Chapter Seventeen
“I have a right to protect my sources,” Jessica Daly said, her tone carrying the same smug confidence that had irritated Sean from the moment she’d ushered him and Brad into the conference room.
“I’m not telling you where I got my information.
But judging by this little visit and those looks on your faces, my source was right on target.
If some of my details are inaccurate, I’d be happy to correct them in my next broadcast. How about giving me an interview? ”
She lowered herself into the chair at the conference table, crossed her long legs, and stared at them expectantly, as if she’d just offered them the opportunity of a lifetime instead of compromising an active murder investigation.
Everything about her grated on him. She was exactly the kind of reporter he’d spent years dealing with—someone who cared more about ratings and career advancement than the damage left behind.
Victims, grieving families, and compromised investigations…
none of it mattered so long as she had a sensational story to splash across the evening news.
“Not going to happen,” Brad said. “And if you and your source are responsible for helping this guy get away with murder, you’ll be charged with obstruction of justice.”
An arrogant smile tugged at her mouth. “It would never stick, and you know it. Besides, the public deserves to know how depraved this creep is.”
Sean dragged a hand down his face, fighting for patience. This was going nowhere, and they all knew it. Still, there was one piece of satisfaction he could take from this meeting.
He folded his arms across his chest and pinned her with a hard glare. “As of this moment, your press privileges regarding this case are revoked. If I see you on Sheriff’s Department property, you’ll be charged with trespassing. Do I make myself clear?”
She jerked upright, fury flashing across her face. “You can’t do that.”
Brad snorted. “He can, and he just did. Consider this your first and final warning.”
The two men stormed out, leaving Jessica staring after them in disbelief as the conference room door slammed shut behind them. Heat rushed through her face.
How dare they?
Revoking her press privileges wouldn't stop her.
She had worked too hard and clawed her way through too many dismissive editors and condescending colleagues to let some self-important lawmen push her aside.
Over her dead body would she hand this story over to someone else.
If they thought they could intimidate her into backing off, they were in for a rude awakening.
Squaring her shoulders, she left the conference room and made her way through the newsroom.
Phones rang in uneven bursts, keyboards clattered from every direction, and voices rose and fell beneath the steady hum of monitors tuned to competing stations.
The familiar chaos usually energized her.
This morning, it only sharpened her determination.
Her sources had gotten her this far, but if she wanted to stay ahead of every other reporter in the region, she needed more. More details. More proof. Something undeniable.
Still simmering from the confrontation, she reached her desk just as the mailroom clerk dropped a thick stack of white and manila envelopes on top of her in-box before moving on to the next row of cubicles.
Jessica slid into her chair and began sorting through the pile. Most of it was routine—press releases, viewer letters, and promotional junk she could deal with later. About three-quarters of the way through, her hand stopped.
A stark white envelope sat near the bottom of the stack.
The childish block letters scrawled across the front made her pause.
Jessica Daly, Reporter
OPEN IMMEDIATELY—IMPORTANT
A flicker of curiosity stirred.
She lifted the envelope and let the rest of the mail fall onto her desk. Turning it over, she frowned. No return address or postage.
Someone had delivered it by hand.
The newsroom noise seemed to fade as unease prickled across the back of her neck. Reaching into the top desk drawer, she pulled out her silver letter opener and slid it beneath the sealed flap. The blade parted the paper with a whisper.
Inside was a single folded sheet.
She unfolded it and stared at the words pasted across the page.
Whoever sent it had watched far too many crime dramas. The message had been assembled from newspaper clippings, each word cut out and glued in place like something from an old detective movie.
If you want the exclusive of a lifetime, come to 1279 Prescott Road in Elizabeth City at eleven o’clock tonight. Come alone and bring your video camera. I know who the Seaside Strangler is and have proof.
Her breath caught.
This was it.
If this were real—if someone truly had evidence that could expose the killer—she would blow the case wide open.
The thought sent a rush of excitement through her, drowning out the lingering anger from her confrontation with the fed and the detective.
This was the kind of break reporters dreamed about.
The kind that launched careers into the stratosphere—national syndication and prime-time anchor slots.
Her pulse quickened as she pushed the rest of the mail aside and turned to her computer. Opening a new document, she began typing the story’s framework.
She would fill in the details later.
Tonight, if the letter weren’t a joke, she would claim the story that could finally propel her to the top.
Sean’s feet pounded against the asphalt as he ran through the streets of Whisper, the steady rhythm of each stride matching the restless churn of his thoughts. The late-afternoon sun beat down on him while a cool breeze drifted in from the water, carrying the scent of salt and marsh grass.
It had been a little after four when he returned to the beach house and laced up his running shoes, needing the familiar burn in his muscles to clear his head. Running had always done that for him. It gave his body something to focus on while his mind worked through the noise.
And today there was plenty of noise to sort through.
Suki had wrapped up her profile and headed back to Quantico around eleven that morning.
Before she left, she’d walked them through her conclusions one last time, leaving Sean with even more to think about.
The task force members had spent the rest of the morning chasing leads generated by the tip line, but none had led anywhere. Another string of dead ends.
Before leaving the station, he’d checked in with Matt and his SAC in Greenville, bringing both men up to speed. The story had gone national, spreading far beyond coastal North Carolina, and every network outlet had latched onto Jessica Daly’s polished little nickname for the unsub.
The Seaside Strangler.
The moniker made his jaw clench every time he heard it.
He despised the press on principle, but Jessica Daly had managed to push that irritation into something far stronger.
Her careless broadcast had handed the killer exactly what he wanted—attention, validation, and a sense of power.
Worse, it had compromised details only investigators should’ve known.
Somewhere inside the sheriff’s department, someone was talking, and until Sean found the source of that leak, every move they made felt compromised.
He rounded the corner onto a quieter residential street, his pace holding steady as his thoughts shifted to the previous night.
After the newscast aired, his mood had darkened.
He’d spent most of dinner replaying every leaked detail, trying to determine what damage had been done and how badly it might derail the investigation.
He’d been distracted, more withdrawn than usual.
Under normal circumstances, he would’ve made more of an effort with his guests.
At least Grace and Suki had carried on the conversation between them.
Their easy chatter had filled the silences, and he’d been grateful for it, even if guilt still nagged at him. Grace deserved better than half his attention.
The memory of walking her to her car last night rose with startling clarity.
The air had turned cooler by then, the ocean breeze carrying enough of a bite to make her pull her light jacket closer around herself.
He’d held her hand as they walked to where her tan sedan sat parked along the curb, reluctant to let go.
As he'd opened the door for her, he apologized.
“Sorry, I wasn’t great company tonight.” He leaned one hand against the roof of her car, regret nagging at him as he looked down at her. “That newscast threw me off. It’s going to be a mess at headquarters tomorrow.”
Instead of climbing into the driver’s seat, Grace turned to face him and rested her hand against his chest. Even through the thin cotton of his shirt, the warmth of her touch sent a slow rush of heat through him.
“Don’t worry, I understand. Do you have any idea where the reporter’s getting her information?”
Sean released a long breath and let his hand drift along her arm, his thumb brushing the soft fabric of her sleeve.
“It has to be someone inside the sheriff’s department, but that’s Sheriff Griffin’s problem to deal with.
My problem is figuring out how the killer’s going to react to all of this.
” He caught himself before he could spiral back into the case and forced his thoughts elsewhere.
“But enough about that. You and Suki seemed to get along.”
“We did. She’s a lot of fun. I really like her.”
As she spoke, her fingers traced small circles over his chest, and the simple touch sent a dangerous jolt through him.
Heat pooled low in his stomach, his body responding before his brain could catch up.
Every thought about the case evaporated, replaced by the memory of the dream that had ambushed him that morning and the very real woman standing inches away.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice dropping.
His gaze fell to her mouth. The distance between them had already narrowed before he made the conscious decision to move. Dipping his head, he brushed his lips across hers, testing, teasing.
The contact sparked through him like an electric current.
A low groan rumbled in his chest when she kissed him back with a hunger he hadn’t expected.
Her hands slid up to loop around his neck, drawing him closer, and when her lips parted beneath his, the taste of her wiped away every coherent thought in his head.
He shifted forward, urging her back until her body met the rear door of the car.
The faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the salty night air as he kissed the corner of her mouth, then traced a path along her jaw to the delicate spot beneath her ear. When she tipped her head back, offering him better access, his restraint frayed even more.
The quick flutter of her pulse beneath his lips sent another surge of desire through him.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as his hands slid down the curve of her sides to her hips. Drawing her against him, he let himself imagine all the places this could go if they were anywhere but standing half-exposed on a quiet street in Whisper.
He was on the verge of abandoning common sense altogether when headlights swept across them. A horn blared, and they sprang apart, both breathing hard as the passing car disappeared down the street.
Sean dragged oxygen into his lungs and willed his pulse to slow. “I’m guessing that was someone’s way of suggesting we get a room.”
She laughed between uneven breaths. “Nothing like making out in the middle of the street like a couple of teenagers.”
The sound of her laughter caught him off guard. Warm, genuine, and completely unrestrained, it curled through him in a way no kiss ever had.
“I can think of plenty of better places.” He grinned and waggled his brows, earning another giggle, and something inside him eased. Then the moment shifted, something more serious rising beneath the lingering passion. “Can we go out on a date?”
Her eyes widened. “A date? As in a date-date?”
“Yeah.” For the first time in years, nerves crept in. “A real one. We’ve had dinner together four times, and somehow none of them have counted. So… can we?”
He held her gaze, bracing himself for the possibility of rejection. The prospect unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
Then she smiled—a soft, shy smile that nearly stopped his heart.
“I’d like that.”
Relief swept through him so fast it almost brought him to his knees. “Good. How about tomorrow?”
The words were out before reality slammed back into place. His smile faded.
“The case.” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know what tomorrow’s going to look like. I might be free, or I might be stuck at the department all night.”
She lifted her fingers to his lips, stopping his rambling. “It’s okay. If you have to cancel, I’ll understand.”
He pressed a kiss to her fingertips before lowering her hand. “I’ll call around two. By then, I should know what I’m dealing with.”
“That’s fine. And if tomorrow doesn’t work, there’s always the weekend.”
“Always the optimist.”
Leaning down, he gave her one more quick kiss before forcing himself to step back. Any longer and they’d be right back where they’d started.
She slipped into the driver’s seat and fastened her seatbelt. He closed the door, then tapped on the window before she could pull away. When she lowered it, he bent down. “Do me a favor and call when you get home. I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe behind locked doors.”
She nodded, wished him goodnight, and drove off.
Sean stood at the curb, watching her taillights disappear into the darkness. The night air skimmed across his skin, but it couldn’t erase the grin on his face. For the first time since transferring home, he had no doubt. Coming back to Whisper had been one of the best decisions he’d ever made.