Page 106 of Whispers in the Night

“You said you wanted to talk,” Harper replied, keeping her voice steady. “So here I am. Let’s talk.”

“About what? The case you’ve been building against me?” Sutton moved slightly, circling to the left. Harper turned to keep him in view, her back never fully to the broken windows where she knew tactical teams were positioning. “The DNA evidence from my patrol car? The employment history that conveniently places me in every city where murders occurred?”

“You knew we’d find all of that eventually. You’re too smart not to have anticipated it.”

“Flattery, Agent Sinclair?” Sutton smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I expected better from you.”

“It’s not flattery. It’s a statement of fact.” Harper took a careful step to her right, subtly positioning herself where the teams would have a clearer shot if needed. “You’ve been doing this for five years across multiple states without getting caught.That takes intelligence, planning, discipline. Most serial killers make mistakes much earlier.”

His shoulders broadened at the false praise. “Most serial killers are impulsive. Sloppy. They kill because they can’t control their urges.” Sutton’s voice took on a lecturing tone, like a professor explaining a concept. “I’m not like them. Every kill was planned, calculated, purposeful.”

“Purposeful how?”

“You know how. You’re a profiler. You’ve studied my work.” He gestured with the gun, emphasizing his words. “Each victim was carefully selected. Each murder was a message.”

“A message to me.”

“Finally, someone who understands.” Sutton’s expression brightened with genuine enthusiasm. “Yes. To you. Every single one. I watched you at that press conference in Nevada, explaining the profile, demonstrating how you could see inside a killer’s mind. And I thought, here’s someone who might actually appreciate the artistry of what I do.”

Harper’s earpiece crackled softly, so quietly only she could hear it. Silas’s voice, barely a whisper, said, “Alpha Team in position. Keep him talking.”

“The artistry,” Harper repeated, keeping Sutton’s attention. “You see murder as art?”

“Don’t you? The planning, the execution, the careful staging of each scene. It’s a performance, Harper. And you’re my audience.” He moved closer, his dark eyes intense. “Each body I left was a canvas. Each symbol carved into flesh was a message specifically for you to decode.”

“The interlocking circles. The geometric patterns,” recalled.

“You noticed. Of course you noticed. You’re brilliant at pattern recognition.” Sutton was warming to her now, the gun lowering slightly as he became more animated. “Those symbolsaren’t random. They’re a language. My way of communicating with the only person who might understand.”

Harper’s mind raced, trying to keep him engaged while buying time for the teams to get into optimal position. “Then help me understand. Explain the language.”

“That would defeat the purpose. The challenge was for you to decode it yourself.” Sutton’s smile turned cold. “But you haven’t, have you? For all your brilliant profiling, you still don’t understand what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

She had to tread carefully, so he didn’t snap. “So tell me now. We’re here, alone. No more games. What were you trying to say?”

Sutton studied her for a long moment, dancing the line between wanting to reveal all and wanting to lash out for not getting the message. “That we’re the same. You and I. We both hunt in the darkness. We both understand that most people are sheep, oblivious to the predators around them. The only difference is which side of the law we operate on.”

She shook her head. “We’re nothing alike.”

“Aren’t we?” He moved closer, and Harper fought the urge to step back. “You get inside killers’ minds, Harper. You think like they think, feel what they feel. That’s your gift. But tell me—when you’re profiling a killer, when you’re understanding their motivations and methods, don’t you sometimes feel a connection? A recognition?”

“Understanding isn’t the same as relating.” Despite her mission, she would never align herself with someone so vile.

“Isn’t it?” Sutton’s voice dropped lower. “I’ve read about your cases. The bombers, the serial killers, the child predators you’ve caught. You didn’t catch them by thinking like a normal person. You caught them by becoming them, at least temporarily. By letting yourself into that darkness.”

Harper felt ice sliding down her spine because there was a kernel of truth in what he was saying. Profiling did require a certain willingness to think like a killer, to understand motivations that normal people couldn’t comprehend. But understanding wasn’t sympathy. It wasn’t approval.It wasn’t her.

“Bravo Team moving to south entrance,” came the whisper in her ear. “Two minutes to position.”

“You’re right that profiling requires understanding how killers think,” Harper said carefully. “But there’s a crucial difference. I use that understanding to stop people like you. To prevent more victims. You use it to create them.”

“Victims.” Sutton said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Such a loaded term. They were participants in a grand design, Harper. Each one played their part perfectly.”

“They were people, Dale. Women with lives and families and futures. You took all of that away.”

“Ielevatedthem. Made them part of something greater than their mundane existences.” Sutton’s eyes gleamed with fervor. “Melissa Wagoner was a college student working toward a marketing degree. Forgettable. But now? Now she’s the first message in a conversation that spanned five years and six states. She’simmortal.”

Harper felt rage building in her chest but forced it down. Getting angry wouldn’t help. She needed to stay calm, keep him talking. “Is that what you told yourself? That you were doing them a favor?”