Silent Night Shadows. Sarah Varland

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