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“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.
