Page 65 of Silent Stalker

“I want to protect us.” His fingers brush my neck. “We need to know if they’re close to connecting the dots. Now.”

“And if they have?”

“Then we move to plan B immediately.” He fastens the pin to my blazer. “But first, go see your father. Make peace with leaving.”

This is it—the moment I choose between my old life and whatever dark future Silas offers. I touch the pin, knowing his eyes will be on me through every painful goodbye.

“What if I can’t do it?” I whisper. “What if I freeze up?”

“You won’t.” Silas kisses my forehead. “You’re stronger than you think. Go now. I’ll be right there with you.”

I slide into my car, catching Silas’s intense gaze as he settles into his black Audi. My whole body feels ice cold as I start the engine. The familiar streets of Evergreen Falls stretch before me, each turn holding memories I’m about to leave behind.

Mom’s death hit hard when I was nine. Murdered by some degenerate. Quick and brutal. Dad crawled into a bottle that same week and never really came out. I remember the silence in our house, broken only by the clink of glass against glass as he poured drink after drink.

I learned to cook my own meals, do my laundry, and pack my lunches. While other kids had parents showing up for school plays and parent-teacher conferences, I forged Dad’s signature on permission slips and made excuses for his absence.

The bourbon became his constant companion. Some nights, he’d forget I existed entirely. Others, he’d stare at me with glassy eyes and call me by Mom’s name. Those moments hurt theworst, seeing him lost in memories of her while I stood there, invisible.

I spot Silas’s car following at a discrete distance through my rearview mirror. His presence steadies me and gives me the strength to face what’s coming. The truth is, I started saying goodbye to my father years ago, watching him fade away one forgotten memory at a time.

Soon, this place will be a distant memory too—the empty house where I raised myself, the streets I wandered alone, the father who chose a bottle over his daughter.

I press the accelerator, and Silas matches my speed. There’s no turning back now.

28

SILAS

Clara disappears through the Evergreen Falls Care Home entrance. The mid-morning sun reflects off the fresh snow, making the scene appear deceptively peaceful. My black Audi blends with the other vehicles in the visitor parking lot—just another concerned family member visiting their elderly relative.

My phone buzzes. Clara's GPS signal shows she's in the room now, exactly where she should be. The camera pin I gave her transmits a clear feed of her conversation with her father on my app. Their voices filter through my earpiece as I adjust the volume.

I watch Clara as she holds her father's hand. I imagine there are tears in her eyes as she explains she has to leave—she has to go back to New York. My chest tightens at the sight of her distress. Strange are these new feelings she stirs in me.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'll call you on Christmas Day, I promise."

I close the app not wanting to watch anymore.

A car door slams beside me. My heart rate spikes, but it's just a visitor. Still, time grows short. James may be slow, but he's thorough. Once he discovers that the man who was datinghis consultant on the case was indeed the man who killed his victims, the manhunt will begin.

I check my watch. Clara should be heading to the precinct soon. Like clockwork, she appears from the care home and heads to her car, throwing one quick glance my way.

My beautiful, complicated Clara.

I trail Clara's silver Prius at a careful distance, keeping three cars between us. The police precinct looms ahead, its brick facade a stark reminder of the danger we face. My hands grip the wheel tighter as Clara signals her turn into the parking lot.

I cruise past, noting the handful of squad cars near the entrance. Two uniformed officers chat by the front steps, coffee cups in hand. Amateur hour. None of them notice my black Audi as I circle the block.

The adjacent strip mall offers the perfect vantage point. I ease into a spot between a delivery van and an SUV, positioning my car for a clear view of the entrance while remaining hidden from casual observation.

Clara's slim figure emerges from her car. The winter wind whips her blonde hair as she hurries inside, clutching her bag close. The camera pin gives me a bobbing view of the precinct through my phone screen.

I keep the engine running, as the last thing I need is foggy windows drawing attention.

My heart rate stays steady, and my breathing is controlled. This is just another performance, another careful dance of appearing unremarkable. I've perfected this art over years of hunting. Yet, something feels different today. My usual cold focus is disrupted by thoughts of Clara—her soft skin, her willing submission, the way she sees the darkness in me and doesn't flinch.

I watch through my hidden camera as Clara enters James's office. Her shoulders slump—the perfect posture of someonecarrying too much weight. She's learned well from our late-night discussions how to play this role.

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