Chapter 22
Harper woke to sunlight streaming through the cabin windows and the warmth of Silas’s body pressed against hers. For a moment, she just lay there, listening to his steady breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her back where his arm was wrapped around her waist.
They’d barely slept. Every time Harper closed her eyes, she saw Sutton’s face, heard his voice telling her they were the same. So they’d stayed awake, talking in the darkness, then not talking at all—just holding each other, seeking comfort and connection in the aftermath of trauma.
And eventually, around three a.m., that comfort had turned into something more urgent.
A need to feel alive, to reaffirm their connection, to prove that they’d both survived.
The memory of it made heat bloom in Harper’s chest—Silas’s hands on her skin, the desperate intensity, the way he’d whispered her name like a prayer.
Silas stirred behind her, his arm tightening. “You’re thinking too loud again,” he murmured against her hair.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t really sleeping. Just enjoying the view.” His hand traced lazy patterns on her hip. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. Exhausted. Alive.” Harper turned in his arms to face him. In the morning light, she could see the shadows under his eyes, the tension still present in his jaw. “You?”
“Same. Plus terrified that I almost lost you yesterday.”
She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “But you didn’t.”
“But I could have. When I heard those gunshots over the radio—” His voice caught. “I’ve never been that scared in my life.”
Harper cupped his face, feeling the rough stubble under her palm. “I’m here. We’re both here.”
Silas pulled her closer, kissed her—soft and lingering. When they broke apart, his pale-blue eyes were intense. “I don’t want to waste any more time pretending this isn’t serious. That what we have is just...convenient or temporary.”
“It’s not temporary.”
“Good. Because I’m in love with you, Harper Sinclair.” He said it simply, directly, like a fact he’d been holding back too long. “And I needed to say that before we go back to the station and have to act professional again.”
Harper felt her breath catch. They’d danced around it, implied it, but neither had said the actual words before. “I love you too,” she whispered. “Even though it terrifies me.”
“Why does it terrify you?”
“Because everyone I love ends up—” She stopped, looked away, but he understood.
“I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.” Silas kissed her nose then her lips again, deeper this time. “Now and after the case closes and you go back to Nevada. We’ll figure it out.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
They stayed in bed longer than they should have, stealing a few more minutes of peace before reality intruded. But eventually, duty called. There were reports to write, evidence to process, families to notify.
At the station by nine a.m., Harper felt the weight of eyes on her the moment she and Silas walked in together. They’d tried to arrive separately—Silas dropping her at her rental car first—but apparently they weren’t fooling anyone.
Morris grinned when he saw them. “Morning, lovebirds. Nice of you to join us.”
Harper felt heat creep up her neck. “We’re not—”
“Save it,” Morris said cheerfully. “We all saw the way Kane looked at you yesterday when you were in that warehouse. Man was ready to tear the building down with his bare hands if anything happened to you.”
Silas cleared his throat. “Don’t you have evidence to process, Morris?”
“I do. And so do you two. Captain wants everyone in the conference room in ten minutes.”
As Morris walked away, still grinning, Harper looked at Silas. “So much for being subtle.”
“I think we stopped being subtle about two weeks ago.” Silas’s hand found the small of her back, a brief touch that sent warmth through her. “Come on. Let’s face the music.”
In the conference room, Captain Holloway was already setting up, looking like he’d been there all night. He glanced up as Harper and Silas entered, his expression unreadable.
“Agent Sinclair. Detective Kane. Good, you’re here.” Holloway pulled up files on the main screen. “We’ve got a lot to cover. The divers went down at first light like you requested.”
“Did they find the trophies?”
“All of them. Nineteen items total, sealed in waterproof containers under the dock exactly where Sutton said.” Holloway showed photos—jewelry, identification cards, personal items, each carefully preserved. “We’re cataloguing everything now, matching items to specific victims.”
Harper studied the photos, feeling a mix of satisfaction and sadness. Evidence that would finally give families closure. Proof that their daughters, sisters, mothers hadn’t been forgotten.
“The ME completed the autopsy on Sutton this morning,” Holloway continued. “Cause of death was blood loss from multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. The shooting has been ruled justified—he was actively threatening Agent Sinclair and raised his weapon toward the tactical team.”
“Any complications with that ruling?” Silas asked.
“None. It was clean. Body cam footage from all teams confirms the sequence of events.” Holloway shifted to another document. “Now we need to notify families. Nineteen notifications across six states. I’ve been coordinating with the FBI and other jurisdictions—”
A knock at the door interrupted him. Sanchez entered, tablet in hand. “Captain, sorry to interrupt. But we just got confirmation on DNA from the cigarette butts found at the mining camp. Definitive match to Dale Sutton.”
“Good. Add it to the evidence log.” Holloway looked back at Harper and Silas. “We’re building an airtight case for the record, even though Sutton’s dead. Families deserve to know every detail, and the other jurisdictions need documentation for their own case closures.”
As the meeting continued, Harper found her attention drifting.
She was supposed to be focusing on evidence protocols and notification procedures, but her eyes kept finding Silas across the table.
The way his jaw clenched when Holloway mentioned the shooting.
The way his fingers drummed absently on his notepad.
The way he’d looked at her last night, with such desperate need and tenderness.
Silas glanced up, caught her staring, and something hot flickered in his eyes before he looked away. But his lips quirked in a slight smile.
“Agent Sinclair?”
Harper snapped her attention back to Holloway. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you’d be willing to help with family notifications. Your experience with victim advocacy—”
“Yes, of course. Whatever you need.”
Holloway studied her for a moment, then his expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“Actually, before we continue, I need to address something.” He looked between Harper and Silas.
“You two. Whatever’s going on between you—and don’t bother denying it because we all have eyes—I need to know if it’s going to be a problem. ”
Harper felt her stomach drop. “Captain, we’ve been completely professional—”
“I’m not saying you haven’t. But I need to know if personal feelings are going to compromise your judgment or create conflicts of interest.” Holloway’s tone was serious but not unkind. “Because if they are, we need to establish boundaries now.”
Silas spoke up. “Our personal relationship hasn’t interfered with the investigation. If anything, it made us better partners—more invested in each other’s safety, more motivated to close the case.”
“I’m not questioning your work. The results speak for themselves—you caught a serial killer who’d been operating for five years.
That’s exemplary.” Holloway leaned back in his chair.
“But I’m also not blind. The way you two look at each other, the way Kane nearly broke down the warehouse door when shots were fired... That’s not just professional concern.”
Harper exchanged a glance with Silas, then decided honesty was the only option. “You’re right. We’re...together. It developed during the investigation, and we tried to keep it separate from the work, but—”
“But these things happen,” Holloway finished.
“Especially in high-stress situations where you’re working closely together.
” He sighed. “Look, I’m not going to write you up or file reports.
You’re both adults, and you handled yourselves professionally despite personal feelings. That takes discipline.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Harper said.
“But,” Holloway continued, and there was the hint of a smile now, “for God’s sake, stop trying to sneak around like teenagers. We’re all adults here. If you’re together, you’re together. Just keep it professional during work hours and save the longing looks for after shift.”
Morris, who’d been sitting quietly at the end of the table, couldn’t contain his grin. “Does this mean they can hold hands in the conference room now? Because the tension was getting painful to watch.”
“Morris,” Holloway said warningly, but there was no heat in it.
“What? I’m just saying, we all took bets on when they’d finally admit it. I had last Tuesday, so I’m out twenty bucks.”
“You bet on us?” Harper asked, caught between embarrassment and amusement.
“The whole squad did,” Morris said cheerfully. “Holt won. He said it would happen after you caught Sutton but before you left town. Smart money.”
Despite everything—the trauma of yesterday, the weight of nineteen closed cases, the exhaustion—Harper laughed. It felt good, releasing some of the tension that had been coiled in her chest.
“Alright, alright,” Holloway said, but he was almost smiling now too. “Enough about their love life. We have work to do.”
The meeting continued, but the atmosphere had shifted. Less formal, more relaxed. Harper caught Silas’s eye across the table again, and this time neither of them looked away. His expression was warm, open, full of promise for the future.