Page 79 of Silent Stalker

"About ten minutes." I navigate around a bend, the headlights cutting through the darkness. "The caretaker stocked everything for Christmas. Tree, decorations, food..."

"You planned all this?" Clara sits up straighter, more alert now.

"Down to the last detail." The heated leather seats purr beneath us as I accelerate slightly. "I wanted our first Christmas together to be perfect."

The snow-laden pines create a natural tunnel as we climb higher into the mountains. My cabin sits nestled among them, far from prying eyes. Three stories of luxury hidden in the wilderness.

Clara's hand finds mine on the console. "I've never had a real Christmas before. Dad was always working or drunk."

"I know." I lift her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. "That's why tomorrow will be different. Just us, the snow, and everything Christmas should be."

The security gate appears ahead, and I punch in the code. Motion sensors trigger the exterior lights as we pull up the private drive. The cabin emerges from the darkness, its windows glowing warmly and smoke curling from the chimney.

Clara gasps. "It's beautiful."

White lights twinkle along the eaves, reflecting off the fresh snow. We can see the decorated tree waiting inside through the massive front windows. Everything is exactly as I arranged it.

I park in the heated garage and turn to Clara. "Welcome home, at least for Christmas."

I pull Clara into my arms as her lips find mine. Her body melts against me, tension finally draining away now that we're safely hidden from the world.

"Let's get you inside and comfortable," I murmur against her mouth. "You need rest after everything today."

She nods, fingers curling into my shirt. "I can barely keep my eyes open."

I exit the driver's side and scoop her up, carrying her from the garage through the mudroom into the main house. The fireplace casts dancing shadows across her face as we pass through the great room. I carry her up the curved staircase to the master suite, her head tucked against my chest, breathing already evening out.

The bedroom has a king bed turned down, subtle lighting, and mountain views through floor-to-ceiling windows. I set Clara on her feet, steadying her as she sways slightly.

"Bathroom's through there if you want to freshen up," I tell her. "I'll grab us some water."

"Don't be long," she says, taking the bag. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion but still hold that spark of desire that drives me wild.

"Just a minute," I promise, kissing her forehead. "Get comfortable. We're safe here. No one knows about this place."

Clara gives me a sleepy smile before disappearing into the en suite. I hear the water running as I grab water bottles and check the security system one final time. Everything's locked down tight, and the cameras and motion sensors are active. We're completely alone up here in our winter fortress.

35

CLARA

Istretch in the enormous bed, my hand reaching across to find empty sheets where Silas should be. The mountain cabin’s massive windows frame a pristine blanket of snow outside, sparkling under the morning sun. It’s Christmas morning—my first real Christmas.

The silk sheets feel like heaven against my bare skin as I sit up, taking in the rustic yet luxurious room. Cedar beams cross the vaulted ceiling and a stone fireplace crackles with fresh logs. The scent of coffee and something sweet drifts up from downstairs.

My feet sink into the plush carpet as I pad to the window. The view takes my breath away. Endless white-capped peaks stretch to the horizon, completely isolated from civilization. There are no sirens, no police, and no James looking at me with betrayal in his eyes.

“Silas?” I call out, wrapping myself in one of his discarded shirts. It still holds his scent, making my pulse quicken.

A clatter from downstairs breaks my reverie. Part of me wants to run down and find him, but I take my time. This moment feels precious and surreal. After years of empty Christmases spent analyzing crime scenes or sitting beside myfather’s chair in the care home, I’m finally experiencing what others take for granted.

The tree he had decorated before we arrived sparkles in the corner. My fingers trace the delicate silver turtle dove necklace he gave me, remembering how this all started.

A log shifts in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. Outside, fresh snow begins to fall, adding to our isolation. The irony doesn’t escape me—that I find my sanctuary in a predator’s arms, my liberation in submission, and understanding in the eyes of a killer.

The smell of cinnamon grows stronger, along with the sound of movement downstairs. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since our hasty diner escape yesterday.

I descend the wooden staircase, each step creaking beneath my feet. The aroma of fresh coffee and cinnamon rolls grows stronger, pulling me toward the open-concept kitchen.

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