My Secret Santa Clayton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

23. Grace

TWENTY-THREE

Grace

It was so warm…warm and safe.

Until it wasn’t.

I opened my eyes in the dim light of dawn, the shadows of the room stretching long and thin across the floor. The chill crept under the covers, but it wasn't the cold that brought the shudder to my shoulders—it was the memories.

The faces of my dead informants hovered at the edge of my consciousness, eyes full of silent accusations. This crusade, their crusade, had spiraled into something uncontrollable, something deadly.

I let out a breath, feeling it shiver in the quiet morning air. The weight of guilt settled on me. They had wanted out, wanted to run away together, away from the threats and the violence. They were in love and now they were gone—all because of a war that seemed to have no end.

I’d promised to save them.

I’d failed, and now my life was on the line.

As I shifted in bed, I caught sight of Clay, his chest rising and falling with the deep, even rhythm of sleep. He looked peaceful, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. They wouldn't want this for me, for us, I thought. Not trapped in an endless cycle of fear and retribution. They'd want us free—alive.

I felt Clay's movement before I saw it, a subtle shift. His eyes opened, the morning light catching hints of blue as he turned his head to look at me. He raised his hand, and I braced myself for the contact, but when his fingers touched my face, they were gentle—roughened by work but capable of such softness.

“Are you okay?” His voice carried the rasp of sleep, but concern underpinned every word.

I hesitated, feeling the full weight of my next move. “Yeah,” I lied, my voice stronger than I felt. “Just thinking.”

I sat up, the sheets slipping from my grasp. Clay watched me, his face creased with concern.

“I need to do something,” I whispered.

His brow furrowed, and he waited for me to go on.

“I'm going to the police station,” I said. “It’s time for this to be over.”

Clay's eyes widened, then settled into an expression of understanding. “Yeah…yeah, I support you, Grace.”

I tossed the sheets aside and swung my legs off the bed. Clay sat up, his back straight against the headboard, watching me. “Do you want me to come with you?”

I didn't hesitate. “Yes.”

As I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, a cold knot of uncertainty settled in my stomach. I dialed Mariah's number, the rings almost too shrill to handle. I was on edge, anxious.

“Gracie?” Mariah answered, her voice laced with sleep and worry.

“Hey, sis,” I said. “Are you safe?”

“Yeah…” she trailed off, her voice getting more focused. “Yeah, I’m safe. Are you?”

“Can you meet me at the police station?” I said, keeping my tone even.

I needed to hurry, for her not to ask questions. The more interrogation I got, the faster I would lose my nerve. I hoped she would just go along with it…for all our sakes.

“Of course, I'm on my way.” Her response came quick, no questions asked. That was Mariah, bless her.

“Thanks,” I said and ended the call. Clay was already out of bed, pulling on his jeans. I drew a deep breath and reached for my own clothes.

It was time to face whatever lay ahead.

We drove through Silver Ridge's quiet streets, each turn bringing us closer to the police station. The silence in the truck grew thick, cut only by the hum of the engine. Clay would look over at me every so often. I felt his eyes on me but kept my focus on the road. Each glance was an unspoken exchange, asking if I was sure, reminding me he was there.

“Grace,” Clay finally said, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens, we'll handle it.”

“Thanks.” It was all I could manage without my voice breaking. The weight of what I was about to do sat like a stone in my stomach. I could be walking into more danger. This might all be for nothing.

But I had to try.

We parked the truck, and Clay took my hand as we walked down Main Street. The festive lights felt like a joke—they were almost sinister, like a veneer over the danger I was in. The police station stood there, small but solid against the backdrop of the waking town.

“Ready?” Clay asked, his voice steady.

“Yeah,” I replied.

We walked side by side, Clay’s hulking presence setting me at ease. The doors swung open with a creak that echoed too loudly in the quiet. Inside, the police station was just as I remembered it—cramped, with the smell of stale coffee in the air. The place was small, but I knew the people here took their duty seriously. Deputy Langley looked up from his paperwork.

“Morning, Grace, Clay,” he said with a nod. “What brings you here today?”

I walked up to the desk, my steps firm on the linoleum floor. “I need to speak with someone,” I said. The words came out steady. I didn't let my voice shake. “There have been threats on my life...and I need you to help me contact the FBI.”

Deputy Langley looked at me, his eyebrows knitting together. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the door swung open. It banged against the wall and I jumped.

“Grace!” Mariah called out as she rushed over. She wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace. “What's wrong?”

I hugged her back, feeling a bit of my tension release. “I was just about to file a report with the deputy.”

Mariah's eyes went wide; she had heard the fear in my voice. She glanced at Clay, then back to me, asking silent questions. I nodded once, more to myself than anyone else. I squared my shoulders and faced Deputy Langley.

“I have information that could lead to uncovering a large criminal network,” I said. My words hung between us, heavy and true. “But I've received threats, and I fear for my safety.”

Deputy Langley's eyes locked with mine. He nodded once, slowly. “I think we need to speak more privately,” he said, pushing back from his desk and standing up. “I'm calling in the sheriff…let's get you safe.”

“Thank you,” I managed to say, the relief tangible. Though we stood in a police station, I hadn't allowed myself to believe help was truly at hand until now.

“Give me a minute,” Langley said and walked toward a door marked “Private.” He disappeared behind it, leaving Clay, Mariah, and me in the cramped space of the main office.

Clay gave my hand a squeeze, his way of telling me without words that he was there, no matter what. I squeezed back, grateful for the gesture but unable to shake off the sense that danger still hung over us.

This was all finally coming to an end.

But I knew it might end in blood.