Page 95 of Whispers in the Night

“Just listen,” she said, raising her voice. “What if I create an opportunity for him to approach me? Somewhere public, with surveillance in place, backup ready. He’s fixated on me. All the victims look like me. If I make myself available—”

“Then you become a target. And no amount of backup or surveillance can guarantee your safety if he gets you alone.” Silas turned to face her directly. “I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it?” Harper’s voice rose, and she felt irritation spike. “This isn’t your decision.”

“It is when I care about you too much to watch you put yourself in danger.” His voice was fierce, rock solid. “We’ll find another way.”

“There might not be another way. If the DNA doesn’t—”

“Then we’ll deal with that when it happens. But I’m not using you as bait. End of discussion.”

They sat in tense silence for a moment. Harper knew Silas was right to be concerned. The plan was dangerous, possibly reckless. But it might also be their only chance to catch Sutton in the act, to get evidence that would stick.

She resented him telling her what to do, but decided not to push it tonight. But the idea was planted, growing in the back of her mind.

If the DNA evidence didn’t pan out, if they couldn’t build a strong enough case through conventional means, she might not have a choice.

Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

“Come on,” Silas said finally, standing and pulling her up. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got another long day tomorrow.”

In bed, wrapped in Silas’s arms, Harper stared into the darkness and thought about Dale Sutton. About nineteen dead women across four states. About the woman at the gym who didn’t know how close she’d come to being victim number twenty.

They were going to stop him. Whatever it took, however they had to do it, they were going to make sure Sutton never hurt anyone again.

Even if it meant Harper had to put herself directly in his crosshairs.

Chapter 19

The call came at six a.m., two days after they’d collected samples from Sutton’s patrol car.

Harper was already awake, had been for an hour, unable to sleep as she waited for results that would either give them the evidence they needed or send them back to square one. When her phone rang with the FBI lab’s number, her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Sinclair,” she answered, putting it on speaker so Silas could hear.

“Agent Sinclair, this is Dr. Amber Hayes from the FBI forensics lab. I have results on the vehicle samples you submitted.”

“What did you find?”

“We recovered DNA from multiple locations in the patrol vehicle. Most of it matches officers who’ve been assigned to that vehicle over the past six months—expected contamination. But we found something significant in the rear passenger compartment.” Dr. Hayes paused. “Blood trace evidence in the seat seam. The DNA profile matches your victim, Amanda Crawford.”

Harper felt triumph surge through her veins. “You’re certain?”

“Thirteen-point match. It’s definitely her blood. And the location is significant—rear passenger seat, hidden in the seamwhere the seat back meets the cushion. Not somewhere you’d expect to find blood from routine patrol activities.”

“What about quantity? Can you determine how it got there?”

“Based on the pattern and location, it’s consistent with transfer from clothing or skin contact. Small amount, but enough to extract a full profile.” Dr. Hayes’s voice took on a more clinical tone. “I also found fiber evidence in the trunk—synthetic fibers matching the fabric used in body bags. And hair samples that preliminarily match Jennifer Cross, though we’re still running final confirmation on those.”

Two victims. Physical evidence placing them in Sutton’s patrol car. In locations that couldn’t be explained away as routine police contact.

“How soon can you have the full report?” Harper asked.

“I’ll have it to you by noon. But Agent Sinclair, this is solid evidence. DNA doesn’t lie. Whoever drove that vehicle had contact with your victims in a way that’s inconsistent with legitimate law enforcement activity.”

After hanging up, Harper and Silas looked at each other in the pre-dawn darkness of the cabin.

“We’ve got him,” Silas said quietly.