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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.
