Page 37 of Silent Stalker

I turn onto a gravel road, tires crunching through patches of snow. The old dairy farm emerges from the darkness, its weathered buildings stark against the night sky.

"A farm?" Clara's voice carries a hint of uncertainty.

"Trust me." I park near the milking barn, killing the engine. "I found this place earlier. It's... interesting."

We step out into the crisp air. Clara wraps her coat tighter around herself as I lead her to the barn door. It swings open with a low creak, revealing empty stalls and gleaming metal equipment.

"Why the hell are we here?" Clara's eyes dart around the space, her breath visible in the cold air.

I flick on a single light, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. "I saw this place and thought it would be perfect." My hand finds the small of her back. "Private. A bit dangerous. The kind of place where anything could happen."

The milking stalls' metal bars glint in the dim light. Everything smells of hay, metal, and possibility. Clara takes a few steps inside.

"No one's here this time of night," I say, closing the door behind us. "Just the machines. And us."

Clara runs her finger along one of the stainless steel pipes. "This is where they milk the cows?"

"Mmhmm." I move closer, watching her explore. "But they're all in the other barn now. We have this space all to ourselves."

Her breath catches as I press against her back. "Silas..."

"Scared?" I whisper against her ear.

"No." But her pulse jumps under my touch. "Just... surprised."

I watch Clara's face in the dim light, catching the subtle shift in her expression. Her forensic mind is working, connecting dots. Months of surveillance have taught me every nuance of her stress—that delicate line between her eyebrows, the unconscious grip of teeth on flesh—like reading a book I’ve memorized cover to cover.

"What's up?" I ask casually, maintaining the perfect balance of concern and curiosity.

Clara's fingers still on the metal pipe. "It's just... tomorrow, according to the pattern..." She turns to face me, those green eyes searching mine. "The eighth day of Christmas is eight maids a-milking. And you brought me to a milking shed?"

My heart races with excitement, but I force my features into a mask of confusion. "What? Oh shit." I step back, running a hand through my hair. "I didn't even think. I mean, I didn't realize."

"Really?" Her voice carries a hint of suspicion.

"Clara, come on." I laugh, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. "I saw this place on my drive home yesterday. Thought it might be... exciting." I move closer again, trailing my fingers down her arm. "Somewhere different. Private. I'm not exactly following the local news about some psycho's murder spree."

The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, but I can still see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She wants to believe me. Needs to believe me. The alternative is too terrifying to contemplate.

"God, I'm sorry." She shakes her head. "This case has me seeing patterns everywhere. I'm turning into one of those crazy conspiracy theorists."

I cup her face in my hands, savoring how small she feels against my palms. "You're not crazy. You're brilliant."

"I shouldn't have brought you here." My voice a study in pretend concern. I step back carefully, allowing her the space to protest, to feel bad for suspecting me. I let my hands fall to my sides. "I just thought it would be?—"

"No, don't apologize." Clara shakes her head, right on cue. Her voice is frustrated, apologetic. "It's been a long day. My mind is everywhere."

I lean against one of the metal pipes, watching her. Wanting her. The light casts shadows on her face, highlighting the delicate curves of her cheeks and jawline. She shivers, arms wrapping around herself.

"You're cold." I shrug out of my jacket, draping it over her shoulders.

She pulls it tighter, the fabric hanging loose around her body. "Thanks."

The idea hits me. An impulse. A need I can't ignore. "I have an idea."

"What's that?" She arches an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion creeping back into her eyes.

"Wait here." I head for the door.

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