Page 77 of Silent Stalker

"Clara, get out of the plane!" James's voice barely carries over the wind. "He's using you!"

I see Clara tense in my peripheral vision. Her breathing quickens, that delicious signal of fear and arousal I've come to crave from her. But there's something else there, too. Hesitation.

"Stay. Put." I growl the words low enough that only she can hear. Her small nod sends a surge of satisfaction through me.

I descend the stairs, keeping my gun low but ready. James tracks my movement, his stance rigid with barely contained rage.

"Step away from the plane, Knight!"

"Or what, Detective?" I spread my arms wide, letting him see the gun. "You'll shoot me? In front of Clara?"

"You're not taking her anywhere." His finger tightens on the trigger.

I laugh, the sound carried away by the wind. "She chose this, James. Chose me. How does that feel?"

"You manipulated her?—"

"Did I?" I take another step forward. "Or did I just give her what she's always wanted? Someone who understands the darkness inside her?"

The look of doubt that crosses his face is exactly what I need. His grip on the gun wavers for just a fraction of a second.

That's all I require.

The crack of my gun echoes across the airstrip. James's weapon clatters to the snow as he stumbles backward, clutching his right arm. Blood seeps between his fingers, staining the pristine white ground.

Clara's scream pierces through the howling wind. "Silas, no!"

"Relax." I keep my gun trained on James as he drops to his knees. "If I wanted him dead, he'd be dead."

James grits his teeth, face contorted in pain. "You bastard?—"

"Shut up." I circle him, keeping a safe distance. "You're lucky Clara has a soft spot for you. A through-and-through in the shoulder—you'll live. Just won't be shooting anyone for a while."

"Don't kill him," Clara pleads from the plane doorway. "Please."

I glance back at her, drinking in the mix of horror and relief on her face. "I won't. Detective Marsden doesn't deserve death. He's just doing his job, aren't you, James?"

Blood drips steadily from James's arm as he glares up at me. The wind whips snow around us, engine noise drowning out his labored breathing.

"Besides," I say, "killing a cop brings too much heat. This way, you live knowing that you failed to stop us. That Clara chose me."

I watch James shift his focus to Clara, his eyes pleading. Blood continues seeping through his fingers, where he clutches his shoulder.

"How can you choose him, Clara? A killer? You've dedicated your life to catching men like him." James's voice cracks. "Everything you've worked for—gone."

The pain flashing across Clara's face makes my trigger finger itch. She doesn't deserve his judgment, his self-righteous accusations.

"Clara." I keep my voice steady and controlled. "Are you sure you want me to spare him? Your reputation, your career—it's all over once he talks. No one will understand." I level my gun at James's head. "If I end this now, there are no witnesses. No one to tell them you chose this."

The snow swirls between us as Clara stands frozen in the plane doorway. Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, green eyes darting between James and me. The choice weighs on her—I can see it in the trembling of her hands and the way she bites her lower lip.

James groans, trying to push himself up with his good arm. "Clara, please. This isn't you. He's manipulating?—"

"Shut up." I press the barrel against his temple. "Let her decide."

The engines roar behind us, drowning out everything except the pounding of my heart. I've never given someone else this much control before. Never let anyone else's choice determine if I kill. But Clara... she's different. Special.

"Clara." I catch her gaze and hold it. "Your call. Quick and clean, or we leave him alive to destroy everything you've built. Which is it?"

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