWAT gear, night vision equipment, breaching tools. The helicopter would provide aerial surveillance and confirm Sutton’s presence at the warehouse before Harper went in. Medical teams were on standby half a mile away.

Harper changed into street clothes—jeans, a sweater that concealed the body armor underneath. The panic button was disguised as a simple watch on her wrist. A tiny microphonewas hidden in her collar, transmitting everything back to the command post.

Silas helped her with the body armor, his hands gentle despite the tension radiating from him.

“This is Kevlar,” he said, checking the fit. “Rated for handgun rounds. It won’t stop a rifle, and it won’t protect your head or extremities.”

“I know.”

“If he has a knife—”

“Silas. I know.” Harper caught his hands, stilled them. “I’ve done this before. I know the risks.”

The pain in his eyes twisted her stomach. “Not like this. Not with someone who’s been obsessed with you for five years.”

“Which is exactly why it will work,” she insisted, needing to believe it herself. “He wants to talk to me, to prove he’s smarter. That gives me time. That gives you time to get into position.” Harper checked the watch, pressed the button to test it. Red light, green light. Working perfectly. “I can do this.”

“I know you can. I just wish you didn’t have to.”

So did she, but here they were.

At five p.m., the helicopter confirmed heat signature inside the warehouse. One person, third floor, moving around but staying in the same general area. The building had been abandoned for thirty years, no reason for anyone to be there unless they were hiding.

It was Sutton. It had to be.

“All teams, move into position,” Holloway ordered. “Agent Sinclair, you’re clear to approach in fifteen minutes.”

Harper rode in an unmarked car with Silas driving. The trip to the warehouse access road took twenty minutes through winding mountain roads. Neither of them spoke, both lost in their own thoughts.

When they reached the staging area—half a mile from the warehouse—Harper got out of the car. The tactical teams were already in position, hidden in the forest surrounding the building. She could see the warehouse through the trees—three stories of crumbling concrete and broken windows, sitting on the riverbank like a forgotten monument.

Somewhere in there, Sutton was waiting.

“Final check,” Holloway said over the radio. “Body armor?”

Harper knocked on her chest. “Check.”

“Panic button?”

She pressed it, waited for confirmation from the command post. “Check.”

“Microphone?”

“Check.” Her voice came through clear on the radio.