Chapter 5 #3
“Six months after Michael’s death. When you’re on leave, isolated, struggling.” Silas’s voice was gentle. “He knew you’d come investigate. He knew you couldn’t resist. And now he’s got you exactly where he wants you.”
The words made Harper’s skin crawl. She rotated the glass between her palms, watching a few bubbles work their way to the top. “Then we use that. We use his obsession against him.”
Silas tilted his head. “That’s what you meant earlier. About using yourself as bait.”
“Yes.” Harper met his eyes. “If he wants me, let’s give him a chance to come after me. Under controlled conditions. With backup. We set a trap and we catch him.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Silas—”
“No.” His voice was hard now, final. “I’m not using you as bait for a serial killer. That’s how people end up dead.”
Harper was livid. “People are already dead! Two women in three days, and he’s promised more. How many more have to die while we chase leads and wait for DNA results?”
“As many as it takes to do this right.” Silas leaned back, his jaw set.
His voice remained calm, but she could see the same fire raging inside her burning behind his eyes.
“I’m not losing another person on my watch, Harper.
Not because we rushed, not because we took unnecessary risks, and sure as hell not because we turned a consultant into bait. ”
“I’m not asking for permission—”
“Too bad,” he growled. “Because I’m the lead detective on this case, and I say no. End of discussion.”
They glared at each other across the booth. The waitress appeared with their food, her smile vanishing instantly when she caught the vibe, set their meals down carefully, and retreated without a word. Smart woman.
Harper picked up her spoon but didn’t eat. Her appetite had completely vanished. “Why did you really become a cop?” she asked.
The question seemed to catch Silas off guard. “What?”
“You were military. Rangers, if I’m reading your bearing correctly. You could have stayed in, made a career of it. Or gone private sector, made real money. Instead you’re here, working homicides in a small city for probably half what you’re worth.” Harper tilted her head. “Why?”
Silas’s expression closed down. “That’s not relevant.”
“Isn’t it? You’re asking me why I came to Blackridge. I’m asking why you did.”
A long silence. Outside, rain had started to fall, pattering against the diner’s windows. Finally, Silas spoke.
“I lost my team in Afghanistan. Eight men. We were clearing a compound and I missed a suicide vest. Boom. Three dead instantly. Two more died before we could get them to the hospital. The other three survived but with injuries that ended their careers.” His voice was flat, emotionless.
“I came home, couldn’t stomach going back, took an honorable discharge.
Became a cop because...I don’t know. I needed to feel like I was still doing something. Still protecting people.”
Harper’s chest tightened. He’d said it all so matter-of-fact, emotionless, but the tense set of his shoulders and the way his hands balled into fists on either side of his plate told a different story. One she understood all too well. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was my mistake. My call. My responsibility.” He finally looked at her. “That’s why I work alone. That’s why I don’t do partners. Because when you work with people, when you trust people, they can die. And I’m done watching people die.”
“But you’re working with me now.”
“Because I don’t have a choice. Captain made it clear.” Silas picked up his burger but didn’t eat. “But don’t mistake that for trust, Harper. I’m working with you because I have to. Not because I want to.”
The words stung, even though Harper knew they were coming. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
“Do you think I can still do this job?”
Silas was quiet for a long moment. “I think you’re brilliant at reading crime scenes. I think you see connections I miss. I think your profile work is exceptional.”
He was holding back. Afraid to hurt her feelings? “But?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “But I think you’re too close to this case. I think the killer’s fixation on you is clouding your judgment. And I think if you’re not careful, you’re going to make the same mistake you made in Chicago—rush in without thinking because you need to prove something.”
Harper felt like she’d been slapped. “That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?” Silas leaned forward. “You said it yourself earlier. You need to prove you can still do the job. But who are you proving it to, Harper? Ellery? Holloway? Me?” He paused. “Or yourself?”
The question hit too close to home. Harper looked away, blinking back sudden tears. Damn it. She was not going to cry in front of Silas Kane.
“I need to prove I’m not broken,” she said quietly. “I need to know that Michael’s death didn’t destroy me. That I can still be useful, still help people, still make a difference.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Is that so wrong?”
He held her stare for a long, intense moment. “No. It’s not wrong.” Silas’s voice gentled. “But there’s a difference between proving you’re not broken and getting yourself killed trying. And right now, I’m not sure which one you’re aiming for.”
Harper opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Because he was right. Part of her—a dangerous, self-destructive part—almost wanted the killer to come after her. Wanted the confrontation, the risk, the chance to redeem herself or die trying.
That wasn’t healthy. She knew that. Her therapist would have a field day with it.
“I don’t want to die,” Harper said finally. “But I don’t want to hide either. I want to catch him. And if using myself as bait is what it takes—”
“Then we’ll find another way.” Silas’s tone left no room for argument. “We’ll work the evidence. We’ll follow the leads. We’ll do this right. Together.”
Together. There was that word again.
Harper picked up her spoon and finally tasted the soup. It was good—warm, comforting, exactly what she needed. They ate in silence for a while, the tension between them easing slightly.
“Tell me about Michael,” Silas said eventually.
Harper looked up, surprised. “Why?”
“Because if we’re going to work together, I need to understand what happened. Not the official version. The real version.”
Harper set down her spoon. She didn’t want to get into this, but he’d shared his story with her, and fair was fair.
“Michael was my partner for three years,” she began.
“Good agent. Smart. Steady. The kind of person you wanted watching your back.” She paused.
“We were working a case—domestic terrorist cell planning an attack in Chicago. Got a tip about their location, a warehouse on the south side. I thought we had time to check it out before backup arrived. I was wrong.”
“The warehouse was rigged,” Silas guessed.
“Completely. Pressure plates, trip wires, enough explosives to take down the whole building.” Harper’s voice was steady, clinical.
Talking about it like it was someone else’s story.
“I tripped something. Don’t even know what.
Suddenly, the place was coming down around us.
Michael was behind me. He could have run, could have gotten out. But he tried to reach me instead.”
“And the building exploded.”
“Yeah. I was close enough to the entrance that the blast threw me clear. Michael was deeper inside. They found his body three days later.” Harper’s hands were shaking again. She pressed them flat against the table. “If I’d waited for backup like I was supposed to, he’d still be alive.”
Silas was quiet for a moment. “Did he have family?”
“Wife. Two kids. Seven and nine.” Harper closed her eyes. “I went to the funeral. Sat in the back. His wife saw me and just...the look on her face. Pure hatred. She blamed me. Still does.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” Harper opened her eyes. “So yeah, I need to prove I can still do this job. Because if I can’t, then Michael died for nothing. And I can’t live with that.”
Silas reached across the table and did something Harper didn’t expect—he took her hand. Just held it, warm and solid and steady.
“Michael didn’t die for nothing,” Silas said quietly. “He died doing his job, trying to save his partner. That matters. That means something. Even if you can’t see it right now.”
Harper stared at their joined hands, feeling something shift in her chest. A crack in the walls she’d built, letting in light she wasn’t sure she deserved.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
They sat like that for a moment, connected across the table. Then Silas seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled his hand back, clearing his throat.
“We should get back to the station. Still have work to do.”
“Right. Yeah.” Harper’s hand felt cold where his had been.
They paid and headed out into the rain, walking side by side through Blackridge’s empty streets. Harper found herself acutely aware of Silas next to her—the way he moved, the way he kept himself positioned between her and the street, the way his eyes never stopped scanning their surroundings.