in every year—even the ones when she’d been on holiday break from college—with her parents and sister. This year her parents were on an extended vacation in New England, visiting some of her mom’s relatives for the holidays, but Gemma was at the ceremony and Claire had planned to meet her.
Gemma. How could she not have texted her sister by now? Claire pulled her phone out.
I can’t make it.
She could think of nothing else to say, so she just sent it.
Gemma’s reply appeared seconds later.
What’s up? Are you okay?
Claire messaged back,
Long story. Call me on your way home?
Okay.
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