Читать книгу: «Silent Night Shadows»

ONE

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.”