Page 30 of Hunted in the Silence

Brynn looked at the remaining photographs. The Harlan property, seen from outside. The building was a single-story warehouse with small high windows, the kind designed to let light in without letting people see out. Or in. Her throat tightened and she breathed through it, slow and deliberate, and kept looking.

“The windows are too small for an exit,” she said. “Ground-floor egress would have to be through the doors. How many?”

“Finn counted three,” Cole said. “Front, side, and a loading access at the rear. The rear is padlocked from the outside when the building is dark.”

“They lock the rear from outside when the building is in use, too,” she said. “It’s standard. Padlock on the outside means no one inside can open it without a key. It looks like a security measure to anyone who walks past. It’s a containment measure for the people inside.” She paused. “When we go in, that padlock needs to be cut before anyone approaches the front and side entrances. Otherwise, anyone inside who panics and tries the rear door is trapped.”

Cole wrote it on the board. She watched the words appear in his handwriting—Rear padlock: cut before approach—and felt the realness of it settle in. They were talking about Thursday. About a fourteen-year-old girl inside that building and the people around her who were going to go in and bring her out.

She was going to be one of those people. She’d agreed to stay in the vehicle, she’d meant it when she said it, but she also knew that her usefulness in this operation extended to the moments after the doors came open and terrified girls needed to hear a voice that understood what they’d been through. Cole knew it too. Neither of them had said it yet and both of them knew it was coming.

Olivia pushed back from her desk and stood, stretching. “I’m going to make coffee and then call the Chicago field office before they close. Give me twenty minutes.” She looked between Cole and Brynn, and her expression made Brynn feel like a teenager being scrutinized by a parent who was warning them with a look not to get into trouble. Then she picked up her phone and walked to the back of the office without further comment.

The room was quieter without her in it.

Cole turned back to the board, and Brynn stayed at the desk with the photographs, looking at the image of Garrett Webb and the side entrance he’d come out of. She was aware of the quiet, of the lack of the buffer from another person.

“The behavioral profile,” she said, keeping her eyes on the photographs. “You said you’re bringing someone in from BPD. Silas Kane.”

“Thursday next week, if the timeline holds the way I think it will.” Cole capped his marker. “I’ve worked with him before on a consult. He’s the best I’ve seen at what he does.”

“What is it that you need from a profile at this stage?”

“How Devlin responds to pressure. Whether he cuts and runs when he feels the net closing or whether he doubles down.” Cole set the marker on the tray and turned to look at her. “Because the two responses require completely different strategies on our end. If he runs, we need to move faster than we planned. If he doubles down, we have time to build the structure tighter before we go in.” He paused. “And there’s the question of how he responds to the pressure of knowing you’re here. Whether that makes him reckless or more careful.”

Brynn looked up from the photographs.

“He’ll come for me,” she said. “That’s not anxiety talking. I know how he thinks. The operation matters to him, but I matter differently. I’m the only one who ever got away without his permission. For a man like Devlin, it leaves things unfinished.” She held Cole’s gaze. “He’ll come for the operation and he’ll come for me, and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”

Cole looked at her steadily. The office was quiet enough that she could hear the distant murmur of Olivia’s voice on the phone in the back room.

“We’re not using you as bait,” he said with the same certainty as before, his direct stare daring her to argue.

“I know that. I’m not suggesting it.” She set the photographs down and leaned her hip against the desk, crossing her arms. “I’m telling you because it’s something you need to know. If Devlin finds out the FBI has a witness who can identify him and testify to his formula, his options are limited. He can run, which means dismantling an operation that has taken him years to build and losing everything he’s built here. Or he can try to remove the witness.” She kept her voice flat, clinical. “He’ll choose the second option. It’s the cleaner one.”

Cole had gone very still.

“Which means he already knows or will soon know that you’re working with us,” he said.

“He’ll know I’m working with someone. Whether he knows it’s federal yet depends on how well his intelligence inside the department runs.” She watched Cole’s jaw tighten. “Carson is solid. His people are solid. But Devlin has been operating in this town for years, and he didn’t do that without having some visibility into local law enforcement. I’m not saying there’s a leak. I’m saying we should assume he knows more than we’d like.”

“When were you going to tell me this?”

His tone wasn’t accusatory, but it told her that he hadn’t even considered that angle, that Devlin could be working with someone on the inside. But it didn’t surprise her. Law enforcement rarely looked at their own and potential problems.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it. I didn’t want to move resources based on a feeling, so I was waiting until I had something more than a feeling.” She paused. “I have more than a feeling now. The photograph of Webb confirms he’s actively running operations less than a mile from my center. That’s not a coincidence.”

Cole looked at her for a long moment. Something moved through his expression that she’d seen before but not this clearly. The place where professional concern and something more personal shared the same space and tangled together. He cleared his throat.

“You’re staying somewhere else tonight,” he said. “Not your apartment.”

She was already shaking her head. “Cole—”

“Brynn.” Not loud. Not demanding. Just certain, the way he was certain about things that weren’t negotiable for him. “I’m not asking you to stop working the case. I’m asking you to not be alone and stay in a location Devlin can find.” He held her gaze. “Do you have somewhere you can go?”

She thought about it. She had options. A colleague with a spare room who’d offered before. A shelter with a secure unit that could accommodate staff in emergencies. She’d used them both at other points when cases had gotten close in ways she didn’t want to bring home.

“Yes,” she said.