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 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.”
The Treasure Point Police Department wasn’t somewhere Claire had spent much
