34. Silas

34

SILAS

I grip the steering wheel tighter as we pull onto the private airstrip, the snow crunching beneath the tires. Clara's fingers drum against her thigh. It’s a nervous habit I've noticed over our time together. The police radio chatter buzzes in my hidden earpiece.

"All units converge on Miller's airstrip. Suspects Knight and Hart were spotted heading north on Route 9."

Fuck. I glance at Clara, her green eyes wide as she stares at the small private plane waiting on the runway. She has no idea they're coming straight for us.

"We need to move fast." I park beside the hangar and kill the engine. "The weather's getting worse."

"Are you sure about this?" Clara's voice wavers. "Once we're in the air..."

"No turning back." I reach over and cup her chin. "That's the point."

The radio crackles again. "ETA fifteen minutes to airstrip. All units maintain radio silence on approach."

My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression neutral. Years of practice make it easy to hide the surge of adrenaline. I grab our bags from the trunk while scanning the tree line. There are no flashing lights yet.

"The pilot's waiting." I guide Clara toward the plane with my hand on her lower back. "Everything's taken care of."

She hesitates at the stairs. "Silas, I?—"

"Trust me." I press my lips to her neck, right over the marks I left earlier.

A shiver runs through her, and she nods and climbs into the cabin. I follow, stowing our bags as the pilot begins pre-flight checks. It will be ten minutes—maybe less—before they arrive.

The engines roar to life, drowning out the police chatter in my ear. Clara buckles in beside me, her hand finding mine. I squeeze back, already plotting our next moves. We just need to get airborne before they reach us.

Red and blue lights flash through the window against the falling snow. Clara's curse cuts through the engine noise. James's cruiser skids to a stop fifty yards from our plane, blocking the runway.

"Stay here." I unbuckle my seatbelt, but Clara grabs my arm.

"What are you doing?" Her fingers dig into my sleeve.

"Taking care of it." I pull my gun from its holster, checking the magazine. "Keep the engines running," I tell the pilot.

James steps out of his car, weapon drawn. The snow whips around him as he advances. Fucking hero complex. Always had to play the white knight, even when Clara first mentioned him.

"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?"

I watch Clara's face transform as she makes her decision. Her shoulders straighten, and her chin lifts with determination.

"Let him live." Her voice carries over the wind. "My reputation doesn't matter anymore. It was all pretense. Playing the good girl, the dedicated profiler." She steps down from the plane, snow catching in her blonde hair. "My place is with you now, Silas. Working in our own way."

My breath catches. The meaning behind her words sinks in because she's not just choosing to run with me. She's choosing to hunt with me. To help select the ones who deserve our attention. The ones who slip through society's cracks.

"You're sure?" I keep the gun steady against James's head, but my focus is entirely on Clara.

"I've never been more certain." She approaches us, her heels crunching in the snow. "I spent years studying killers, trying to understand them. But you showed me something different, justice where the law fails."

James makes a choked sound. "Clara, you can't?—"

"I can. And I will." She stops beside me, her hand sliding over mine on the gun. "Lower it, Silas. Let him live with knowing what I've become."

I pull the weapon away from James's head, my chest tight with an unfamiliar sensation. Pride? No, something deeper. Clara isn't just accepting me. She's embracing everything I am, everything we could be together.

"The police will be here soon," she says, turning toward the plane. "We should go."

I grab James's phone and gun, throwing the cell phone on the ground and crushing it beneath my foot. "Remember this moment, Detective. Remember that she chose this."

I guide Clara up the steps of my Gulfstream G650, my hand pressed against the small of her back. The leather interior gleams under soft ambient lighting as we return the cabin. Everything is exactly as I arranged: champagne chilling, plush seats, and absolute privacy.

"You own this?" Clara's fingers trail along the polished wood panels.

"Among other things." I help her into one of the cream leather seats, enjoying how she sinks into it. "Family money has its advantages."

The engines roar louder as we begin taxiing. James's figure grows smaller through the window, still kneeling in the blood-stained snow. Clara watches, too, but there's no regret in her expression—only anticipation.

I watch Clara doze in the leather seat beside me, her head resting against my shoulder. The last two hours have given me time to appreciate how perfectly this has played out. Her steady breathing and occasional sighs of contentment tell me she's finally at peace with her choice.

The Canadian wilderness spreads beneath us, endless white broken only by dark forest patches. My pilot signals our descent, and I gently squeeze Clara's thigh to wake her.

"We're landing." I brush a strand of hair from her face. Her green eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep.

"Already?" She stretches.

The landing gear deploys with a mechanical whine. Through the window, I spot the private airstrip. Which is just a narrow strip carved into the forest, exactly as arranged. The plane touches down smoothly, snow spraying from the wheels as we decelerate.

Clara's hand finds mine as we taxi to a stop. Her palm is warm, and her pulse is quick with anticipation. The engines wind down, leaving us in perfect silence except for the whisper of falling snow against the fuselage.

"Welcome to your new life," I murmur against her ear, feeling her shiver at my touch.

I guide Clara through the snow toward the black Range Rover, its engine already running and interior warm. My contact here knows how to follow instructions, and the vehicle is fully stocked and untraceable, just as I specified.

Clara slides into the passenger seat while I load our bags. Her fingers trace the leather dashboard, taking in the luxury surroundings. I settle behind the wheel, adjusting the seat to accommodate my height.

"The roads are clear enough," I tell her, pulling onto the single-lane track that leads away from the airstrip. "Should take about thirty minutes to reach the cabin."

The SUV easily handles the snow-covered road as we wind through dense forest. Tall pines crowd the edges of our path, their branches heavy with fresh powder. The heater hums softly, creating a cocoon of warmth against the Canadian winter.

Clara's breathing has steadied since our dramatic departure. The adrenaline crash is hitting her now. Her head rests against the window, eyes half-closed as she watches the pristine wilderness pass by. I reach over and squeeze her thigh, feeling the muscle tense, then relax under my touch.

The route is exactly as memorized from satellite images: left at the fallen birch, right where the creek crosses under the road. Each turn brings us deeper into isolation, exactly as planned. There are no cameras, no cell service, and no unexpected visitors.

Twenty minutes in, the track narrows further. Fresh snow crunches under our tires, unmarked by any other vehicles. Perfect. I slow our pace, careful on the final approach. The cabin isn't visible from the road—another crucial detail in my selection—just the way I need it to be.

"Almost there." I squeeze her thigh, and she stirs. "You'll love the cabin."

"Mmm." She stretches, her sweater riding up to expose a strip of skin. "How much longer?"

"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.