Sarah Varland - Silent Night Shadows

The guy he was now knew the dangers of letting anyone get close to him. It didn’t just risk his secrets—which could mean life or death for an undercover agent. It also put his heart at risk of getting hurt. And he’d shouldered too much hurt already to sign himself up for another dose.

Nate looked away from Claire before those enormous brown eyes could get to him any more. She trusted him, she said. Well, she shouldn’t. His sister had, and yet he hadn’t managed to say anything to convince her to leave the path she’d put herself on—the one that had led to her death. Jenni had trusted him, too, and she’d bled out on the floor of her apartment earlier.

He wished he could tell Claire to quit trusting him.

Although his investigation would be easier if she did. And more important if he looked at it logically, she’d be more likely to stay safe if she’d follow his advice. Not that that made him feel much better about her odds.

“Why don’t you ask what you really want to know, Claire?” He met her eyes again, tried to steel himself better against their effect on him this time.

“I want to know who you really are.”

No, she didn’t, not who he was in his core. But that wasn’t what she was asking. She wanted to know why he was in town, what he was doing in Treasure Point.

Those kinds of questions, he was prepared to answer. He’d talked to his supervisor at the GBI, Wade Beckett, soon after he came to town, and let him know that he had a history with someone in Treasure Point. She might have questions if she recognized him. After conducting a thorough background check on her, Wade had agreed that if it became necessary to tell Claire why Nate was in town in order to maintain his cover with everyone else, then it was okay.

That didn’t mean Nate was ready for her to know.

But her gaze wasn’t letting up, and when it came down to it...Nate knew who was after her.

And she needed to know if she was going to stay alive.

“I’m an agent with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. I’m in Treasure Point undercover to do recon on a drug smuggling group that we believe is operating in the area.”

Whatever she’d been expecting, it obviously hadn’t been that. He watched her blink a few times, and then she moved to the couch. Sank down into it.

“How much are you allowed to tell me?”

So she understood the basic parameters of secrecy his job demanded. That was something he hadn’t been expecting.

“Enough to give you an idea of who wants to kill you and how important it is that you take whatever precautions I suggest.”

“Tell me.”

“Tony and Jesse Carson are brothers. The GBI has been tracking them for the last eighteen months because of their involvement in the distribution of a new designer drug, Wicked. Recently they moved their operations down to somewhere south of Savannah, most likely because the country down here is more difficult to track people in. Swamps, marshes, gators... There are a lot of places to get lost between Savannah and the Georgia-Florida line.”

“So what exactly are you here to find out?”

“We don’t know right now if the Carsons are manufacturing and distributing the drug, or if they’re working with someone else to make it, or if they’re taking orders from someone. My gut tells me that there’s a higher-up calling the shots. If we can gather enough evidence against the Carsons, they might roll over and sell out the guy who’s running the show.”

“But either way, the Carsons are the ones who want me dead?”

“It looks that way, yes. The man who attacked you on the street—I recognized him. It was Jesse Carson himself. He must have a reason to have attacked you personally rather than sending one of his thugs to do it. It might have been him in the apartment tonight, too, though I can’t be certain.”

“And the woman earlier. The one who was killed. You think she fits into this, too, don’t you?”

He nodded slowly. “Apparently the police don’t agree with me, though. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that her ex happened to get violent on the same night the Carson brothers wanted to take you out...but I doubt it.”

“Was she...were you...?”

Nate shook his head, knowing what she was asking. “She was my confidential informant.”

“But why would someone kill her?”

“If they found out she was giving information to law enforcement, that would be reason enough—these guys don’t take betrayal lightly. But there’s also the possibility that she found out something important, and they wanted to silence her to keep her from telling anyone.”

“And why did she have my business card?”

“I don’t know. But wait, as long as we’re talking about that, what was written on the back? You said it was the name of a painting, right?”

Claire nodded. “Ocean Lights.”

“Is it downstairs in your shop?” He’d noticed the gallery wall of artwork displayed the first time he’d been in the shop. Claire was a talented woman—but then, he’d always known that.

“No.” Her eyebrows pushed together as she frowned. “That’s why it seems odd she’d have the name of that one.”

“You haven’t told anyone about it?”

“I told Gemma the other day when we were having lunch at the diner.”

Even without knowing how the painting fit into this, Nate could feel tension building in his neck and shoulders. Of course Claire would have had no reason to realize it wasn’t safe to talk about her latest painting in a public place, but now that it did have significance and a connection to at least one serious crime, it was a privacy nightmare. Literally anyone could have heard her having that conversation. They’d get no leads from pursuing that.

Nate would deal with the implications later. For now, he needed to know more.

“What made this piece special?”

“Here, I can show you.” Claire stood, moved toward the paintings stacked against the side wall of her living room, started to flip through them.

She got to the last one, stilled. And then started over.

Nate knew where this was going but asked anyway. “What is it?” He moved closer to her, protective instincts amping up even more at the repeated reminders that someone had been in her house.

“It’s gone.”

“You didn’t misplace it.” It was more a statement than a question.

Claire shook her head.

“Someone took it tonight.”

“How long was he in here before I woke up? What else did he do?” She muttered the words softly, but Nate still caught them. Looking paler by the moment, Claire sunk down onto the couch again.

“There’s no way to tell.”

A tear ran down Claire’s cheek. Nate moved closer, not sure what he could do to help, but feeling like he should at least try. More than one tear. Several.

She sniffed and brushed at her cheek. “I just don’t understand.”

Was she more upset about the painting or the home invasion? He didn’t feel like he could fix it, at least try to fix it, until he knew. “Don’t understand...” he prompted her.

“What does your case or the woman who was killed have to do with my painting? Even if she overheard me talking about it, why would she care?”

“Can you tell me more about the painting?”

Claire was staring at the painting table, seeming lost in thought. After a minute, she looked back at him. Met his eyes.

“Now that I know why you’re here in town...” She shook her head, brushed another tear away. “I’m afraid I did something stupid.”

“On purpose?”

“Completely accidentally. But that doesn’t put me in any less danger, does it?” Claire let out a breath, pushed herself up from the couch and started to pace. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”