Page 57 of Whispers in the Night

Her stomach dropped as she opened it.

Harper—

Idaho State Police came back with two unsolved murders from 18 months ago. Boise area. Same MO, same symbols. Both victims match the profile.

Also heard back from Washington State Patrol. In addition to the two Seattle murders we already knew about, they’ve got one more from Spokane, about two years ago. Wasn’t initially flagged because the symbols were less extensive, possibly an early kill.

That brings the total to TWELVE confirmed victims across six states over five years.

Sending files now.

—Morris

“Twelve,” Harper whispered, combing her fingers through her hair and fisting it briefly, tempted to pull it she was so upset. “Jesus Christ. Twelve women.”

Silas read over her shoulder, his jaw tightening. “He’s been more active than we thought.”

Harper turned her attention back to the computer, pulled up the new files as they came through. The Boise victims—Emma Rodriguez, 25, and Taylor Wren, 27. Both brunette, both petite. The Spokane victim—Amanda Walsh, 23, killed two years ago with less elaborate carving, suggesting the killer was still developing his technique.

Twelve faces stared back at Harper from her laptop screen. Twelve women whose only crime was looking like her and being in the same city at the wrong time.

“This is my fault,” Harper said quietly.

“No—”

“Twelve women, Silas.Twelve. All because I gave that press conference in Nevada. All because I tried to catch him and failed.” Her voice cracked. “How many more have to die before I stop him?”

Silas grabbed her hands, forced her to look at him. “Listen to me very carefully. You did not kill these women. You did not carve symbols into their skin. You did not choose them, stalk them, murder them. He did. His choices. His evil. Not yours.”

Tears threatened. “But he’s killing them because of me—”

“He’s killing them because he’s a psychopath who fixated on you. That’s not your fault any more than it would be a celebrity’s fault if a stalker killed people who looked like them.” Silas’s grip tightened. “You’re thinking like a victim. Start thinking like a profiler. What does this pattern tell you about him?”

Harper forced herself to breathe, to push past the guilt and focus on the facts. “He’s organized. Highly intelligent. Patient. He can go months or even years between kills. He has the resources to travel extensively. And he’s escalating in both frequency and violence.”

“Which means?”

“Which means he’s building toward an endgame. The Blackridge kills are different—faster, more brutal, more personal. This isn’t just about the killing anymore. It’s about sending me a message.”

“What message?” he pressed, forcing her mind to process faster.

Harper stared at the files, at the progression from Nevada to Blackridge. At the way the time between kills kept shrinking, the violence kept escalating. “That he’s in control. That he can do whatever he wants and I can’t stop him. That everything I do to catch him just makes things worse.”

“Or,” Silas said slowly, “that he’s losing control and trying to prove he still has it. The escalation, the personal messages. Those aren’t signs of strength. They’re signs of desperation.”

Harper looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Nevada—clean kills, careful positioning, no personal contact with you beyond selecting victims who looked like you. Portland, Seattle, the others—same thing. Methodical, controlled, patient. But Blackridge?” Silas gestured to the files. “Four kills in six days. Messages carved into bodies. A taunting note left at your cabin. This isn’t the same killer.”

“You think there are two of them?”

“No. I think it’s the same killer, but something’s changed. Something’s pushed him past his normal pattern.” Silas pulled up the timeline. “What happened six months ago? Why did he come to Blackridge specifically?”

Harper thought about it. “Six months ago, after Michael died, my SAC put me on mandatory leave. Told me to take time, process, heal. I couldn’t stay in Nevada—everywhere I looked reminded me of him.” Harper stared at the timeline. “A friend from the bureau mentioned this cabin was available to rent. Quiet, isolated, good place to clear my head. So I came to Blackridge. I wasn’t working. I was just...existing.”

“Until Melissa Wagoner was killed,” Silas finished.

“With the same symbols as the Sarah Henderson case. I’d worked that case in Nevada five years ago—it’s what started his obsession with me.” Harper’s throat tightened. “Captain Holloway heard I was in town, asked if I’d consult since I was familiar with the symbols. I said yes. Then Amy Thorne was killed, then Nicole. And I requested to stay, to work the case actively instead of just consulting.”