Devil's Whisper Chapter 127: The Final Question

"Check Sasha's emails," Juan had written.

Kate stared at the notepad, trying to piece together what Juan’s cryptic message meant. Her mind raced, piecing together the scattered clues she had gathered from their brief conversation.

"What could be in Sasha's emails?" she wondered aloud, furrowing her brow. "Is there a clue about the killer in her email?"

But Juan remained silent, his face a mask of stress and tension. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding her gaze. Kate could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her. She leaned forward, her voice soft but insistent, "Juan, have you seen the killer?"

Juan’s lips tightened, and he remained motionless. There was no answer, but Kate could see the subtle signs of fear creeping into his features. She wasn’t sure if he was too terrified to speak or if he was simply protecting someone.

"Tell me, have you seen him?" she asked again, her voice firmer this time, hoping to break through his shell.

Oliver, standing at the door, shifted uncomfortably. He had been quiet during the entire conversation, but now, with the tension escalating, he couldn’t remain silent any longer.

"Miss Kate, we should leave now."

Kate sighed, knowing the clock was ticking. "Just two more minutes," she pleaded, her eyes not leaving Juan’s face, willing him to speak.

"Miss, try to understand our position..." Oliver said, glancing at the door, anxiety clear in his voice. "If someone saw you here, all of us would get in trouble."

Kate’s shoulders slumped as she realized the truth in his words. There was no time to waste.

"Okay, just one last minute," she conceded, her eyes still fixed on Juan. "Juan, look at me. Look here," she repeated, her tone almost pleading now. There was no more room for hesitation. "We need to wrap up this meeting."

She took a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. "At least tell me, when did you last meet with the killer? Do you know anything about his current profile?"

She was so close, but still, Juan remained silent, his face betraying nothing. For a moment, it seemed like he might never speak.

Juan stared at the table, his eyes unfocused, his hands trembling slightly. He took a deep breath, then reached for the notepad again, his movements deliberate but shaky. He scribbled something quickly before pushing the notepad and pen toward Kate.

Kate’s heart raced as she grabbed the notepad and read the words Juan had written: "CCTV footage of 23rd April 2020, Montana Club."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Kate just stared at them. Her mind raced as she processed the information. Before she could say anything else, Oliver stood up abruptly, his face a mixture of urgency and frustration.

"Miss Kate, please, let's go," he urged, his voice strained.

Kate looked at Juan one last time, her expression softening slightly. "Thank you, Juan," she said quietly, acknowledging the small breakthrough he had given her.

After a brief pause, Kate squared her shoulders, her tone turning serious again. "Juan, I'm going to ask you one last question..." She leaned forward slightly, her gaze never leaving his. "Did you kill Sasha Paula?"

Juan’s eyes met Kate’s for the first time since the conversation had begun, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he shook his head. The denial was clear in his gesture, and Kate felt a momentary sense of relief wash over her.

His rejection of the accusation didn’t give her the answers she had hoped for, but it was one thing she could rule out. Juan was not the killer. That much was certain.

Her relief, however, was short-lived. The realization that the actual killer was still out there, hiding in the shadows, gnawed at her insides. The weight of that knowledge pressed down heavily on her, fueling the urgency in her next words.

"Miss, let's go," Oliver urged again, his tone growing more insistent as time continued to slip away.

Kate gave Juan one last look before stepping out of the room. Jason was already waiting, his tall frame filling the narrow hallway, his face tight with concern as he stepped toward her, his presence a steady flame that warmed the chill creeping up her spine.

“I told you that you only had ten minutes…” he said, his voice low and edged with worry, his dark eyes searching hers as he closed the distance between them, “and you’re coming out so late.” His tone carried a quiet reprimand, but beneath it lay a tremor of relief, a need to know she was safe that made her heart thud against her ribs.

Ignoring his question, Kate leaned in, her lips hovering near his ear, her breath a hot whisper against his skin as she murmured, “He is not the killer.”

Her voice was firm, unwavering, a quiet fire that seared through the tension, and she pulled back just enough to lock her gaze onto his, her hazel eyes blazing with a conviction that made his breath catch. Her lips were still flushed from their earlier kiss in the motel, parted slightly with the intensity of her words, her chest rising and falling with a rhythm that mirrored the thudding of his own heart. The sight of her—wild, resolute, so achingly close—stirred a primal heat in him, a longing to pull her back, to press his mouth to hers and taste the fire she carried.

Jason’s expression tightened further, his jaw clenching as he tore his eyes from hers, flicking his gaze to Oliver standing nearby, the junior officer’s presence a sharp reminder of where they were. He couldn’t afford to lose himself here, not in front of his staff, not when the case hung like a blade over them both.

“Has he spoken?” he asked, his voice sharp with impatience, his eyes flicking to Oliver before settling back on her, a quiet storm brewing in their depths.

“No, sir,” Oliver responded, shaking his head as he lingered near the door.

Jason’s eyes narrowed, his hand hovering near her arm as if to steady her—or himself. “How can you be so sure that Juan is not the killer?”

Kate stood her ground, her breath shallow as she met his intensity with her own, her body tilting toward him instinctively, drawn by the heat of his touch, the strength in his frame. “First, you get and check the CCTV footage of Montana Club from April 23, 2020, and I’ll review Sasha’s emails again,” she said, her voice steady but laced with a quiet urgency, her hand rising to rest lightly on his chest—a tentative, trembling touch that made his breath hitch, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor herself. “Then I’ll explain why I’m certain that Juan is not the killer.”

Jason hesitated for a moment, his chest rising and falling beneath her touch, his hand shifting to cover hers—a slow, deliberate grip that pressed her palm tighter against him, his fingers threading through hers with a possessive tenderness that made her pulse race.

“I have to make the charge sheet against Juan Luu,” he declared, the pressure of the situation clear in his voice, rough with the weight of duty and the heat of her nearness, his thumb brushing the back of her hand in a quiet, sensual caress that sent a shiver through her core.

Kate didn’t flinch, her gaze unwavering as she leaned closer, her lips parting slightly, the memory of their kiss in the motel a phantom against her skin. “Oliver can handle the charge sheet,” she suggested, her voice steady despite the rising tension, her free hand brushing his arm—a fleeting, electric touch that lingered, igniting the air between them. “You check the CCTV footage.” Her eyes flickered with a quiet plea, her body so near now that she could feel the heat of his breath against her cheek, a whisper of intimacy that made her ache to press herself fully against him. “Just imagine if Juan is not the killer and the real culprit targets their next victim. Think about how Bob would react.”

Jason knew exactly what she meant—Bob’s reaction would be swift and severe, a storm of reprimands crashing down under the mounting pressure from above, and the stakes loomed like a shadow over them both. His breath caught as he felt the weight of her hand on his chest, the quiet strength in her touch, and his resolve wavered, undone by the fire in her eyes, the heat of her so close.

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice tight with frustration and a husky edge of surrender, his hand tightening around hers as he leaned in, his lips hovering near hers—a breath away from claiming her again, a promise pulsing in the air. “Oliver, you make the charge sheet, and I’ll retrieve the CCTV footage. Let’s get to work.”