Page 64 of Whispers in the Night

“What are you doing?” Harper asked.

“Being practical. The cabin’s twenty minutes away. This is two minutes from the station. If something happens overnight, we can respond faster.” He put the car in park. “And honestly, I don’t trust him not to leave another note at your door. At least here, there are witnesses, security cameras, other people around.”

Harper was too tired to argue. “One room or two?”

“Two,” Silas said immediately. Then paused. “Unless you’d feel safer with me in the same room.”

“Two is fine.” Harper climbed out of the car, her whole body aching.

The motel was standard—clean but generic, the kind of place business travelers stayed when they were on a budget. Silas got them adjoining rooms on the second floor, away from the street, with a clear view of the parking lot.

“Lock your door,” he said as they separated. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be right next door.”

Harper nodded, too exhausted for words. She stumbled into her room, barely registering the bland decor and industrial carpet. She kicked off her boots, pulled her gun from its holsterand set it on the nightstand, and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed.

Sleep claimed her in seconds.

***

Harper woke to darkness and the sound of screaming.

She bolted upright, hand reaching for her weapon, heart pounding. It took her a moment to orient herself—motel room, not the cabin. The screaming was coming from her own throat.

Nightmare. Just a nightmare.

A knock at the adjoining door. “Harper? You okay?”

She stumbled to the door, unlocked it. Silas stood there in sweatpants and a T-shirt, hair mussed from sleep, concern etched on his face.

“Sorry,” Harper managed. “Nightmare. I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

Harper looked down at her hands. He was right. They were trembling.

“Come on,” Silas said gently, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. “Breathe. You’re safe. You’re here. No one’s hurt.”

Harper focused on breathing—in through her nose, out through her mouth. Slow and steady. The shaking gradually subsided.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Just after midnight. You got about four hours.” Silas sat beside her, keeping a respectful distance but close enough that she could feel his warmth. “Want to talk about it?”

She shook her head no but said, “The usual. Crime scenes. Victims. Except this time they were all looking at me, asking why I didn’t save them.” Harper rubbed her face. “Classic guilt nightmare.”

“I get those too. Different faces, same basic premise.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Harper was acutely aware of how close Silas was, of the warmth radiating from him, of how easy it would be to just lean into him and let someone else be strong for a while.

“You should try to sleep some more,” Silas said. “You’ve still got a few hours before we need to be back.”

“I don’t think I can. Every time I close my eyes, I see them.”

“Then we’ll do something else. Watch bad TV, play cards, review case files. Whatever helps.”

Harper looked at him—this man who’d been a stranger ten days ago and was now the person she trusted most in the world. When had that happened? When had Silas Kane become essential?

“I keep thinking about what you said,” Harper said quietly. “About him building toward something. About me being at the center of it.”