Silent Night Shadows

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

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

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.