Chapter 20 #3
The pain in his eyes twisted her stomach. “Not like this. Not with someone who’s been obsessed with you for five years.”
“Which is exactly why it will work,” she insisted, needing to believe it herself.
“He wants to talk to me, to prove he’s smarter.
That gives me time. That gives you time to get into position.
” Harper checked the watch, pressed the button to test it.
Red light, green light. Working perfectly. “I can do this.”
“I know you can. I just wish you didn’t have to.”
So did she, but here they were.
At five p.m., the helicopter confirmed heat signature inside the warehouse. One person, third floor, moving around but staying in the same general area. The building had been abandoned for thirty years, no reason for anyone to be there unless they were hiding.
It was Sutton. It had to be.
“All teams, move into position,” Holloway ordered. “Agent Sinclair, you’re clear to approach in fifteen minutes.”
Harper rode in an unmarked car with Silas driving. The trip to the warehouse access road took twenty minutes through winding mountain roads. Neither of them spoke, both lost in their own thoughts.
When they reached the staging area—half a mile from the warehouse—Harper got out of the car.
The tactical teams were already in position, hidden in the forest surrounding the building.
She could see the warehouse through the trees—three stories of crumbling concrete and broken windows, sitting on the riverbank like a forgotten monument.
Somewhere in there, Sutton was waiting.
“Final check,” Holloway said over the radio. “Body armor?”
Harper knocked on her chest. “Check.”
“Panic button?”
She pressed it, waited for confirmation from the command post. “Check.”
“Microphone?”
“Check.” Her voice came through clear on the radio.
“Tactical teams in position?”
One by one, the teams reported in. Alpha Team on the north side. Bravo Team on the south. Charlie Team covering the river exit. Delta Team—Silas’s team—positioned at the main entrance.
“All teams ready,” Holloway confirmed. “Agent Sinclair, you are clear to proceed. Remember, the moment you feel unsafe, hit that panic button and we’re coming in.”
“Understood.”
Harper started walking toward the warehouse, her footsteps crunching on gravel. The sun was setting behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the forest. The building loomed ahead, dark and forbidding.
She could feel eyes on her. Sutton was watching. Waiting to see if she’d really come alone, unarmed, just like he wanted.
Harper reached the main entrance—a rusted metal door hanging half off its hinges. She paused, took a breath, steadied herself.
Then she stepped inside.
The interior was dark, lit only by fading daylight filtering through broken windows. Old machinery sat rusting in corners. The floor was littered with debris—broken glass, chunks of concrete, metal scraps. Water dripped somewhere in the distance.
“Sutton,” Harper called out. Her voice echoed through the empty building. “I know you’re here. We need to talk.”
Silence. Just the drip of water and the creak of old metal.
Harper moved deeper into the building, toward the stairs that led to the upper floors. Her heart was pounding but her hands were steady. This was it. The confrontation Sutton had been building toward for five years.
And she was walking straight into it.
“I came alone,” she called out. “Just like you wanted. No weapons, no backup. Just us.”
A voice from above, echoing down the stairwell. “Did you really, Agent Sinclair? Or are you just saying what I want to hear?”
Sutton. His voice was calm, almost amused.
“I’m here, aren’t I? Unarmed.” Harper kept her tone steady. “That means something, doesn’t it? That I’m willing to face you directly?”
“It means you’re either very brave or very foolish. Or maybe it means you’re desperate. That you know this is your only chance to catch me.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I just want to understand.” Harper started climbing the stairs, slow and careful. “Nineteen women, Sutton. Why?”
“You know why. You’ve been studying me for two weeks. You know exactly why.”
Harper reached the second floor and continued upward. “Because of me. Because you saw me at that press conference five years ago and fixated.”
“Fixated.” Sutton’s voice dripped with contempt. “Such a clinical word. What I felt was recognition. I saw you on that podium, explaining the profile, and I knew—this is someone who understands. Someone who sees the world the way I do.”
“We’re nothing alike.”
“Aren’t we? We both hunt predators. We both understand the darkness. The only difference is which side of the line we stand on.”
Harper reached the third floor. The space opened up into what had once been a large workspace. Broken windows let in the last of the daylight. And in the center of the room stood Dale Sutton.
He looked different than he had in uniform. Harder. The mask of normalcy completely gone, replaced by cold calculation. He held a gun loosely at his side.
“Hello, Harper,” Sutton said with a slight smile. “I’ve been waiting for you.”