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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.
