Page 74 of Silent Stalker

Clara's hand finds mine on the console. Even in the chaos of our escape, that simple touch ignites something primal within me.

I grip the steering wheel tighter as another squad car blazes past us, its sirens piercing through the snowstorm. Clara sinks lower in her seat, her fingers digging into my thigh. The weather masks our escape, but the roads are treacherous.

"Checkpoint ahead," I warn, spotting the flashing lights through the curtain of white. My pulse quickens—not from fear but from excitement.

Two officers wave cars through, checking faces against their phones. Clara's breath hitches. I slide my hand to her neck, feeling her racing pulse beneath my fingers.

"I'll get in the back. You drive. Show them your ID. You're still above suspicion." I keep my voice steady and measured. "Remember, you're heading to your father's care home."

The line of cars inches forward. Red and blue lights paint the snow in alternating colors.

I slide into the cramped footwell behind Clara's seat, my muscles coiled tight. The tinted windows shield me from view, but one wrong move could expose everything.

The SUV crawls forward through the checkpoint line. I count Clara's breaths above me, measuring the tempo of her anxiety. Her boot shifts on the brake pedal, sending vibrations through the floorboard against my shoulder.

Snow pelts the windshield. The wipers sweep back and forth, their rhythm matching my heartbeat. Not from fear. I don't feel fear anymore. This is pure adrenaline, the thrill of the hunt, even when I'm being hunted.

The SUV stops. Boots crunch in snow as they approach the driver's window. Clara's seat creaks as she leans toward the glass. I press myself flatter against the carpet, controlling each breath.

"Evening, ma'am." The officer's voice carries through the closed window. "Can I see some ID?"

The power window hums down. Cold air rushes in, carrying flakes of snow that melt against my neck. Clara's hand brushes my shoulder as she reaches for her purse. The leather makes a soft sound as she retrieves her wallet.

"Dr. Clara Hart?" The officer's boots shift in the snow. "Where you headed tonight?"

"Evergreen Falls Care Home." Her voice stays steady and professional. "The nurse called and said my father’s not doing well.”

I smile in the darkness. She delivers the lie perfectly, with just enough emotion to be believable without overplaying it. This is the result of hours of practicing together, perfecting every detail.

"I'm sorry to hear that." The paper rustles as he hands back her ID. "Drive careful in this weather. Roads are getting worse."

"Thank you, officer."

The window slides up. The SUV remains stationary for three more heartbeats before Clara eases off the brake. Snow crunches under the tires as we pull away from the checkpoint.

I stay down, counting the seconds until we're clear. Clara's breathing grows deeper and more controlled. She's learning to savor these moments of danger, just like I do.

Once we're safe from the checkpoint, I climb into the passenger seat. "You did amazing," I breathe.

"They'll discover we're gone soon," she whispers.

I nod as she turns onto the highway instead of toward the care home. More sirens echo behind us as additional units mobilize. But they're searching for a killer. Not a respected doctor making a late-night visit to her ailing father.

The storm swallows us whole as we leave Evergreen Falls behind.

33

CLARA

My eyelids grow heavy as our car winds through the dark roads leading to the airstrip outside New York. The past few days have been a blur, and exhaustion finally catches up to me. The white lines on the road start to blur together.

"Silas, I need you to take over. I can't keep my eyes open much longer."

He glances over from the passenger seat, his blue eyes reflecting concern. "There's a diner coming up in a few miles. Let's grab something to eat first. And then I'll drive the last hour to the airstrip."

I nod, gripping the steering wheel tighter to stay alert. A few minutes later, the neon glow of "Betty's All-Night Diner" appears through the darkness. The gravel crunches under our tires as I pull into the nearly empty parking lot.

The bell chimes as we enter. The diner smells of coffee and grilled onions, and warmth wraps around us. An elderly waitress with faded red hair leads us to a booth by the window. The vinyl seats crackle as we slide in.