Silent Night Shadows. Sarah Varland

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

      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.