Page 43 of Whispers in the Night

Harper’s jaw set in that stubborn line. “Then what do you suggest? We sit here and wait for the DNA to magically match someone? Wait for him to get sloppy enough to leave better evidence? Wait for him to kill more women?”

“We work the investigation. Follow the leads we have.” Silas gestured at the board, ignoring her attitude. “Morris is narrowing down suspects. We’re analyzing the fiber evidence. We’re building a timeline of the killer’s movements. This is how police work happens—methodically, carefully, by following theevidence.” He shouldn’t need to tell her that, but maybe she needed the reminder.

“And while we’re being methodical, he’s planning his next move.” Harper stepped closer, lowering her voice so only Silas could hear, and her dark eyes held his steadfast. “You know I’m right. You know the best way to catch him is to give him what he wants—access to me, under controlled conditions. You just don’t want to admit it because you’re trying to protect me.”

His teeth clenched. She was right. Silas knew she was right. But the thought of using Harper as bait, of deliberately putting her in danger, made his chest tighten with something that felt uncomfortably like panic.

He couldn’t lose another person on his watch. Couldn’t watch another partner walk into danger and not come back. The memories of Afghanistan—Williams, Johnson, Brown, all dead because he’d made a call that went wrong—were too close to the surface.

“I can’t,” Silas said quietly. “I can’t watch you put yourself in danger. I can’t—” He stopped, aware Morris was nearby, aware they had an audience. “We’ll discuss this later. Privately.”

Harper’s expression softened slightly. “Okay. Later.”

They spent the morning reviewing evidence, interviewing the fifteen potential suspects Morris had flagged. Most had solid alibis—working during the murders, out of town, accounted for. By noon, they were down to eight possibles. By three p.m., five.

“Getting closer,” Morris said. “One of these guys has to be our killer.”

But Silas wasn’t so sure. Something felt off about the suspects. They fit the profile on paper—right age, right build, access to the victims. But none of them felt right. None of them had that spark of obsession, that intensity the killer would need to sustain a five-year fixation.

“We’re missing something,” Silas said, staring at the board.

“What?” Harper asked from a chair behind the desk.

“I don’t know. But none of these guys feel like the killer. They’re too...” He searched for the word. “Normal. Our killer isn’t normal. He’s intelligent, organized, patient. He’s spent five years planning this. He’s not going to be some gym rat with a criminal record.”

“So who is he?” The same frustration he felt was evident in her voice too.

“Someone we haven’t considered yet. Someone who’s been hiding in plain sight.” Silas turned to Morris, and the younger detective sat up straighter, ready to receive his command. “Expand the search. Look at everyone connected to the victims—not just gym members. Look at delivery drivers, utility workers, anyone who might have had legitimate access to observe them without drawing attention.”

“That’s hundreds of people—”

“Then we look at hundreds of people.” Silas’s voice was hard, cutting off his protest. “We’re missing him because he’s smarter than we’re giving him credit for. So we think smarter.”

By six p.m., they were drowning in data. Silas’s eyes burned from staring at screens. His head pounded. And they were no closer to identifying the killer than they’d been that morning.

“We should call it,” Harper said, leaning back in the chair to stretch. “Get some food, clear our heads, come back fresh tomorrow.”

Silas wanted to argue, wanted to keep working until they found something. But Harper was right. They were exhausted, running on fumes. They’d think better after rest.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

They stopped for Thai food on the way back to the cabin, eating in relative silence in Silas’s car. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the world washed clean and gleaming. Harper picked at her pad thai without much enthusiasm.

“You’re worried,” Silas observed.

“He’s going to kill again. Tonight, tomorrow night, soon. And we’re no closer to stopping him.” Harper set down her food. “How many more women have to die, Silas?”

He cast a look at the night that stretched out in front of them. “None, if I can help it.”

“But you can’t help it by yourself. You need me.” She turned to face him. “You need me to be the bait, to draw him out. That’s the only way to end this before more people die.”

“Harper—”

“I’m not asking for permission. I’m telling you what I’m going to do.” Her voice was calm, determined. “Tomorrow, I’m going to The Daily Grind at my usual time. I’m going to be visible. I’m going to give him the opportunity he’s waiting for.”

“No—”

“And you can either back me up, be there to protect me if he makes a move, or I can do it alone.” She met his eyes. “Your choice.”