Chapter 4 #3
“Breathe with me. In for four counts.” He demonstrated, making sure she saw his chest rise. “Hold for four. Out for four. Can you do that?”
She nodded, tried, failed. Her breath hitched.
“It’s okay. Try again. In—two—three—four.” He counted slowly, watching her struggle to match his rhythm. “Hold—two—three—four. Out—two—three—four.”
It took three cycles, but gradually her breathing started to even out. The panic in her eyes receded slightly. Her hands stopped shaking quite so badly.
Silas had done this before. In Afghanistan, with soldiers who’d seen too much and broke down in the middle of operations. Later, in Blackridge, with witnesses who’d watched loved ones die. The technique was always the same—ground them in the present, control the breathing, talk them through it.
“That’s good,” he said. “You’re doing good. Keep breathing with me. In—two—three—four.”
“I’m sorry,” Harper whispered.
“Don’t apologize. This is normal. You’re dealing with trauma, and you’re at a crime scene that’s probably triggering that trauma. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“I should be able to handle this—”
“You are handling it. You recognized what was happening, you told me, and now we’re managing it together.” Silas kept his voice steady, calm. “That’s exactly what you should do. That’s strength, not weakness.”
Harper closed her eyes, still breathing in the rhythm he’d established. “Michael died because I rushed in. I didn’t wait for backup. I thought I had time, thought I could control the situation. I was wrong. And he paid for my mistake.”
There it was. The guilt she’d been carrying. The weight of it in her voice.
“He made a choice,” Silas said quietly. “He could have waited for backup too. He chose to follow you. That was his decision.”
“He trusted me—”
“Yes. He trusted you, and he made a choice based on that trust. That’s what partners do.
” Silas paused, weighing his next words.
“In Afghanistan, I had a similar situation. Cleared a building too fast, missed a suicide vest. Three of my men died. I carried that guilt for years. Hell, I still carry it.”
Harper opened her eyes, looking at him with surprise.
“But my CO told me something that helped,” Silas continued. “He said, ‘Kane, you can carry the weight, or you can honor them by being better.’ I chose better. I learned. I adapted. I made sure their deaths meant something by making sure I never made the same mistake twice.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Harper said softly. “Be better. Make Michael’s death mean something.”
“I know. And you are.” Silas stood, offering her his hand. “But you can’t do it alone. Not on this case. So let me help. Let me be the backup you didn’t have in Chicago.”
She took his hand, let him pull her to her feet. For a moment they stood there, connected, and Silas felt something shift between them. Not trust, not yet. But maybe the beginning of understanding.
“We should get back,” Harper said, but her voice was steadier now.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.” She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders. “Thank you. For...for helping.”
“That’s what partners do.”
The word hung in the air. Partners. Not consultant and detective. Not FBI and local cop. Partners.
Harper gave him a small smile. “Let’s go catch this bastard.”
They walked back to the crime scene together. The techs were still working, photographing, documenting, collecting evidence. Amy Thorne’s body still lay on the grass, a young life cut short by a killer who was just getting started.
But something had changed. Silas looked at Harper differently now. Yes, she’d made a mistake that cost her partner his life. Yes, she was carrying trauma that could compromise her judgment. But she was also brilliant, dedicated, and capable of recognizing when she needed help.
That took courage.
And maybe—just maybe—they could make this partnership work.
“Detective!” one of the techs called out. “We found something.”
Silas and Harper moved toward the tech, who was holding up an evidence bag. Inside was a folded piece of paper, carefully placed near Amy Thorne’s hand.
“What is it?” Silas asked.
The tech opened the bag carefully, unfolding the paper. It was a note, written in precise block letters.
THREE DOWN. MORE TO COME. TELL HARPER I’M WAITING.
Silas’s blood went cold. He looked at Harper, saw the color drain from her face.
The killer knew her name.
The killer was talking to her.
And the killer was promising more victims.
“Jesus Christ,” Silas breathed.
Harper stared at the note, her expression unreadable. “He’s escalating. And I’m the target.”
“We need to get you somewhere safe—”
“No.” Her voice was hard. “We need to catch him. Before he kills anyone else. Before he makes good on his promise.”
She met Silas’s eyes, and he saw determination there. Fear, yes, but also resolve.
“He wants me?” Harper said quietly. “Fine. Let’s give him what he wants. Let’s use me as bait.”
“Absolutely not—”
“It’s the only way to stop him, Silas. You know it is.”
Silas stared at her for a long moment, his teeth grinding in frustration.
Because damn it, she was right.