Chapter 7 #2
But knowing that intellectually didn’t stop the guilt from crushing her chest.
At the station, Holloway led them to his office and closed the door. He gestured for them to sit. Silas sat immediately, but Harper remained standing, too wired to settle.
“Agent Sinclair,” Holloway began, “I understand your instinct is to confront this threat head-on. That’s admirable. But my job is to protect people, and right now, you’re a person who needs protecting.”
“I don’t need protection—”
“Yes, you do.” Holloway’s voice was firm but not unkind.
“A serial killer has been obsessed with you for five years. He’s killed at least six women—probably more—because they reminded him of you.
He’s left you two notes explicitly threatening you.
And now he’s killing women who look exactly like you, in a city where you’re currently living. You need protection.”
“What I need is to catch this bastard before he kills anyone else,” Harper growled.
“And we will. But not by throwing you to the wolves.” Holloway leaned forward. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Detective Kane will move into your cabin—”
“What?” Harper and Silas said simultaneously.
“—for the duration of this investigation,” Hollway continued, holding up a hand for them to listen.
“You’ll have twenty-four-hour protection.
You won’t go anywhere without him. You’ll maintain your normal routine as much as possible so the killer doesn’t know we’re onto his plan, but you’ll be protected at all times. ”
“Captain, I don’t need a babysitter—” Harper started.
“This isn’t negotiable.” Holloway’s tone left no room for argument. “Either you accept protection, or I have you placed in federal custody for your own safety. Your choice.”
Harper’s jaw clenched. She wanted to argue, wanted to refuse, wanted to prove she could handle this alone. But she could see Holloway meant it. And federal custody would mean being locked away somewhere, completely unable to help with the investigation.
At least this way, she could still work the case.
“Fine,” she bit out, hating every aspect of the plan, even if she knew deep down he was right.
Holloway turned to Silas. “You’re okay with this?”
Silas’s expression was unreadable. “If it keeps her safe, yes, sir.”
“Good. Go to the cabin now. Kane, pack a bag and meet Agent Sinclair there within the hour. I’ll assign patrol units to do regular drive-bys, but your primary job is protecting her. Clear?”
“Crystal,” Silas said with a single, sharp nod, then he pushed to his feet and Harper turned for the door.
Outside Holloway’s office, Harper rounded on Silas. “You can’t seriously be okay with this. Moving into my cabin? That’s...”
“Necessary,” Silas finished calmly. “He’s targeting you, Harper. You saw that note. ‘I’ll be ready soon.’ That’s not a vague threat. That’s a promise. He’s coming for you, and I’m not letting him get close.”
“I don’t need you to protect me—”
“Too bad. You’re getting it anyway.” Silas’s jaw was set in that stubborn line she was starting to recognize. “Look, I know you’re independent. I know you don’t like feeling vulnerable. But this isn’t about ego or pride. This is about keeping you alive long enough to catch this guy.”
Harper wanted to argue. But as she stood there, staring at Silas’s determined face, she remembered the crime scene. Remembered Nicole Merrin’s face—her face—staring sightlessly at the sky. Remembered the note: You’re the masterpiece.
She was the ultimate target. And the killer was getting ready to make his move.
“Okay,” Harper relented quietly. “Okay. You can stay at the cabin.”
Something shifted in Silas’s expression—surprise, maybe, or relief. “Thank you.”
“But we’re still working the case,” she hurried to add. “I’m not sitting around waiting to be attacked. We investigate, we follow leads, we catch him. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Silas pulled out his phone. “I’ll grab some things from my apartment and meet you at the cabin. Drive straight there, don’t stop anywhere, call me if anything seems off.” He was already walking away, but he paused to look back at her. “And Harper?”
“Yeah?”
“Lock your doors.”
***
The drive to the cabin felt longer than usual. Harper’s hands were tight on the steering wheel, her eyes constantly checking the rearview mirror for headlights, for any sign she was being followed. The forest pressed close around the road, dark and impenetrable.
He could be out there, she thought. Watching. Waiting.
Ellery’s email came through as she pulled into the cabin’s driveway. She sat in the car, engine running, and opened the attachment.
Press coverage from the Nevada case. Photos of Harper standing at crime scenes, at press conferences, giving interviews. Her face serious and professional as she talked about the investigation, about the victims, about the profile of the killer they were hunting.
And there, in one photo from a press conference five years ago, Harper saw herself as the killer must have seen her.
Young—only twenty-seven then. Confident.
Determined. Standing at a podium with crime scene photos displayed behind her, explaining the symbols, the positioning, the psychology of a killer who carved his victims like canvas.
She’d been so focused on catching him that she’d never considered he might be watching her. Studying her. Deciding she was worth obsessing over.
Harper’s phone buzzed with a text from Silas. On my way. 20 minutes.
She climbed out of the SUV, scanning the dark forest automatically. Nothing moved. Just trees and shadows and the sound of wind through the branches.
Inside, the cabin felt different. Smaller, somehow. More vulnerable. Harper turned on every light, checked every lock, closed every curtain. She made coffee she didn’t want, just to have something to do with her hands.
Twenty minutes later, exactly when he’d promised, Silas’s headlights appeared in the driveway. Harper watched through the window as he climbed out, a duffel bag over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the area with the same automatic vigilance she’d used.
He knocked once before she opened the door.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” He stepped inside, setting his bag down, eyes automatically sweeping the space. “Nice place.”
“It’s temporary. I’ve been here two months.” Harper closed and locked the door behind him. “Guest bedroom is down the hall. Bathroom’s shared. Kitchen is...well, you can see the kitchen.”
“It’s fine.” Silas was already doing his own scan of the space, checking windows, exits, sight lines. Military habits. “You have an alarm system?”
“Basic one. I’ll give you the code.”
“Good. We’ll set it every night. And I’m a light sleeper, so if anything happens, I’ll hear it.”
They stood there awkwardly, neither quite sure what to do now. This was crossing a line—moving from professional partners to something more intimate, even if the intimacy was just shared living space.
“I should show you the bedroom,” Harper said finally.
She led him down the short hall to the guest room—small but clean, with a double bed and a dresser. Silas set his bag on the bed, unzipping it to reveal clothes, toiletries, and a gun safe.
“You sleep armed?” Harper asked.
“Old habit.” He looked at her. “You should too. You have your service weapon?”
“I’m on leave. I’m not authorized—”
“I got you authorized this afternoon. Holloway fast-tracked it after the second note.” Silas pulled a holster and weapon from his bag. “Glock 19. Loaded, safety on. Keep it on your nightstand. If anything happens, you shoot first and ask questions later. Clear?”
Harper took the offered weapon, her fingers grazing his palm, checking it automatically and ignoring the way her stomach dropped slightly at the brief contact. “Clear.”
“Good.” Silas’s voice was gentle now. “I know this is weird. I know you didn’t want protection. But Harper...” He waited until she met his eyes. “I’m not losing anyone else on my watch. Especially not you.”
The words hung between them, loaded with meaning Harper wasn’t ready to examine.
“Especially not me?” she repeated quietly.
Silas looked away. “You’re my partner on this case. That makes you my responsibility.”
Partner. That word again. But Harper heard what he wasn’t saying. Heard the concern in his voice, saw the way his hands had fisted at his sides when he’d seen Nicole’s body. Saw the protectiveness that went beyond professional obligation.
Something had changed between them. In the parking lot during surveillance, in the conversations over terrible diner food, in the hours spent working side by side. The hostility had faded, replaced by understanding. By connection.
By something that felt dangerously close to trust.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” Harper said, folding her arms over her chest, closing as much of herself off as she could as the words tumbled from her mouth.
“Part of me wants to just walk out there and dare him to come after me. End this. Finish it. No more waiting, no more women dying in my place.”
“I know. I feel the same way sometimes. Walk into danger because at least then it’s on your terms.” Silas moved closer, those cool-blue eyes soft, open, filled with understanding that made Harper hold her breath.
“But that’s trauma talking. That’s guilt and PTSD and survivor’s instinct telling us we deserve to be punished. It’s not rational.”
“Since when is anything about this job rational?”
“Fair point.” He smiled slightly, cracking that rigid demeanor he wore like armor. “But we’re going to catch him, Harper. The right way. Without getting you killed in the process.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”