Page 107 of Whispers in the Night

His eyes narrowed. “I gave them purpose. Meaning. Without me, they would have lived ordinary lives and died forgotten. Now their names will be studied for decades. Profilers will analyze my work, trying to understand the patterns. I’ve made them eternal.”

“You’ve made them dead,” she said flatly.

“Death is just a transition. The body is temporary. But the impact—the message—that lasts forever.” Sutton gestured around the warehouse, waving that gun around. “This place, for instance. Abandoned, forgotten, slowly crumbling into the river. But now? After tonight, it will be remembered as the location where the great game finally reached its conclusion.”

Her stomach dipped. “What game?”

“The one we’ve been playing, you and I,” he said, his voice pitched a little higher, as if she should know exactly what he was talking about. She did. “Hunter and hunter. Profiler and killer. Each of us trying to stay ahead of the other.” Sutton’s smile widened. “And I’ve won, Harper. You’re here, alone with me, exactly where I wanted you. That’s victory.”

“Charlie Team in position at river exit,” whispered the voice in her ear. “Delta moving to main entrance.”

Harper shifted slightly, keeping Sutton’s attention focused on her. “If you’ve already won, why haven’t you pulled that trigger? You could have shot me the moment I walked in here.”

“Because that would be anticlimactic. After five years of building toward this moment, I’m not going to rush the finale.” Sutton began circling again, forcing Harper to turn to keep him in view. “I want you to understand first. To see what I’ve been trying to show you all along.”

“Show me what?”

“That you belongwithme. Not against me.” Sutton’s voice took on an almost pleading quality. “You’re wasted working for the FBI, playing by their rules, limited by their ethics. You could be so much more. Together, we could—”

“I’m never going to work with you, Sutton. Never.”

“Even now, you don’t see it.” Frustration crept into his voice. “You have a gift, Harper. The ability to understand the darkness, to see patterns others miss. But you use it to serve people whodon’t appreciate what you can do. Who see you as just another tool.”

“Better a tool for justice than a partner in murder.”

“Justice.” Sutton laughed bitterly. He lifted the hand holding the gun, pointing it toward a broken window. “What justice did any of those women get? They’re still dead. The families still grieve. All you do is clean up the mess after it’s made. Reactive, not proactive. You don’t prevent anything. You just document the aftermath.”

“I stopped you.”

“Did you? I’m still standing here. Still free. Still in control of how this ends.” He raised the gun toward her slightly. “You’re here because I wanted you here. Everything that’s happened has been part of my design.”

“Delta Team in position,” came the whisper. “All teams ready. Waiting for your signal.”

Harper’s heart pounded. The teams were in place. All she had to do was hit her panic button or give a verbal cue, and they’d breach within seconds. But something held her back. Some instinct that said if she gave the signal now, people would die. Sutton was too volatile, too unpredictable. She needed to de-escalate first.

“You’re right,” Harper said quietly. “You’ve been in control this whole time. You planned every detail, stayed ahead of our investigation, made me dance to your tune.”

Sutton’s expression shifted, suspicion mixing with satisfaction. “Go on.”

“You’re brilliant. Probably one of the most intelligent killers I’ve ever profiled.” Harper took a small step forward. The scary part was, she wasn’t lying. “Your military training, your law enforcement experience, your understanding of investigative procedures—you used all of it to stay invisible for five years. That’s remarkable.”

“Remarkable,” Sutton repeated, tasting the word. “Yes. Exactly. Finally, you see it.”

“I see that you’re exceptional. That you’ve accomplished something most serial killers never do—you maintained complete control, never got sloppy, never let emotions override planning.” Harper paused. “But I also see something else.”

“What?” he asked sharply.

“You’re lonely.”

Sutton’s expression darkened. “Psychoanalysis, Agent Sinclair? Really?”

“Not analysis. Observation.” Harper kept her voice gentle, careful not to excite him. “All these years, killing women who look like me, arranging their bodies, carving symbols meant specifically for me to see. You weren’t just creating art or sending messages. You were trying to communicate. To connect with someone who might understand.”

“That’s—”

“You wanted to be seen, Sutton. Really seen. Not as a cop or a soldier or just another face in the crowd. As someone special. Someone with power and intelligence.” Harper took another careful step forward. “But the only way you knew how to express that was through violence.”

“You’re trying to manipulate me.”