My Secret Santa Clayton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

32. Clay

THIRTY-TWO

Clay

My tires skidded on slush as I pushed the accelerator, climbing the mountain roads with an urgency that matched the pounding in my chest. I had Deputy Chris Langley on speed dial, and briefed him about the situation. His voice had been calm, but I knew better.

Hostage scenarios never ended with handshakes and smiles.

“Clay, you gotta keep your head,” Chris had said, his voice crackling through the speakers. “Don’t do anything rash.”

“Since when have I ever been rash?” I lied.

As I got closer to the address in Grace’s note, something caught my eye—a solitary shape on the roadside. My heart lurched. It was Grace's truck, unmistakable even in the dimming light. I slowed down, squinting through the windshield, trying to make sense of the scene.

“Damn it,” I muttered, realizing there was another vehicle behind hers, a black sedan that seemed to have sprouted from nowhere.

Two figures struggled between the vehicles. It took a moment for my brain to register—it wasn't Grace. It was Mariah, her face twisted in pain and fear as she fought against someone I couldn't quite see.

I had to do something.

The wheels of my truck skidded on gravel as I whipped it behind the black sedan. I cut the engine, and the silence of the mountain air was a jarring contrast to the pounding in my chest. Mariah grappled with a burly figure, pain etched on her face. My hands clenched into fists, and I threw open the door.

“Mariah!” I barked, but she couldn't hear me over their scuffle.

I recognized the guy's twisted grin from my place, the same one who'd sabotaged Grace's tires. Time wasn't on our side; I knew I had to act fast. I lunged at him, feeling every muscle coil in readiness.

“Hey!” I roared, closing in.

He turned just in time to see my fist connect with his jaw. The impact sent a shock up my arm as he crumpled to the ground.

There was no satisfaction in it—only necessity.

The thug shook his head, trying to rise. I couldn't let him.

“Stay down!” I ground out between gritted teeth.

He swung a clumsy fist, more of a threat than an actual problem. I dodged it, my response immediate, relentless; another blow landed on his cheek with a dull thud. I heard cartilage crack under the strain, felt something primal surge through me.

The mountain, the cold, the danger…it all faded behind the red veil of rage.

“Clay!”

Mariah's scream ripped through the air. It was sharp, filled with a different kind of fear. I turned to see her hunched over, her hands clasped around her belly.

“Mariah, what's wrong?” I asked. “Did he hurt you?” My voice was rough, the anger still vibrating through it.

“The baby,” she gasped, her face contorted in pain. “It's coming.”

“Damn it,” I muttered. Panic clawed at me, but I pushed it back. Now wasn't the time. I needed to focus. I looked at Mariah, saw the resolve in her eyes even through the pain. She was one tough woman—tough like her sister, who I had to pray was still alive.

“Okay, just hold on,” I said. There were things to do, decisions to make. I wheeled around, my boots crunching on the frosted ground, and faced the truck. Fuck…the hood was up and steam hissed from the engine.

“Can you drive?” I asked, my voice steady as I searched for options.

She shook her head, wincing with another contraction. “Not anymore,” she said. “I tried to get there, but… fuck! This is happening…”

“Alright, I'll take you to the hospital,” I said, reaching for her arm to help her up.

She pulled away, her eyes fierce. “No, Clay. You have to find Grace!”

“She’s still alive?”

“Last I saw her, yeah. But you need to hurry.” She doubled over again, pain etched on her face.

“Mariah, you can't stay here. It's freezing, and?—”

“I'll have this baby right here in the snow if I have to, but my kid needs her aunt. Go!”

I stood there, the cold biting into my skin, Mariah's pained moans filling the silence of the snow-covered roadside. I had to make a decision—fast.

But then I saw it, the red and blue lights flickering through the trees, painting the white snow in their urgent glow.

My saving grace.

“Over here!” I shouted, waving my arms frantically as the cruiser approached, tires crunching over the frosty gravel.

The car skidded to a stop, and Chris Langley jumped out. “Clay, what the hell is happening?”

“Mariah's in labor,” I said, gesturing to where she leaned against her battered truck. “She needs a hospital. Now.”

Chris's eyes widened as he took in the scene—the downed man behind me, the steam rising from the dead engine, Mariah clutching at her belly. He nodded once, already moving towards her.

“Let's get you to safety,” he said, taking charge as he helped her towards the backseat of his patrol car.

“Chris, I need to go to Grace,” I said, my voice firm.

“I should be the one to go,” Chris countered, his hand resting on his duty belt. “I can start a negotiation with whoever's doing this.”

I shook my head. “No, I have to do this.” I looked him straight in the eyes. His stance was firm, like he was about to pull rank on me.

For a tense second, we just stood there, snow falling around us, each man measuring the other.

Then, something shifted in his expression.

“Alright,” Chris finally said, breaking the silence. He glanced back at Mariah, who cradled her stomach and breathed through another contraction. “I'll take her to the hospital.”

“Thank you,” I replied, my throat tight.

“Good luck, Clay,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder before turning to help Mariah into the cruiser.

Okay…so I was alone in this.

Maybe that was best.

Because I wasn’t going to wait for justice; I was going to kill whoever had hurt Grace.