Page 112 of Whispers in the Night

“Why does it terrify you?”

“Because everyone I love ends up—” She stopped, looked away, but he understood.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.” Silas kissed her nose then her lips again, deeper this time. “Now and after the case closes and you go back to Nevada. We’ll figure it out.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

They stayed in bed longer than they should have, stealing a few more minutes of peace before reality intruded. But eventually, duty called. There were reports to write, evidence to process, families to notify.

At the station by nine a.m., Harper felt the weight of eyes on her the moment she and Silas walked in together. They’d tried toarrive separately—Silas dropping her at her rental car first—but apparently they weren’t fooling anyone.

Morris grinned when he saw them. “Morning, lovebirds. Nice of you to join us.”

Harper felt heat creep up her neck. “We’re not—”

“Save it,” Morris said cheerfully. “We all saw the way Kane looked at you yesterday when you were in that warehouse. Man was ready to tear the building down with his bare hands if anything happened to you.”

Silas cleared his throat. “Don’t you have evidence to process, Morris?”

“I do. And so do you two. Captain wants everyone in the conference room in ten minutes.”

As Morris walked away, still grinning, Harper looked at Silas. “So much for being subtle.”

“I think we stopped being subtle about two weeks ago.” Silas’s hand found the small of her back, a brief touch that sent warmth through her. “Come on. Let’s face the music.”

In the conference room, Captain Holloway was already setting up, looking like he’d been there all night. He glanced up as Harper and Silas entered, his expression unreadable.

“Agent Sinclair. Detective Kane. Good, you’re here.” Holloway pulled up files on the main screen. “We’ve got a lot to cover. The divers went down at first light like you requested.”

“Did they find the trophies?”

“All of them. Nineteen items total, sealed in waterproof containers under the dock exactly where Sutton said.” Holloway showed photos—jewelry, identification cards, personal items, each carefully preserved. “We’re cataloguing everything now, matching items to specific victims.”

Harper studied the photos, feeling a mix of satisfaction and sadness. Evidence that would finally give families closure. Proof that their daughters, sisters, mothers hadn’t been forgotten.

“The ME completed the autopsy on Sutton this morning,” Holloway continued. “Cause of death was blood loss from multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. The shooting has been ruled justified—he was actively threatening Agent Sinclair and raised his weapon toward the tactical team.”

“Any complications with that ruling?” Silas asked.

“None. It was clean. Body cam footage from all teams confirms the sequence of events.” Holloway shifted to another document. “Now we need to notify families. Nineteen notifications across six states. I’ve been coordinating with the FBI and other jurisdictions—”

A knock at the door interrupted him. Sanchez entered, tablet in hand. “Captain, sorry to interrupt. But we just got confirmation on DNA from the cigarette butts found at the mining camp. Definitive match to Dale Sutton.”

“Good. Add it to the evidence log.” Holloway looked back at Harper and Silas. “We’re building an airtight case for the record, even though Sutton’s dead. Families deserve to know every detail, and the other jurisdictions need documentation for their own case closures.”

As the meeting continued, Harper found her attention drifting. She was supposed to be focusing on evidence protocols and notification procedures, but her eyes kept finding Silas across the table. The way his jaw clenched when Holloway mentioned the shooting. The way his fingers drummed absently on his notepad. The way he’d looked at her last night, with such desperate need and tenderness.

Silas glanced up, caught her staring, and something hot flickered in his eyes before he looked away. But his lips quirked in a slight smile.

“Agent Sinclair?”

Harper snapped her attention back to Holloway. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you’d be willing to help with family notifications. Your experience with victim advocacy—”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you need.”