Silent Night Shadows. Sarah Varland

ELEVEN

       TWELVE

       THIRTEEN

       FOURTEEN

       FIFTEEN

       SIXTEEN

       SEVENTEEN

       Dear Reader

       Extract

       Copyright

       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