Книга - Silent Night Shadows

Silent Night Shadows
Sarah Varland


Hijacked HolidayWhen she's snatched off a sidewalk en route to the local Christmas tree lighting, Claire Phillips knows her cozy small town is no longer safe. And when she's saved by a mystery man, she gets another surprise. Her rescuer is none other than Nate Torres—a man from her past that she's tried to forget. He's in town undercover, investigating a drug smuggling ring, and he thinks she's witnessed more than she realizes. Worse, he thinks the ring's leader is a local. Someone she knows and trusts. There's no one for her to rely on but Nate, a man whose action-packed life is worlds away from the security she craves. As the attacks grow more menacing, it will take courage Claire no longer thinks she has to survive to Christmas.







HIJACKED HOLIDAY

When she’s snatched off a sidewalk en route to the local Christmas tree lighting, Claire Phillips knows her cozy small town is no longer safe. And when she’s saved by a mystery man, she gets another surprise. Her rescuer is none other than Nate Torres—a man from her past that she’s tried to forget. He’s in town undercover, investigating a drug smuggling ring, and he thinks she’s witnessed more than she realizes. Worse, he thinks the ring’s leader is a local. Someone she knows and trusts. There’s no one for her to rely on but Nate, a man whose action-packed life is worlds away from the security she craves. As the attacks grow more menacing, it will take courage Claire no longer thinks she has to survive to Christmas.


“Are you okay?”

The solid but quiet voice of her rescuer was familiar, and not just from tonight. Claire’s eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. “I know you,” she said, studying his face as she took a step closer to him. “Where do I know you from?”

He studied her in return. “I recognized you right away, but then again you’ve changed less since college than I have.”

“College...” she mumbled.

As though she’d summoned the memories up, a collage of snapshots from her college life played through her mind...including the man she now recognized as the one standing in front of her. Nate Torres.

Nate was the epitome of everything she’d never fall for again. But while he was the last man on earth she’d get involved with, he was someone she trusted.

Claire swallowed hard. “Nate Torres. Do you want to tell me what you’re doing in Treasure Point? It’s too much of a coincidence that someone tried to kill me and that you just happened to be in the right position to save me. There’s something more going on here, isn’t there?”

For a minute he didn’t say anything, just stood there. Still and speechless.

Then he spoke. “Yes.”


SARAH VARLAND lives near the mountains in Alaska, where she loves writing, hiking, kayaking and spending time with her family. She’s happily married to her college sweetheart, John, and is the mom of two active and adorable boys, Joshua and Timothy, as well as another baby in heaven. Sarah has been writing almost since she could hold a pencil and especially loves writing romantic suspense, where she gets to combine her love for happily-ever-afters, inspired by her own, with her love for suspense, inspired by her dad, who has spent a career in law enforcement. You can find Sarah online through her blog, espressoinalatteworld.blogspot.com (http://www.espressoinalatteworld.blogspot.com).


Silent Night Shadows

Sarah Varland






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”

—1 Samuel 16:7


To law enforcement officers—past and present—who make sacrifices no one sees. Thank you for what you do.


Acknowledgments (#u092a2346-4cd4-5da8-ac23-2c6cd239252f)

Once again, I need to thank my family. Every day with you is a gift, and I am so thankful to have you to love, and thankful for your love for me. Thanks for letting me sit on the living room floor, staring at the mountains out of the back window now and then while I try to sort a story out in my mind.

Thanks to my writing friends. I always want to list you, and then I get worried I will miss someone. But you know who you are and I am deeply grateful for you.

I also appreciate my agent, Sarah, as well as my editor Elizabeth and the behind-the-scenes people who worked on the book, as well. Every book is an effort made by so many more people than just the author, and I am thankful to get to be part of the team at Harlequin.

Many thanks again to God, Who always teaches me something through the stories I write, even when I am stubborn and don’t want to learn. Thank You for Your never-giving-up love.


Contents

Cover (#u7bb6b8de-ad32-59a2-b002-fae9a37e44a3)

Back Cover Text (#u1abeade8-132a-519c-955a-706c7dd25313)

Introduction (#u09f6e292-0be3-5506-b943-15fa33093694)

About the Author (#u9833ab7a-4bb4-5415-9171-54cd234b67c7)

Title Page (#u0dae408d-b696-5dfa-b808-d5037a25d30e)

Bible Verse (#ua00cbe80-fe8f-532e-b355-6a227e5974f7)

Dedication (#u5316f418-71e3-54f7-8481-23255164466b)

Acknowledgments (#u5b0c0844-726a-51e0-b4c3-338bd42aa2d3)

ONE (#uf1095646-644a-5c56-b0c4-dbb15986e848)

TWO (#u07063c93-426b-591f-830a-c75c8306dc66)

THREE (#ud99f723b-7d46-54be-9705-413193780094)

FOUR (#u1f1c5181-ca5e-5dec-be78-751ee13968ed)

FIVE (#ua8ff8072-b67d-5b1c-b0bb-621e32f23d96)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE (#u092a2346-4cd4-5da8-ac23-2c6cd239252f)

The cool, dark December night wrapped around Claire Phillips, making her shiver deep inside. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, wishing she’d grabbed her jacket before she’d left the coffee shop to head toward the town square for the tree lighting ceremony. But there hadn’t been time. She’d promised her sister she’d meet her there at six, and it was already five till.

Claire glanced to her right and left. No one was around. Everyone seemed to be at the square already, and Claire rubbed at goose bumps that weren’t just from the cold. She’d walked this route by herself more times than she could count, but right now she felt off somehow. Claire could feel a certain tension in the air, like tonight was a rubber band, stretched back.

And something was about to break.

Lately she’d felt watched. Not all the time, but sometimes when she was walking around town, she’d felt like someone was tracking her movements. She’d been debating with herself all day whether or not she should say something to her sister—Gemma’s husband was a police officer and would know if she needed to report that or anything. Claire was leaning towards yes now, she decided. She hurried her steps a little, glancing behind her even as she told herself she was overreacting. She didn’t see anything in the orange glow of the streetlights, or even beyond them in the darkness. None of the shadows that were familiar to her after a lifetime of living in this town seemed remotely out of place. So why couldn’t she relax?

The noise from the crowd at the square grew louder. Claire could see the tree now, still dark, but about to be illuminated with brilliant colored lights. She allowed herself a small smile as she slowed her pace slightly to enjoy the moment. She was close now, close enough to let her guard down just a bit, admit that she’d been overreacting...

The rough hands that grabbed her from behind and pulled her into a row of shrubs just at the back of the square were fast, too fast for her to react once she was firmly in their grip.

The Treasure Point High School band started to play “O Christmas Tree.” Loudly. Any attempt at a scream would go unheard, even this close to the crowds. Perfect timing on the part of whoever had her, Claire realized with clarity. Someone who knew the town and its traditions?

She tried to scream anyway but recoiled immediately at the sweaty, damp palm that was clapped over her mouth as soon as she did so. Now only one of the hands was holding her back by her arm, so she fought, struggled, tried to get away. Even after she used her shoulders to try to break free and elbowed behind her several times, connecting with some part of him, she was no closer to free than she’d been before exhausting herself. Her abductor was too strong.

Abductor. Her mind started to go hazy. What was going on? What was happening?

She heard approaching footsteps. Heavy ones like they belonged to a man—and no small man, either. She tensed, afraid to hope that it was someone to help her.

God, please.

It was all she could pray, but her faith meant too much to her not to attempt to trust her God, even in this.

“Let her go.”

The voice was familiar to her. She was sure that the man was someone she’d seen recently, but not someone she knew well... Claire couldn’t see behind her, but when the hands holding her didn’t release her, she heard the solid connection of a punch. From the way the body behind her rocked with the blow, she assumed the punch came from her rescuer, whoever he was. Her abductor was holding her with just one hand now, using the other to defend himself. She braced herself as the fight continued. Not long after, her attacker ran toward the dock.

Claire was free.

Her rescuer followed for a few seconds, but then stopped and turned back to check on her. In the glow of the streetlight, she could see him clearly. For the first time, Claire looked at the man who’d saved her. The first thing she noticed was his black leather jacket. The second was his equally dark eyes that were looking at her without flinching.

Something about those eyes was familiar. She’d just felt her own eyes narrow as her study of him deepened when he looked away, broke the contact.

“Thank you,” she finally said, her voice shaking more than she would have liked.

“Listen to me.” He ignored the thanks, kept talking in a voice that was 100 percent steady and gave no hint of being out of breath, even after that altercation.

“Go inside that store.” He motioned to the nearest shop that hadn’t closed for the night, Marsh Maze Books. “Call the police. Stay there until they come.”

Before Claire could speak, the man took off running in the direction of the docks. Going after her attacker? Head spinning, she did what he’d told her to and walked straight into the shop.

“Bree! I didn’t know you were working tonight.”

Her friend looked up from the papers she’d been shuffling through at the counter and smiled. “Hey Claire!” Her smile fell a little. “You don’t look so great. What’s up?”

“I need to call the police, and I needed to be somewhere safe.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you need to use the phone?”

Claire shook her head. “I’ve got mine. But thanks.” She could see the questions in her friend’s eyes, but she was unable to find words to explain anything and didn’t want to have to tell the story twice. So instead of explaining, Claire listened to the phone ring until the operator picked up.

“This is Claire Phillips. I’m at Marsh Maze Books right now, but I was just attacked on my way to the square.”

The operator’s reassuring voice asked for more information, and Claire told her what she could, then hung up the phone.

Bree was still staring at her.

“I don’t want to talk about it yet,” she told her friend as she kept her eyes focused on the door, trying to figure out anything she could do to help her stay calm until officers arrived at the scene.

“O-okay,” Bree stammered. “But...can I get you anything? Some water, maybe? Or do you want to sit down?”

“No water, thanks,” Claire managed to say, though she did take the offer to have a seat on one of the overstuffed easy chairs scattered throughout the store. The adrenaline rush from earlier was fading, leaving her feeling more than a little unsteady on her feet.

Funny, maybe it was just the aftermath of the attack, some rush of numbness that had hit her, but when the Man in Black—as she’d started thinking of him—had rescued her, she’d felt oddly calm with him. Like his very presence affected her somehow. That was strange since, though Claire thought she’d seen him in her shop often in the past week or so, he was a stranger to her.

Why had he told her to call the police and then run? Her mind could take that question in so many different directions. Had he known the person who attacked her? Was he working with him somehow? But that didn’t make sense. Then again, nothing did so far. Why would anyone want to hurt her? She ran a coffee shop in Treasure Point. As far as she knew, she didn’t have any enemies at all. Yes, there had been some scary moments for Gemma earlier in the year, but everything had been worked out. Life should have been safe again.

It unsettled her, somewhere very close to her core, to know that apparently, life wasn’t safe for her. Not right now.

Claire hugged her arms tight around herself and hunched deeper into the chair. To her credit, Bree didn’t push for an explanation anymore, just stood there silently, not sure what to do. And Claire didn’t blame for her for that—she didn’t know what to do, either.

From far away across the square, Claire could see the tree lighting up slowly, from the bottom to the very top. It was a Treasure Point tradition, one she’d participated in every year—even the ones when she’d been on holiday break from college—with her parents and sister. This year her parents were on an extended vacation in New England, visiting some of her mom’s relatives for the holidays, but Gemma was at the ceremony and Claire had planned to meet her.

Gemma. How could she not have texted her sister by now? Claire pulled her phone out.

I can’t make it.

She could think of nothing else to say, so she just sent it.

Gemma’s reply appeared seconds later.

What’s up? Are you okay?

Claire messaged back,

Long story. Call me on your way home?

Okay.

A squad car pulled up just as she read Gemma’s last text. Claire slid the phone into her pocket.

“Are you okay, Claire?”

Her brother-in-law was the first one in the door, followed by his friend Clay, another officer. Claire got to her feet. “Matt! I thought you were with Gemma?”

He shook his head. “I got called in at the last minute. Someone else had to go home sick. Tell us what happened.”

“Right here? Or at the police station, or—?”

“Start with telling us where the attack happened.”

“It was outside, down the street a little more toward my shop. I was walking toward the square when a man grabbed me, pulled me off the street.”

“Did you see his face?” Clay asked.

Claire shook her head. “He held me from behind. I couldn’t see him at all. But he was tall. Strong.”

“Did you hear his voice?” Matt prompted. “Did he say anything?”

“He didn’t, no. But then another man came up and said to let me go. He started fighting the man holding me, got him to release me and then run off.”

“How did you end up in here?”

“The guy who helped me told me to come in here and call the police.”

The two officers glanced at each other. Claire wished she could read the look that passed between them.

“Let’s go on down to the station,” Matt said. “Hitchcock, you go check out the street, make sure you don’t see any evidence, though I doubt the attacker left any.”

Clay nodded and headed out the door.

“Come on. The chief is going to want to hear this firsthand.” Claire said goodbye to Bree, thanked her for her help, and then followed Matt through the doorway, grateful that if she had to go to the police station, at least she was close to the officer who was taking her in. She tried so hard always to seem put together, in control. Right now, she felt like she was falling apart. The officers of the Treasure Point police station were good people, most of whom she’d known for years, but there weren’t many whom she’d want to see her like this.

Matt opened the passenger door for her, and she climbed in. She couldn’t help but look around once she was sitting safely in the car, looking for any sign either of the man who’d attacked her or of the man who’d likely saved her life.

* * *

Nate’s search of the docks had turned up nothing. Jesse Carson had gotten away.

Claire had shown no signs of recognizing her attacker, but Nate did. He was heading an investigation for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation that had been tracking the Carson brothers for the last eighteen months, trying to find out where they got their supply of the designer drug known as Wicked. After the close call he’d had the last time he’d started to get close, Nate couldn’t afford any more slipups. Had Carson recognized him?

Nate didn’t think so. He’d been working deep undercover inside a sign manufacturing company the last time either Carson brother had seen him. After his cover had been blown there, Nate had needed to move and had acquired a new cover.

He’d shaved the beard he’d had at the sign company, and traded his industrial uniform shirts and work pants for his usual attire—jeans and a wardrobe that consisted mostly of black. He was here in Treasure Point, a location he’d chosen for several strategic reasons, pretending to be working as a freelance photographer.

It was more free-form, less deep cover than he was used to. He was going by his own name. Only his occupation was a fabrication—and even so, photography was a real hobby of his. It was a risk, sticking close to his true identity, but in a small town where strangers were scrutinized closely, he’d felt it was worth it to stay as close to the truth as possible, so as not to tip people off that he was anything other than what he appeared to be.

That morning he’d been all over town taking pictures, and then he’d met with his informant. Jenni had been working with him and the rest of the GBI team for about half the time he’d been on the Carson case. She was a waitress here in Treasure Point and was trying to pull herself out of a life that had involved too many drugs and too much partying in the city on the weekends.

She’d caught the eye of a man with rumored ties to the Carson brothers’ operation, and in an attempt to impress her, the man had told her more than he should have of the ins and outs of the organization. She’d brought the information straight to the GBI, and they’d had her continue to date the source and find out what information she could. She’d ended the relationship a few months back when her boyfriend had gotten violent with her, but by then she had enough contacts in the organization to continue providing the GBI with a steady stream of information.

Nate kept himself on alert as he made his way back to the room where he was staying. He paused in front of Claire’s shop, Kite Tails and Coffee, and noted that everything looked undisturbed there—no indication that anyone had attacked her shop or her apartment upstairs in her absence. Ideally she would be safe when she made her way home after reporting the attack to the police. Nate wished he had her number to check on her, but he doubted she’d welcome hearing from him, anyway. She hadn’t recognized him, not in the week he’d been in town—though he’d admittedly kept a low profile and only come into her shop for coffee at the busiest times of day because he wasn’t ready for her to know who he was yet. He wasn’t ready tonight, either.

He’d have to tell her, soon. No way to guess if the revelation about who he was would make her more or less likely to welcome him checking up on her, making sure she stayed safe.

Maybe that wasn’t his job, anyway. Technically, according to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, his job was to come to coastal Georgia, where the Carson brothers had spent the most time lately, track them down, track their movements, and figure out how they were transporting their supply of Wicked and where it was coming from. Nate didn’t know at this point whether they were getting it from a middleman working as a transporter and supplier, or from the maker of the drug itself, but he’d work up from whatever he found. They wanted the people responsible for the drug’s manufacture, and they wanted production halted. It was too dangerous, made people incredibly high and unusually strong. It lasted less than an hour for most people, but that time frame was intense. Some people died from the high itself, some from a reaction if the drug was used with alcohol. Some, feeling invincible from the strength the drug provided, put themselves in dangerous situations that caused their deaths or the deaths of others. Some people killed others under its influence.

Just outside the downtown business district of Treasure Point, movement in the shadows around a small apartment complex caught his eye. Nate put his hand to his hip almost unconsciously, felt the reassuring bulk of his sidearm concealed under his jacket. He always hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but as a certified peace officer, he was still law enforcement, and if it came down to needing to save lives, he’d pull out his weapon if he had to.

But for the sake of his cover? So much better if he didn’t.

Nate moved closer to the apartment complex, sought his own shadows to hide himself, and he edged closer to where he’d seen movement.

A muffled scream caught his attention. One unit down, Nate thought. Maybe upstairs? He’d already started that way, picking up his pace, when he heard the two shots.

Some incorrectly called them silencers. In truth, it was a suppressor. And it didn’t muffle the shots of a handgun enough for someone like him not to recognize it.

He was sprinting now, around the side of the building, dodging a trash can, and heading up the stairs. He heard glass shatter once he rounded the first level of the staircase. Likely the shooters were escaping from whatever apartment they’d been in. He couldn’t chase them now, not when he knew they’d shot someone in this complex. His first duty was to check on the condition of whoever might have been hurt. Many gunshot wounds didn’t have to be fatal if they were treated right away.

After rounding one more half flight of stairs, he arrived on the second floor, Nate hesitated. Up one more level? Or this one? He looked down into the sheltered hallway. Glass had shattered, meaning someone had escaped via the window. The person escaping must have expected to make it out okay and relatively quickly. Not the third floor.

He moved to the first door and had lifted his hand to knock, since he couldn’t very well break down any doors, when he saw that the door two doors down was open.

“Hello?” he called as he unholstered his gun, keeping it pointed safely at the ground, but both hands holding it tight, ready to pull it up if he needed it.

Nothing, no sounds at all. This apartment had lights on, as though someone was home. When he stepped inside, he saw that the TV was on, but with the sound muted. He swept his gaze left and right in the entryway. No signs of anything amiss here, but he knew what he’d heard and was almost certain that somewhere in this building, someone needed help.

His gaze caught on a purse on the entry table. It was a unique bright orange color. He recognized it as the same one Jenni had been carrying last time he’d seen her.

The adrenaline swirling through him mixed with dread as realization started to churn in his gut. This was Jenni’s apartment.

Moving with more urgency, Nate cleared the living room, then the kitchen. He was growing more concerned about Jenni by the second, more convinced that she had been the target of those gunshots, and more worried that she’d been hurt.

Nate rounded the corner into the hallway. Two bedrooms, one on each end. He checked the first and found it empty. Down the hall, into the second.

Nate had to swallow hard. Jenni lay on the floor, blood pooled under her. He confirmed the room was empty of any threats as he approached her—noting the broken window in the back that had no doubt served as an escape route. There was a bit of blood on the glass, and he hoped that could get them some DNA they could use, although Nate was already relatively sure this was connected to what had happened to Claire earlier, and therefore connected to the Carson brothers.

Fighting the urge to be sick to his stomach at what he was seeing—death never got any easier—he reached his hand to Jenni’s carotid artery to check for a pulse.

Nothing. It had been what he’d expected, but he’d owed it to her to check. She’d been a sweet girl, and extraordinarily brave—choosing to step up to help the investigation even though she knew it put her at risk. They should have been able to keep her safe. He should have been able to protect her. And he knew that failure would weigh on him for a long time.

Nate stepped back, positioned himself so that he could see through the door and through the window in case the shooter came back, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

“I need to report an apparent homicide.”


TWO (#u092a2346-4cd4-5da8-ac23-2c6cd239252f)

The Treasure Point Police Department wasn’t somewhere Claire had spent much time. She was thankful for its presence in her little town, and for the men and women who worked there, but it had never had much personal impact on Claire’s life, beyond the time her sister had spent talking to the people here. She’d been the victim of several attacks, and then she’d married Matt and would occasionally come to the station to visit during his shifts.

Now, as she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before walking in, Claire found herself hoping that this would be both the first and last time she had any need to go inside the building.

“This way,” Matt directed her once they’d entered and moved through the open entryway. He motioned down a hall and then stopped in front of a door on the left, gesturing for her to precede him.

The room was nice enough. Not an interrogation room, at least not like any she’d seen on TV. There was a table and some chairs, but also a coffeemaker on a counter in the corner.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Matt said as he moved toward the coffeemaker. “Coffee? It’s nowhere near as good as yours, but it’ll warm you up if you’re feeling chilled.”

“No thanks.” Claire settled into one of the chairs.

The radio on Matt’s belt crackled, startling Claire. “Just ignore it,” Matt said. “I have to keep it on. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.”

The radio crackled again. More chatter. Claire wasn’t paying much attention.

Not until she heard the word homicide.

Her head swung left. “What did they say?”

Matt reached for the radio, turned it up.

“...Egret Cove Apartments, white female, early twenties. BOLO out for a man involved in a downtown attack earlier. Suspect for that is in his early to midthirties, medium build, dark hair, dark eyes. Suspect is not a local.”

When the radio crackled to white noise again, Claire spoke up. “Two women attacked in one night?”

“And one of them dead.” Matt shook his head.

“Coincidence?”

“We can only hope so.”

The door opened just then, and the chief, a man in his late fifties with gray hair and a full beard, entered the room. He came to her shop now and then for coffee during the day, usually mumbling disparaging remarks about whoever made the coffee at the police station.

“Hello, sir,” she greeted him.

Matt looked at her with raised eyebrows. Claire shrugged. Was she not supposed to talk until he did? How was she supposed to know how it worked, being questioned?

“Claire. I’m glad to see you’re okay.” The chief took a seat at the end of the table.

“Thank you, sir. I’m glad to be okay.”

“Can you tell me about what happened tonight?” He focused his attention her, leaned back in his chair a little.

“Sure. I was walking to the Christmas tree lighting. I was supposed to meet my sister there, and I was planning to tell her that lately I’d felt...” Claire trailed off, feeling foolish over what she was about to say, even after what had happened. Even knowing she’d been attacked, the idea of someone watching her seemed ridiculous. It was Treasure Point. It had its share of crime just like anywhere, but she’d never heard of there being problems of the stalker sort.

“Go on,” the chief encouraged her.

“Lately I’ve felt like someone is watching me. Not all the time, just sometimes. Nothing’s happened, so I figured it was probably just my imagination. But I felt that way tonight, and then not long into my walk, someone grabbed me from behind.”

“Did he make any moves to hurt you physically?”

Claire shook her head. “No, besides his grip on my arms, and then his hand over my mouth, I didn’t have any sense that he was trying to...kill me or do anything else. It felt more like he was planning to take me somewhere.”

“And why didn’t he succeed?”

“Another man ran over and told him to let me go. I didn’t quite recognize him, but his voice seemed familiar. He fought off the attacker, reminded me to call the police and told me to go inside one of the stores.”

A few seconds of silence passed. Then the chief looked to Matt. “She’s met him.”

Matt nodded. “I thought so, but wanted to see what you thought.”

“I’ve met who? Who is he?”

Claire was glancing back and forth between both men, so it wasn’t difficult for her to catch the slight head shake the chief gave to Matt. They weren’t willing to tell her who he was yet, but neither of them seemed worried that she’d met him, so maybe he was on their side?

“So, what do I do? Is it okay for me to go home?”

Both men nodded.

“I don’t see any reason you shouldn’t,” the chief began. “Right now we have no reason to believe your attack was anything but a random crime downtown. Sad, but it does happen. Take precautions, make sure your doors are locked tight, and let us know if you think someone is watching you again, but I don’t expect you to have any more trouble. Matt can take you home now if you’re ready to go. That’s all we need from you for tonight. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.” The chief stood, approached the coffeepot, then shook his head and turned away from it.

“I don’t guess you’d want to make us some good coffee before you go?” The chief smiled and held up a hand when Claire moved in that direction. “I’m teasing you. Don’t make any coffee. I’ve got to head to a murder scene. But if you want to have a cup ready for me tomorrow morning early, I’ll pick one up before our morning roll call.”

“I’ll do that, sir.”

Claire and Matt walked out of the room and made their way through the building to Matt’s car parked outside. “Do me a favor and call Gemma to explain what happened?” he said. “That way I don’t have to try to answer all of her questions when I get home.”

“Scared of your own wife?” Claire teased, though she couldn’t say she really blamed him. Gemma could be rather determined when she wanted something, like answers. She pulled her phone out. She did need to tell her sister what had happened.

She took a deep breath, braced herself for the conversation.

When Gemma answered the phone, Claire opened with “First, you need to know that I’m fine,” hoping that the chief was right and this would be an isolated incident. If things got more dangerous, Claire knew she could count on Matt and Gemma’s overprotection.

What scared her was the thought that she might actually need it.

* * *

As protocol dictated, Nate hadn’t touched Jenni’s body since he felt for a pulse and found none. He hadn’t moved her at all, and she still lay there, stretched across the floor, looking so innocent in death, as his sister had. Murder was evil, never justified. And whoever the faceless man or woman who had pulled the trigger on Jenni turned out to be, the killer wasn’t the real villain Nate was ultimately after. That was the entire illegal drug industry itself. It bore a lot of the responsibility for deaths like this one. Like his sister’s.

He looked out the shattered back window again. Still nothing from there. It didn’t appear that the shooter was coming back, which was logical. He’d finished the job.

Nate shook his head, moved his eyes quickly over Jenni’s body as he looked back toward the front of the apartment. The police should be here any moment.

“Police!” an authoritative voice announced, followed by the sound of people coming inside. Nate couldn’t see them yet, but he judged by the footsteps that there were several of them.

He recognized the police chief—his presence at a crime scene might have been unusual in a city, but it wasn’t as surprising in a small town that probably didn’t even see a murder every year.

“Agent Torres.” The chief nodded like he wasn’t surprised Nate had been the one to make the call. Nate liked the chief well enough, had had coffee with him when he first got to town to read him in on the GBI’s case. When he’d worked deep cover in the past, that kind of cooperation with law enforcement hadn’t been possible, but since this cover was less about embedding with drug runners and more about blending in to the background in Treasure Point long enough to get the evidence his team needed, Nate and his boss back in Atlanta had decided that working with the police department was better than not.

“Chief.”

“I’m sorry it took us a couple of extra minutes to get here. I needed to listen to what happened to our town’s coffee shop owner earlier this evening.” He surveyed Nate, then caught his gaze and wouldn’t let it go. “Would you know anything about that?”

“I might, sir.”

“We’ll talk more about that later.” The chief moved toward Jenni’s body, which one of the officers with him was photographing. “How did you know Jenni?”

Nate might have read the police department in on why he was in town, but he hadn’t told them about Jenni. It was too risky to discuss it, since confidential informants all too often ended up dead. “She was my CI.”

“Makes sense.”

“She was helping me get more intel on my case. She knew some people with loose ties to the organization,” Nate finished.

The chief nodded. “I’m sorry this happened.”

“Me, too.”

Nate turned to the door when he heard more footsteps.

It was a woman dressed in dark coveralls. “No one better have touched my crime scene.”

“About time,” the chief said to the woman. She raised her eyebrows, didn’t back down in the face of the chief’s bravado at all.

“I got caught behind the train.” She seemed to take in the room, all the people working. Then her eyes landed on Nate. “I’m Shiloh Cole, crime scene investigator. Did you find the body?”

“Yes, I did. Nate Torres.” He lowered his voice. “GBI, but I’m keeping that quiet.”

“Good to meet you.” She looked over at Jenni. “And this is?”

“Jenni was my CI. I’m afraid she got too close to some answers I needed about how the drug smuggling ring I’m tracking is transporting their merchandise, and who their supplier is. Either that or they found out she was feeding me information about them in general.

“Could be either.”

Shiloh had a notepad out and was sketching the layout of the crime scene, including approximate distances. Then, starting at one side of the room, she started giving orders, having men bag up things she thought might be evidence, and getting out a crime scene kit herself. She dusted for fingerprints—high-traffic areas especially, but also a few places she could get good prints in general.

As she worked the rest of the crime scene in silence, Nate’s respect for her grew. He hadn’t been sure what to expect from a small-town crime scene investigator, but she was good at this.

He appreciated being allowed to stay, even if they were keeping what they found quiet, not showing him much. Ideally he’d find out more tomorrow. For now he kept his hands in his pockets and tried not to get in the way at all while he thought about the horrible turn this day had taken. Jenni’s death was tragic, but the fact that she was killed on the same night Claire Phillips was attacked couldn’t possibly be a coincidence—and it might mean he was closer to a breakthrough on this case than he had realized. Interested parties had most likely noticed his presence in Treasure Point, and it was making someone very nervous. Maybe this meant he was close to seeing the fruits of almost eighteen months focusing on the same case with hardly any break.

Tomorrow he’d go to Claire Phillips’s coffee shop. First he’d make sure she was okay after the attack. She’d seemed like it, but his mind kept replaying how pale her face was, how wide her eyes were.

And then he’d try to figure out what the connection was between the attack against Claire and Jenni’s death. Because he wasn’t letting another woman die on his watch.


THREE (#u092a2346-4cd4-5da8-ac23-2c6cd239252f)

It wasn’t too late when Matt dropped her off, so Claire locked the door behind herself as she’d promised to and fixed herself some dinner. If someone had asked, she wouldn’t have said she was hungry, but apparently the experience earlier that evening hadn’t robbed her of her appetite. It had done the opposite—she ate like she hadn’t eaten all day.

After eating dinner, Claire cleaned up. Not just her kitchen, but the entire apartment. She fielded two more calls from Gemma since their phone conversation in the car, but Claire kept those talks pretty short. She just told her sister to listen to Matt, who had agreed with the chief that the attack was likely random.

At ten o’clock, Claire still believed that the police officers were right, that she was safe now. But she wasn’t having any success convincing herself to become tired. Every time she so much as looked toward the bedroom, she knew there was no way sleep was coming, not anytime soon. So Claire did what she always did when some aspect of her life overwhelmed her and needed sorting out somehow.

She pulled out her box of painting supplies, dug through until she came up with the watercolors. This was her preferred medium, especially when reality felt a little too harsh and needed the edges blurred slightly, the best light put on it. Tonight was a watercolor night if she’d ever seen one.

On a sheet of watercolor paper, she started to paint from a photo she’d taken of the marsh earlier in the week. As she did, she thought about what had happened tonight.

She’d been attacked. She let her mind wrap itself around that as she worked on blending just the right shade for the salt water in the marsh creek she was painting in the corner of the paper. She’d been attacked, but she didn’t know why. Someone had rescued her, but while he looked familiar, she didn’t know who he was. Not long after her attack, another woman in Treasure Point had been killed.

Claire was starting to question her decision to spend the night alone in her apartment. She knew Gemma or Matt would come get her if she asked, but was it really necessary? Murder in town or not, her random attacker wouldn’t follow up, wouldn’t track her down to her home.

Right?

Too many questions. And Claire didn’t have the answers, something that didn’t sit well with her. She always had the answers. She focused on her painting again, creek complete, and moved on to the delicate strokes that would make the marsh grass itself.

Claire glanced at the clock once or twice as she worked. Ten thirty. Then just past midnight. Her mind still wasn’t tired. It was still racing with curiosities and possibilities.

She shivered, unable to shake the feeling of unease that had persisted since the attack. She set the brush down. Almost unconsciously she rubbed her left shoulder, the first place the man had grabbed. When she realized what she was doing, she jerked her hand away, like acknowledging the bruise somehow made what had happened more real. Instead of dwelling on it, she examined her painting—almost finished—to judge her progress so far.

It looked like the scene she’d seen and photographed, but the early morning sun had been warm in that picture, comforting and full of the promise of what the day would bring.

She’d stayed true to the water and the grass in that picture. The scene itself was exactly the same. But a change in the mood had come across through shadows, a bit of a feeling of discord in the particular shade of yellow-gold she’d chosen for the light. It wasn’t the first time she’d done that, projected emotions she was feeling onto a painting, but it was certainly telling of how troubled she truly was by her attack. She kept painting anyway—it was beautiful even if it wasn’t the picture she’d intended to paint. And it was helping her calm down—the subtle shaking of her hands that hadn’t stopped since everything had happened was finally starting to ease.

Forty minutes after midnight, she set the brush down, painting complete. The idea of starting another crossed her mind, since usually she painted until everything in her mind was resolved, but she knew better than to expect to clear her mind fully after everything that had happened tonight. For now she did feel better, at least a little, and she needed to go to sleep, since she had to be downstairs at five o’clock to start the cinnamon rolls. Claire knew that bakeries in bigger cities opened so early that proprietors had to start baking at four or even three in the morning. But Treasure Point didn’t get going until about seven most days. And even that was early for all but some fisherman and a few professionals whose jobs started early.

Claire put her paints away in order, the way she liked them, then stood and stretched. She looked around the nearly dark room and wished she’d turned a few more lights on. She had one small light on in the kitchen, her lamp on her painting table, and then the string of Christmas lights outside. The rest was darkness.

She usually turned off everything but the Christmas lights when she went to bed. Tonight she was leaving all of it on. She walked around the apartment, checking corners and closets even as she laughed at herself for her paranoia. If someone had been out to get her and hiding in her apartment, he’d have made his move to attack her when she was immersed in her painting.

Once she’d confirmed that she was the only one in the apartment and all the doors and windows were locked, Claire went to bed. God, keep me safe, she prayed as she started to drift.

Her eyes snapped open. Claire glanced at the clock. Just after two. It felt like she’d just fallen asleep, but apparently she’d gotten a couple of hours’ worth.

She swallowed hard and looked around. Her room was dark, but the main living area still gave off a bit of light, enough for her to glance around and confirm that everything was undisturbed. She didn’t know what had awakened her, but clearly there was nothing to worry about.

Claire settled back on her pillow, took a deep breath.

And with no warning, no flicker like a regular power outage often gave, the apartment went dark. And the stillness suddenly felt...not as empty as it had seconds before.

Like she wasn’t alone.

The shadows in the darkness changed ever so slightly. Claire blinked. And then, in the slivers of moonlight that came through the cracks in the curtains in her bedroom window, she saw a shape.

Someone was in her bedroom.

* * *

Always go with your first instinct. It was one of the rules Nate tried to live by. But Nate had broken that rule when he’d pushed away the urge to visit Kite Tails and Coffee and check on Claire when he’d left Jenni’s apartment. He’d wanted to make sure she was settled in safely for the night, but he’d felt drained after the long evening and had decided that checking in on her could wait until morning. He glanced at the red numbers of the hotel alarm clock. It was 2:00 a.m.

Closer to morning than nighttime.

Nate closed his eyes, forced his head a little deeper down into the pillow as though that would somehow help him forget the reason he wasn’t sleeping and make rest come more easily. Not two minutes passed before he got up, threw on yesterday’s jeans and then zipped his black leather jacket over the undershirt he’d been sleeping—well, trying to sleep—in. He’d walk downtown and confirm that things were quiet in the area around Claire’s shop, and then maybe his mind would let him catch at least a couple of hours of good sleep before he went back into town in the morning to observe.

A week, he thought to himself as he quickened his pace on his course toward the middle of town. He’d been sitting in Kite Tails and Coffee every day for a week, watching people in the town come and go, and so far, he’d seen nothing that would help him with his case. On the bright side, Nate had a pretty good idea of folks’ routines now. He’d always left the coffee shop when the morning rush died down around ten in the morning and walked around the town and the surrounding areas, taking pictures since being a photographer was part of his cover. He’d always wanted to delve deeper into the hobby, get better at it, and he should have been thankful for the time to do so.

Mostly, though, he’d be thankful for a break in this case. He had to be getting close to something or Jenni wouldn’t have been targeted. And somehow it was connected to Claire, since she appeared to be a target, as well. But how? He didn’t have all the pieces yet.

He was in Treasure Point to figure out where the supply of Wicked, the Carson brothers’ drug of choice, was coming from. He didn’t believe they were manufacturing it, but the brothers were good at making it look like they had no associates. That was why they’d become so important in the drug trade—people appreciated their discretion. But sooner or later, they’d slip up—and then, if it all went according to plan, they’d lead him to even bigger players in the trade.

The lights from downtown grew closer. Nate shook his head a little at the Christmas displays in the store windows. Not his favorite holiday. He felt that, as a Christian, maybe it should have been more special to him. And he was thankful for His salvation, thankful that Jesus coming as a baby made that possible.

But Christmas had been his sister’s favorite holiday. And right now every single Christmas that passed without her just...hurt.

That was a subject he could wait for another time to think through. For now, better to push that one out of his mind and not think about it.

Instead he focused on what he was doing now. Coming down here to check on Claire had seemed like such a good idea when he’d been lying in his hotel room, unable to sleep. But now that he was here...what? Did he call her in the middle of the night, announce that he was the guy who’d rescued her and just hope she didn’t flip out? How could he even explain how he had her number?

But standing here in the street near her building wasn’t doing her any good, not really.

Nate spun on his heel, turned back in the direction he’d come from. Less than ten steps away, he stopped again. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Then it hit him.

Claire’s Christmas lights hadn’t been on. In fact, the entire building had been dark, unlike the other shops downtown, most of which had at least a dim light on inside to discourage break-ins. The lights being off in the middle of the night wasn’t necessarily reason enough to get concerned...but this wasn’t his first late-night walk around the center of town, and he was almost certain that she’d had Christmas lights on then, hadn’t she? Surely he would have noticed if there was just one shop that stayed completely dark.

Nate couldn’t shake the worries that the darkness meant someone had flipped a breaker to cut her power. Something that would make it easier for someone to break into her apartment and catch her off guard.

His stomach churned. Gut instinct swirled against self-doubt, but instincts won and Nate turned around, walked to the front of the shop, tried the door.

Locked. Good, that was smart of her. Now was the part where he should turn back around and return to his hotel room. But he couldn’t. Instead he found himself walking around the back of the building in search of a staircase. Many old downtown buildings had exterior fire escapes running down the back of the structure, supplying direct access into the living spaces above through a window or a sliding door. Surely if she’d been conscientious enough to lock the shop door, Claire had locked the door or window that opened out onto the fire escape. He’d check it and if it was locked, he’d head back to the hotel and laugh at his paranoia. If it wasn’t secure...

Nate found the stairs, which appeared to lead up to a small deck, decorated with a patio table and a pair of chairs. Was the sliding door cracked open? Maybe. He couldn’t be sure.

He took the steps up two at a time as the urgency to make sure she was safe built inside him. He made a quick scan of the deck. Nothing seemed off or out of place there. Nate made his way across the deck, straight to the door.

It stood open about an inch. She might have left it open like that herself...but when Nate pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and shone it on the knob, signs of forced entry were evident.

It was too much like the situation with Jenni earlier. Too similar. His stomach sank as he thought of the time he’d wasted, second-guessing his decision to come and check on Claire. Was he about to discover that he had arrived too late yet again?

Nate swallowed hard as he pushed the door the rest of the way open. He’d never been in Claire’s apartment, so he wasn’t sure where he was going, but he felt along the wall on the right-hand side for a light switch. There. He flipped it on.

Nothing. Solid darkness everywhere.

Nate’s suspicions were confirmed. Someone had flipped the breakers.

And chances were good that the attacker was in Claire’s house or had been. “Claire!” he yelled.

A muffled scream came from one of the rooms further back. He started forward, pulling out a small flashlight from his pocket and shining it in front of him. The living room seemed to be empty. He kept running, past the kitchen, back to what he assumed were bedrooms.

He lifted his flashlight. It didn’t do much to light up the entire room, but right now he didn’t need it to. It shone directly onto a large figure that wasn’t Claire.

And that was all Nate needed to see.

“Let her go!” he yelled as he moved forward, trying to catch sight of Claire. She must be on the other side of the intruder.

She was. Huddled on the bed against the wall, with a lamp lifted up. As soon as the intruder turned toward Nate, she took a swing, hard, and connected with his head. The assailant stumbled back, looked from Claire to Nate, and then shoved past Nate and ran out the door.

Nate hesitated. Stay with Claire or run? It was déjà vu from earlier in the evening.

“Go. I’m fine.”

It was all he needed to hear. This time he ran, but catching up with the attacker wasn’t as easy as he’d expected. The other man threw things in his path as he ran past them. Nate kept his footing but wasn’t fast enough to close the distance between them. Just as the intruder was about to get away, Nate lunged, grabbed at him. His hand latched on to something the man was wearing, but Nate tripped and fell on the ground, straight onto his knee. Nate’s hand came away with only some kind of utility pouch that had been Velcroed onto the other man’s belt as the intruder darted away. Nate opened it up. Just some tools, nothing incriminating, nothing that helped identify him. He’d give them to Shiloh to see if she could run them for prints, but with as much evidence as this case was giving her to process, he knew it would certainly take a few days, maybe even a few weeks.

He made a fist and hit the floor. Maybe if he’d acted sooner he could have avoided this altogether, kept the man from getting in.

For now, he’d done all he could. He staggered to his feet, wincing at the pain in his knee but relieved that it seemed only bruised, not sprained or torn. And at least Claire was safe. “He got away. I’m sorry,” he called to her as he walked back in her direction, intentionally making as much noise as possible so that he wouldn’t startle her. There was no telling how she’d be handling this...

He made his way back to her room, found her in the same place where he’d left her.

“Claire.” He stopped in the doorway, watched her for some acknowledgment of his presence, but she said nothing, just sat there. “Claire, he’s gone. You’re okay.”

Still nothing.

“All right, get up. You need to call the police.”

At that, her gaze finally shot to him. The stunned look on her face, the vulnerable one that had started to rip his heart out, was replaced by sheer indignation.

Good. He’d made her mad, stopped her from panicking. It was what he’d been aiming for, even if it meant she thought he was a jerk now because of it.

She reached for a cell phone on the bedside table. Nate noted her hands were shaking. That would likely continue for the next little while.

“Hi, this is Claire Phillips. Someone broke into my apartment.”


FOUR (#u092a2346-4cd4-5da8-ac23-2c6cd239252f)

Claire stood frozen in her living room, eyes glued to the view outside her window. It had seemed the only safe spot to look at, since her home was in shambles. The police were on their way, so for now all there was to do was wait.

She didn’t know which was scarier—the fact that there had been an intruder in her home, or the fact that he had wreaked all this destruction while she’d been asleep and unaware, only waking up moments before the man actually entered her bedroom. The thought of someone going through her paint supplies, rifling through her stack of finished paintings...it was worse than just an invasion of privacy, more than vandalism.

“Are you okay?”

The solid but quiet voice of her rescuer was familiar, and not just from tonight. Claire’s frowned as she looked up at him. Was it possible she knew him from somewhere other than the coffee shop?

To answer his question, she shook her head. No. She wasn’t okay. But she didn’t want to talk about that right now. “I know you,” she said, studying his face as she took a step closer to him. “Where do I know you from? You aren’t from Treasure Point.”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”

“You’re not denying that I recognize you from somewhere, though.”

He shook his head slightly, then stilled, head tilted to the side just a little, as he studied her in return. “I recognized you right away, but then again, you’ve changed less since college than I have.”

“College...” she mumbled.

As though she’d summoned the memories up, a collage of snapshots from her college life played through her mind. She’d left Treasure Point for college, gone to Savannah to chase her big-city dreams just like any stereotypical small-town seventeen-year-old. She’d studied well, worked hard to keep her GPA up, but she’d also had fun with her group of friends. Kayaking near Little Tybee Island, climbing at the rock gym in Savannah... There had been a large group of them, but the three she’d spent the most time with were her roommate, Katie Dunbar, her boyfriend at the time, Justin Colton...

And the man she now recognized as the one standing in front of her. Nate Torres.

“Nate.” She’d never thought she’d see him again, not after their group’s friendship had fizzled after Justin had left for Atlanta to get his master’s. The two of them had tried dating long-distance, but Justin had not been cut out for a committed relationship. At least, not with her. Claire had found that out the hard way when she’d shown up in Atlanta to surprise him one weekend and found that he was out with another woman. He’d apologized and promised that it was an isolated mistake—that he’d never do it again. Like the naive girl she was then, Claire had believed he meant it. Maybe he had. But their relationship had never been the same and then...then the accident had happened.

Dating Justin had been a risk in more than one way. A risk taken lightly that had ended badly.

Claire had learned her lesson, had matured past the attraction to charming bad boys since then. What she was looking for now was more along the lines of a steady, predictable man with a stable job. Someone mature, who realized that adventures were for kids, and adults had to settle down. Be dependable. Stay committed.

Though to be fair, a sensible, unadventurous guy wouldn’t have been any use to her tonight. If someone steady and unexcitable had seen her getting attacked in the street, he’d have called the police or gone for help. He never would have directly charged her attacker to force him to release her. And breaking into her apartment to protect her from a dangerous intruder? Forget about it. For better or for worse, Nate was exactly what she’d needed tonight, and she was grateful that he’d been there for her—not just once, but twice.

And if he happened to look particularly handsome and heroic just now, she was just going to have to ignore it. Never again was she going to let attraction overpower her good sense.

Nate was the epitome of everything she’d never fall for again. But while he was the last man on earth she’d get involved with, he was someone she trusted.

Claire swallowed hard. “Nate,” she repeated. “Do you want to tell me what you’re doing in Treasure Point?”

“I’m here as a photographer.”

“You’re a photographer now?”

“It’s one of the things I do, yes.”

“And the others? Legal? Not legal?”

“Claire, you can trust me.”

“Oddly enough, I know that. But I also know that it’s too much of a coincidence that someone tried to kill me right after you came to town—and that you just happened to be in the right position to save me. Twice. There’s something more going on here, isn’t there?”

He didn’t seem to see those words coming, and for a minute he didn’t say anything, just stood there. Still and speechless.

“Yes, there’s more going on here. But as for who wants you dead... I don’t know why anyone would be after you.”

“But I do.”

Claire swung her gaze to the door, where two uniformed officers stood. Her brother-in-law, Matt, and his friend Clay.

“What do you mean?” she asked Matt.

He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times and then held it up to show her a picture.

“That’s my business card. For the shop.” Claire shook her head. “You think someone wanted me dead because...”

“Wait, I wasn’t done.” Another few taps. He held up the phone again. “This is the back of the same business card.”

Scrawled on the plain white card stock in a handwriting that she didn’t recognize were two words. “What do these mean to you?”

Ocean Lights.

“It’s the painting I just finished last week.”

“What was it of, Claire?”

“Just...just landscape, like all my paintings. You think that’s why someone wants me dead? That doesn’t make any sense. It’s a painting, Matt, not anything important.” The words felt multilayered to Claire, like a betrayal of her true self even as they came out of her mouth. She’d like to think her paintings did have meaning, but for now they were a hobby. The coffee shop was her real business. And besides, what she’d really meant was that her paintings weren’t anything to kill over.

That much she was sure of.

“This business card was found in the hands of a woman who was murdered here in Treasure Point earlier this evening.”

The thought of a murder was horrifying—and more horrifying that it had been in Treasure Point. She’d heard about it on the police radio at the station, but it was fully sinking in now. What if it was someone she knew? Out of the corner of her eye, Claire noticed that Nate winced almost as much as she did. A visceral reaction...except his wasn’t surprise.

Nate had already known about that murder?

She looked back at her brother-in-law. Looked back at Nate. She’d almost say from the way he had a habit of showing up and rescuing her, from the way he was hyperfocused on the crimes that had happened earlier, that he was law enforcement himself, but the black leather certainly didn’t fit the clean-cut image she associated with the police in Treasure Point.

“Claire is going to need protection on her at all times,” Nate stated.

“There’s no need,” Matt said. “They should have the guy by now. I got the call that he’d been found just after I received orders to come here.”

Claire watched Nate for a reaction, but this time she got nothing but solid poker face.

“Who are they bringing in?”

“Trace Johnson, Jenni’s ex-boyfriend. He’d been threatening her—she filed a complaint, was trying to get a restraining order.”

“And you think he killed her and then came over here to kill Claire?”

Matt shook his head. “Listen, I’m not saying it makes complete sense yet. We’re still working everything out. But it’s possible. Who else would have a reason to be after Jenni?”

“The better question is, what reason would Jenni’s ex-boyfriend have to go after Claire, just because Jenni had her business card?”

“We’re going to be working the next few days on establishing motive as well as collecting more evidence. You know how this works, Torres. How about you do your job and let us do our jobs?”

Nate shook his head, and Claire recognized that stubborn set to his jaw. He was usually easygoing, but when he dug in his heels, he was unmovable. “I think she needs protection until you can prove he was behind both crimes. Or either crime, for that matter.”

“She’s my sister-in-law. I want her safe, too, but we have no reason to think Trace isn’t our guy.”

“We’ll talk more about this later.” Nate’s voice left no doubt that he meant it. The conversation wasn’t over.

Claire’s gaze bounced between the two men, one who she knew cared about her like family, and the other who should have just been part of a past she’d almost forgotten about, but had turned up back in her life and was now making it very clear that he would fight for her safety.

But why did he care so much? And why was he so convinced she was still in danger from her attacker when Matt and Clay seemed to think she wasn’t?

Nate Torres knew more than he was letting on.

She thought of Matt’s words just now. “You do your job and let us do our jobs...” Was he talking about the photography business? Somehow Claire didn’t think so. She needed answers. And it seemed like Nate might be the one who could give them to her.

* * *

“You’re not staying here for the rest of the night,” Nate said to Claire once the officers had moved into the bedroom to see if the intruder had left behind any evidence.

“Excuse me?” She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think that a few years of friendship nearly a decade ago entitles you to tell me how to live my life. If the police don’t think it’s safe for me to stay, then that’s one thing, but who are you to tell me it’s not?”

Something in her eyes... This wasn’t just bravado. She was genuinely asking, challenging him to give her an answer—to explain what he was doing in town, and what his connection was to the attacks against her.

He’d known when it became apparent that the Carson brothers were using Treasure Point for some of their operations that coming to town and using it as his base to investigate meant running into Claire was inevitable. Thankfully, for the last couple of weeks she hadn’t recognized him, and he didn’t blame her. He’d changed since college, a transformation that had begun his senior year when his younger sister died, and that had continued until he was the guy he was now.

The guy he was now knew the dangers of letting anyone get close to him. It didn’t just risk his secrets—which could mean life or death for an undercover agent. It also put his heart at risk of getting hurt. And he’d shouldered too much hurt already to sign himself up for another dose.

Nate looked away from Claire before those enormous brown eyes could get to him any more. She trusted him, she said. Well, she shouldn’t. His sister had, and yet he hadn’t managed to say anything to convince her to leave the path she’d put herself on—the one that had led to her death. Jenni had trusted him, too, and she’d bled out on the floor of her apartment earlier.

He wished he could tell Claire to quit trusting him.

Although his investigation would be easier if she did. And more important if he looked at it logically, she’d be more likely to stay safe if she’d follow his advice. Not that that made him feel much better about her odds.

“Why don’t you ask what you really want to know, Claire?” He met her eyes again, tried to steel himself better against their effect on him this time.

“I want to know who you really are.”

No, she didn’t, not who he was in his core. But that wasn’t what she was asking. She wanted to know why he was in town, what he was doing in Treasure Point.

Those kinds of questions, he was prepared to answer. He’d talked to his supervisor at the GBI, Wade Beckett, soon after he came to town, and let him know that he had a history with someone in Treasure Point. She might have questions if she recognized him. After conducting a thorough background check on her, Wade had agreed that if it became necessary to tell Claire why Nate was in town in order to maintain his cover with everyone else, then it was okay.

That didn’t mean Nate was ready for her to know.

But her gaze wasn’t letting up, and when it came down to it...Nate knew who was after her.

And she needed to know if she was going to stay alive.

“I’m an agent with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. I’m in Treasure Point undercover to do recon on a drug smuggling group that we believe is operating in the area.”

Whatever she’d been expecting, it obviously hadn’t been that. He watched her blink a few times, and then she moved to the couch. Sank down into it.

“How much are you allowed to tell me?”

So she understood the basic parameters of secrecy his job demanded. That was something he hadn’t been expecting.

“Enough to give you an idea of who wants to kill you and how important it is that you take whatever precautions I suggest.”

“Tell me.”

“Tony and Jesse Carson are brothers. The GBI has been tracking them for the last eighteen months because of their involvement in the distribution of a new designer drug, Wicked. Recently they moved their operations down to somewhere south of Savannah, most likely because the country down here is more difficult to track people in. Swamps, marshes, gators... There are a lot of places to get lost between Savannah and the Georgia-Florida line.”

“So what exactly are you here to find out?”

“We don’t know right now if the Carsons are manufacturing and distributing the drug, or if they’re working with someone else to make it, or if they’re taking orders from someone. My gut tells me that there’s a higher-up calling the shots. If we can gather enough evidence against the Carsons, they might roll over and sell out the guy who’s running the show.”

“But either way, the Carsons are the ones who want me dead?”

“It looks that way, yes. The man who attacked you on the street—I recognized him. It was Jesse Carson himself. He must have a reason to have attacked you personally rather than sending one of his thugs to do it. It might have been him in the apartment tonight, too, though I can’t be certain.”

“And the woman earlier. The one who was killed. You think she fits into this, too, don’t you?”

He nodded slowly. “Apparently the police don’t agree with me, though. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that her ex happened to get violent on the same night the Carson brothers wanted to take you out...but I doubt it.”

“Was she...were you...?”

Nate shook his head, knowing what she was asking. “She was my confidential informant.”

“But why would someone kill her?”

“If they found out she was giving information to law enforcement, that would be reason enough—these guys don’t take betrayal lightly. But there’s also the possibility that she found out something important, and they wanted to silence her to keep her from telling anyone.”

“And why did she have my business card?”

“I don’t know. But wait, as long as we’re talking about that, what was written on the back? You said it was the name of a painting, right?”

Claire nodded. “Ocean Lights.”

“Is it downstairs in your shop?” He’d noticed the gallery wall of artwork displayed the first time he’d been in the shop. Claire was a talented woman—but then, he’d always known that.

“No.” Her eyebrows pushed together as she frowned. “That’s why it seems odd she’d have the name of that one.”

“You haven’t told anyone about it?”

“I told Gemma the other day when we were having lunch at the diner.”

Even without knowing how the painting fit into this, Nate could feel tension building in his neck and shoulders. Of course Claire would have had no reason to realize it wasn’t safe to talk about her latest painting in a public place, but now that it did have significance and a connection to at least one serious crime, it was a privacy nightmare. Literally anyone could have heard her having that conversation. They’d get no leads from pursuing that.

Nate would deal with the implications later. For now, he needed to know more.

“What made this piece special?”

“Here, I can show you.” Claire stood, moved toward the paintings stacked against the side wall of her living room, started to flip through them.

She got to the last one, stilled. And then started over.

Nate knew where this was going but asked anyway. “What is it?” He moved closer to her, protective instincts amping up even more at the repeated reminders that someone had been in her house.

“It’s gone.”

“You didn’t misplace it.” It was more a statement than a question.

Claire shook her head.

“Someone took it tonight.”

“How long was he in here before I woke up? What else did he do?” She muttered the words softly, but Nate still caught them. Looking paler by the moment, Claire sunk down onto the couch again.

“There’s no way to tell.”

A tear ran down Claire’s cheek. Nate moved closer, not sure what he could do to help, but feeling like he should at least try. More than one tear. Several.

She sniffed and brushed at her cheek. “I just don’t understand.”

Was she more upset about the painting or the home invasion? He didn’t feel like he could fix it, at least try to fix it, until he knew. “Don’t understand...” he prompted her.

“What does your case or the woman who was killed have to do with my painting? Even if she overheard me talking about it, why would she care?”

“Can you tell me more about the painting?”

Claire was staring at the painting table, seeming lost in thought. After a minute, she looked back at him. Met his eyes.

“Now that I know why you’re here in town...” She shook her head, brushed another tear away. “I’m afraid I did something stupid.”

“On purpose?”

“Completely accidentally. But that doesn’t put me in any less danger, does it?” Claire let out a breath, pushed herself up from the couch and started to pace. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”

“Something wrong?”

“Just a lot on my mind. Watching the ocean usually calms me down, so I often go out onto the deck and just watch it, listen to the waves. With the rest of this area mostly abandoned at night, it’s quiet. Peaceful.”

“So what did you do that was stupid?”

Claire exhaled. “One night, very late, I saw lights from where I stood on the deck, lights on the ocean like they belonged to a boat. But it’s not normal in this area for people to have boats out on the water in the middle of the night, so I’d never seen the way the lights reflect off the waves and mix with the moonlight before. I wanted to paint it.”

“So that was the subject of your painting?”

Claire gave a nod. “Yes.”

“You potentially painted a drug smuggling run, or a drug meet-up. I’m guessing with both of those, but I think it makes sense, Claire.”

“It does, now that you’ve told me drug smuggling is happening in the area. At the time, I didn’t have a reason to think there was anything sinister about it. It’s Treasure Point, and while we have had our share of crime lately, drug smuggling being a problem had never crossed my mind.”

Claire looked sick, and Nate couldn’t blame her. Her decision to paint some lights on the ocean, something seemingly innocuous, had put her life at risk.

All they could do now was damage control. It was too late to change the past.

Just then one of the officers strode out of the bedroom, looked over at Claire. “Matt is helping Shiloh process the scene. But I’m supposed to tell you that you’ll be staying at Matt and Gemma’s house tomorrow—well, today, technically. It’s Matt’s scheduled day off, and that will give you some protection.”

Claire nodded, glanced over at Nate.

“If it’s okay, I’d like to ask you a few more questions myself,” he said. “Dinner?”

She nodded. “I can do dinner. Since I’m assuming you’re armed...” Her eyes moved to his hip, and while Nate knew his .40 was completely concealed, he was impressed that she’d guessed correctly right where it was. “Maybe you could bring me back over here to clean up some of this mess after we eat? I’m not going to be staying here anytime soon, but I’d feel better knowing there wasn’t a huge mess. Or we could come here and I’ll cook—it’ll mean we’re not out at a restaurant somewhere we might be easy to attack.”

“If that works for the chief.” Nate looked back at the chief.

He nodded. “Sounds like a good plan. I’ll have officers here processing the scene for the next few hours, but we’ll lock it up after we’re done. There shouldn’t be any need for you to stay out or leave things as they are once evidence has been logged. We should be able to get everything we need before noon, I would guess.”

“Thank you.” Claire shook her head. “I can’t believe this is all happening. And wait, what about my shop? I can’t just close for the duration of...whatever this is.”

“We understand that.” Nate thought he spoke for all of them. “But tomorrow is rather critical. Both attacks on you have been so close together that the chances of another one goes down with every hour that passes tomorrow, if that makes sense. Basically, someone wanted you taken out tonight. So either they’re going to hit hard again as soon as they can to get rid of you as quickly as possible, or they’ve decided to step back and regroup before targeting you any further. We won’t know which strategy they’ve chosen until we see how it plays out. So for tomorrow, we want someone with you one hundred percent of the time.”

There was a hint of the old Claire in the way she physically cringed at the idea of full-time protection. She’d been so independent in college—that clearly hadn’t changed. But she’d also been such a free spirit, confident and adventurous. How she’d gone from that to running a coffee shop and living the life of someone much older, he had no idea.


FIVE (#u092a2346-4cd4-5da8-ac23-2c6cd239252f)

Claire had anticipated a much more awkward day, considering that she wasn’t allowed to leave Matt and Gemma’s house. Not only that, she was only allowed to leave her brother-in-law’s sight for five minutes at a time, and that was only to use the restroom. But Matt and Gemma made the day fun. They played multiple rounds of a board game they all liked, Claire helped Gemma organize some of her kitchen cabinets, and then they watched a movie in the afternoon.

Nate picked her up in her car just before five and drove her back to her apartment. Surprisingly, Claire hadn’t felt any signs of fear at being back. No, the only fear she was feeling right now stemmed from anxiety about this evening itself, about what it would be like to be alone with Nate, someone who knew the old Claire. What did he think of her now that she’d come running back to her hometown, back to the “safe” life she’d claimed to be trying to escape back in her college days?

She reminded herself that it didn’t matter what he thought. All that mattered was the fact that his presence meant she could be here, cleaning up this mess after she fed them both something, and that he might give her a clearer picture of how the events of yesterday affected her life, at least temporarily. Her safety was at stake here. That was far more important than her pride, no matter how much it smarted to have him see how much she’d changed.

Claire unlocked the door, and Nate followed her inside. She found it ironic that though she made her living with hospitality downstairs at the coffee shop, she rarely had people over to her apartment. She’d had friends over more often before she’d sold her house. The apartment just wasn’t very conducive to having guests. But her options for people to entertain were dwindling, anyway, unless she wanted to be the third wheel—the only person not part of a couple. She had friends in town from high school, but most of them were married by now, and several of them had kids. She knew, theoretically, that she should still maintain relationships with them, but tell that to the feeling of loneliness and overwhelming awareness of her table-for-one relationship status any time she’d tried in the past to have a couple over.

Lately it hadn’t been worth it to her. She’d had her parents over, and Gemma and Matt, but that was it.

“You’re sure you don’t mind having dinner with me and talking about the case? I should have asked you in the car, I guess,” Nate said as they walked inside, giving her an out she was all too tempted to take.

Honestly? No, Claire wasn’t sure. But she still didn’t feel like she understood what she was up against. Maybe she just needed Nate to rehash what he’d said last night, let her have a chance to process it when she wasn’t sleep-deprived and pumped full of adrenaline from waking up to find someone in her apartment. Something still didn’t make sense to her, and she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

Besides, there was that elusive feeling of safety that had been missing since yesterday when she was attacked in town. Something about Nate nearby brought that back, logical or not. Was it the fact that he was someone she had a history with? That didn’t make much sense—she had a history of some type or another with almost everyone in this town, including just about everyone on the police force. She was surrounded by people who had known her forever.

So why did Nate affect her this way? Claire didn’t know. But he did. She’d felt his absence all day—she wanted to feel safe now.

Which is why she said, “I’m sure,” and put as much confidence into her voice as she could.

“All right. At least let me help make dinner, then. What are we having?”

And with that, Nate was in her kitchen, moving toward the sink, then washing his hands and standing ready to help like he belonged there. Anything Claire was lacking in confidence tonight she could borrow from Nate, because he had more than enough.

“I was thinking something simple. Okra and tomatoes with Cajun sausage and rice sound okay?”

Nate smiled. Had she seen him smile like that before? If she had, it had been a very long time ago—which was a shame. Because as attractive as he was when he looked serious and thoughtful—which was most of the time—he was at least as handsome when he smiled. “Sounds great.”

Claire swallowed hard and looked away from him. “You can cut up the okra if you want. It’s in the fridge, and cutting boards are in the second drawer to the left of the stove.”

They worked together in silence for a little while, which went more smoothly than Claire would have expected. The only person who’d ever tried to cook in this kitchen with her was Gemma. She loved her sister, but she and Gemma had realized that they weren’t meant to share the same kitchen. They ran into each other, reached over each other and got in the way so thoroughly that it took twice as long to cook anything. She and Nate moved through dinner prep like it was some kind of dance they’d both done before.

Dance? Really? Claire shook her head. Nate Torres was the last man on earth she should have such thoughts about. Dating Justin back in college had been a bad enough idea, and she’d sworn off anyone resembling that type ever since.





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