Warriors craved—no, needed—battle.
Perhaps the sickness inside him was a result of an easy life. With no wars to wage, his body fought with itself. Didn’t matter. In two days, it would all be over. One way or the other.
Bitter wind stung his face as he turned toward the house. But first he needed to make a sacrifice to atone for his failure in letting her escape. He pushed up his sleeve, then slipped a knife from his pocket and opened the blade. A quick slash across his forearm. Blood dripped onto the snow.
Just like that boy on Samhain.
The first blood sacrifice. The one that had started it all.
A tree limb creaked.
The gods were satisfied.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Reed’s gaze flickered across the room to the couch, where Jayne murmured in her sleep, then back to the file in his lap. Outside the wind howled. Ice pelted the windows. He rolled his head on his neck to stretch muscles that had stiffened during the few hours of rest he’d managed.
He adjusted the lantern next to his reading chair in the far corner of the room, as far away from the stove as he could get while still keeping Jayne in sight. The temperature of the room hovered at sweat lodge, perfect for someone recovering from hypothermia, sweltering for anyone else. Usually insomnia drove him to his workshop until dawn broke, which explained the depressing nature of his work.
But tonight, Reed couldn’t leave the room.
The urge to watch over Jayne was too powerful to ignore. It thrummed through his veins, like the low-level hum of an electrical transformer. His brain insisted she was safe from her captor, insulated by the powerful storm that raged outside, but primal instinct overruled common sense.
That beautiful woman had been abducted and held prisoner and had nearly died yesterday. Like a warrior, she’d trained and valiantly fought her opponent. She’d rest safely if he had to guard her all night long. She’d earned it.
His instincts were also telling him there was a strong possibility Jayne’s abduction was related to the murder case that he was about to dive into. Cops didn’t believe in coincidence. The chance of two violent crimes of this nature occurring in this rural spot in such a short period of time was practically nil. Huntsville wasn’t a stranger to crime, but its violent troubles tended to be of the more personal variety: domestic disturbances, barroom brawls, and the like.
Reed turned to the page in his lap, but the words on the medical examiner’s report blurred, and the thick file felt heavier on his thighs. He could feel his carefully maintained low profile slipping away.
He could look at grisly crime scene photos. He could read autopsy reports. But the one thing he couldn’t handle was media exposure. Unfortunately nothing drew the press like kidnapping and murder. And if there was a juicy scandal attached, reporters would home in on Huntsville like buzzards on roadkill.
Reed was a walking, talking scandal. He needed to keep his name out of the reports and pass Jayne off to Hugh ASAP. Ironically, it was Jayne who had awakened something in him that wanted to do more than simply exist. Something that wanted to start living like the future was more than an endless stretch of sleepless nights.
Jayne snored softly and snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag. The window of the woodstove threw a flicker of light across her pale face, highlighting her scar. Reed watched, mesmerized. A dull ache spread through the center of his chest when he thought of her lucky escape—and what would have happened if she hadn’t managed to get away from her abductor this afternoon.
She’d be dead, just like that college kid from Mayfield.
The ache swelled, amplifying in the vast emptiness of Reed’s heart. Jayne’s courage, strength, and beauty called to him. They threatened to take hold, to root themselves in that place deep within that he’d closed off to everyone except Scott.
He couldn’t get attached to her. After his wife had died, he had vowed to never open his heart again. He couldn’t take another loss.
Jayne turned on her side with a soft sigh. A tendril of hair fell across her cheek. Reed suppressed the urge to sweep it from her face.
Barely.
His gaze dropped to her lips. Her mouth would be hot and soft. He already knew what her body felt like against his. All that was left to imagine was the way she’d taste. Every inch of her. The biggest decision would be whether he started at her slender feet and kissed his way to her core, or worked down from her mouth and across her breasts to get to her center. Blood rushed to his groin as he imagined licking inside her heat.
The strength of his desire shocked him, and his vulnerability pierced him to the soul.
Oh, yeah. The sooner he passed Jayne off to Hugh the better. He’d start clearing the driveway and paths at daybreak. If the storm weakened through the night, as the meteorologist on Reed’s radio predicted, he could get her to town by late afternoon. Then she’d be Hugh’s responsibility. Reed would be in the clear.
She’d be out of his life before the spark in his chest ignited.
But Reed knew the damage was done. He knew what he was missing, why one-night stands weren’t his thing. Closeness. Intimacy. The emotional bond that gave sex its zing.
The very thing he’d purposefully avoided since his life had imploded.
When Jayne left, how would he continue to ignore the giant, gaping hole in his existence?
Scott would leave next fall. Reed would be left with a dog and a hundred acres of lonely wilderness. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He’d purposefully bought a house in the middle of nowhere. After five years in it, he only knew a handful of people in town well. So why did time stretch out in front of him like an open road in the desert? No reason to move forward except that the future was unavoidable.
Shit. He was getting morose. Midnight was a very bad time for in-depth life analyses.
Death was the ultimate distraction, so Reed turned back to the preliminary autopsy report on Zack Miller. Hugh was right. The kid’s throat could’ve been slashed. But why? And by whom?
Reed’s brain flipped through the available scenarios. The college kids got lost. Weather conditions had changed rapidly that weekend, with an unexpected light snowfall. Zack was an Eagle Scout, and his father had insisted the boy had packed extra provisions. His son knew how to survive in the woods. But even experienced woodsmen weren’t immune to the dangers of the wilderness.
One or both of the teens could have been hurt. But being lost or hurt wouldn’t have taken them so far from their intended campsite that rescue crews couldn’t find them in the extensive search that had followed their disappearance.
Had someone followed the boys with the intention of killing them? A personal grudge? Didn’t seem likely according to the boys’ school records and backgrounds, but Reed tucked the possibility in the back of his head.
What had happened to Zack’s roommate, John Mallory? Had he been killed and dumped in a different location? Had animals dragged his remains away? Would his body turn up next spring?
Then there was the coin. How did a two-thousand-year-old Celtic slater end up under a corpse in Maine?
A sudden gust rattled the windows. A muffled creak pulled Reed from his chair. He held his breath while a series of cracks split the air.
Tree.
The thud that followed shook the house. Scott’s middle-school graduation picture slid to the floor with a clatter. Glass shattered. Reed exhaled. It hadn’t sounded like the tree hit the house.
Jayne rolled off the sofa, landing on the floor in a tangle of long limbs. Her wide-open eyes sought his. Fear lingered in their clear depths. Reed’s stomach knotted.
He extended one hand, palm out. “It’s all right.”
Relief crossed her face, and the rope in Reed’s gut tightened. Her trust rattled him nearly as much as the downed tree. He turned toward the kitchen, away from Jayne and her needs.
“What was that?” A bleary-eyed and barefoot Scott stumbled from the hall, hip bones and sinewy abs in stark relief above low-riding
sweatpants.
“Tree, I think. Stay with Jayne.” Reed moved through the kitchen, stepped into his boots, and shrugged into his parka on the way out the door. He scanned the yard. Nothing. Reed rounded the house and stopped cold.
Shit.
A mature oak, with a trunk too thick for Reed’s arms to encircle, lay directly across the drive, right behind the rear wheels of the Yukon.
So much for his plans. Jayne wasn’t going anywhere today.
The first thing Jayne noticed upon waking was the gray morning light filtering through the wooden blinds. The second thing she realized was that she wasn’t at home or in a motel. Pain, dark memories, and panic flooded through her, and the foggy remnants of sleep evaporated from her head.
She bolted upright, sending a zing through the stiff muscles of her back. Cold fear shoved the pain away.
Where was she?
Her gaze ping-ponged around the room and landed on the chair in the corner, now empty. A memory of Reed, alternatively sleeping and reading through the night, popped into her head. A wave of relief followed in its wake. He’d saved her; then he’d watched over her so she could rest.
She sucked in air and blew it out, but her heart was locked in a full-out sprint that threatened to steal the oxygen from her lungs. Jayne concentrated, inhaled, and held the breath deep in her chest. She focused inward, expelling a breath from her core and focusing as she’d been trained. Karate had taught her to control her breathing and function in a high-stress situation. Both skills had come in damned handy yesterday. The light-headed feeling ebbed away as her heart rate slowed.
Hyperventilation averted.
She pushed the heavy sleeping bag down to her waist. Her body was coated with a thin layer of sweat. Her frame ached from head to toe. But all of this paled against the alternative of being dead.
As she stretched her arms to the ceiling, her muscles resisted. A hot bath would be just the thing to loosen her up. Besides, she couldn’t possibly smell like a rose after all she’d been through. Thankfully that was a quick fix as soon as she found Reed.
His house was simple and manly in decor, something she hadn’t even noticed the night before. An overstuffed sofa and chair in chocolate brown, bookshelves, and clean-lined furniture gave it a Pottery Barn feel, which continued down to the wide-planked wood floor and flat, Berber-type area rugs.
The house was comfortable and neat but lacked personal touches. No artwork, no magazines, no clutter. Reed’s halfhearted Christmas decorations were comprised of one poinsettia and a cinnamon-scented jar candle on the coffee table. The only other evidence of habitation was a few of Scott’s electronic gadgets left lying around: an iPod, a cell phone. Wait! A cell phone? Did he have service out here? Didn’t matter, she supposed. Her phone was in her purse, wherever that was.
She knew she was lucky to be alive. Things were just things. But she didn’t have the money to replace her equipment. Because of the weather, she’d been carrying her compact camera when she’d been abducted. Hopefully her large single-lens reflex model was still in her room at the inn. Getting photos of R. S. Morgan wasn’t looking likely, but the loss of her main camera meant no more travel brochure business either. Thin as those checks were, it was honest pay, which was more than she could say for her tabloid income.
The smell of coffee and bacon drew her from the sofa. She eased to her feet and shuffled into the kitchen. Her first impression was wow. The utilitarian space was a shiny acre of slate, granite, and stainless steel, a professional chef’s dream. Sleek and gorgeous but impersonal. Jayne preferred a bit of clutter. Or maybe she was just used to a mess since her three brothers were complete slobs. Either way, Reed’s sterile kitchen felt as warm and homey as an operating room.
She made use of the empty mug that sat next to the coffee-maker and helped herself to a piece of bacon from a plate on the center island. Both seemed to have been left out for her. Without thinking, she polished off the remaining bacon. Her stomach rumbled for more food.
So where was Reed? And how rude would it be to rummage through his kitchen or go looking for the shower without permission? Too rude, she decided with a regretful sigh.
Coffee in hand, she wandered to the breakfast nook. The bay window overlooked the backyard. Everything in sight was shrouded in a shiny white glaze. Squinting, she caught a flash of movement by an outbuilding on the corner of the property. Standing in a trench they’d obviously just dug, Reed and Scott leaned shovels on the side of the shed and wrestled the double doors open.
How long would they be out there? Her stomach groaned and her scalp itched. All she needed to do was ask him if she could use the shower and help herself to more food. It looked cold, but she’d only be outside for a minute or two.
While she watched, Reed wheeled a snowblower into the open. They weren’t coming in anytime soon.
Jayne headed for the nearest interior door. A mudroom opened onto a small side porch. A freshly cut evergreen leaned into the corner, its stem submerged in a bucket of water. Next to the door, coats and hats hung on wooden pegs over a long rubber tray of boots. She helped herself to a parka and boots.
Jayne stepped outside. On the porch, she pulled the zipper to her chin and sniffed. Pine and wood smoke. The wind, though cold, felt fresh on her cheeks after she’d been held prisoner in that dank basement.
At that thought, Jayne cast a worried glance around the perimeter of the yard. The storm had slowed. Reed and Scott would dig out today.
So would her captor. The fresh air turned bitter as it blasted her face.
A bark drifted across the woods, and Jayne caught a glimpse of gray fur tearing through the trees toward Reed. Sheba. He whistled and winged a snowball at her. The dog leaped, snatched it from the air, and pranced away. Reed grinned. The rare smile on his handsome face pulled Jayne toward him.
She raised a hand to smooth her tangled hair. Her fingertip brushed across the recessed scar before she yanked it back down. This attack had brought all her buried insecurities to the surface.
A narrow path cut through the thigh-high accumulation. Not having any desire to be wet again, she stuck to it. The oversized boots flopped on her feet. A fierce wind slapped against Jayne’s back, and a shiver coursed through her bones. After her experience the previous day, she wasn’t going to last more than a few minutes out here. The boots swished though the layer of powder that had blown and fallen on the path since they’d shoveled it.
Scott disappeared into the shed.
Reed must’ve heard her approach because he whirled and squinted hard at her. “You should’ve stayed inside. It’s too cold out here for you.”
Not much of a greeting. “Good morning.”
He pulled off his knit cap, stepped closer, and tugged it over Jayne’s head. His short hair stood up in damp tufts, and his big body was close enough to shelter her from the wind. He scanned the yard before allowing his gaze to meet hers again for a heartbeat. Regret crossed his face, and his eyes softened. “I’m sorry, but hypothermia’s serious. You need to keep warm. How do you feel?”
She raised her eyes to his lean and chiseled face. Emotions warred in his expression for a few seconds. Then his poker face slid back into place, rock-solid, as he stepped back to put a few feet of snow between them. Something was up with him. Jayne remembered their initial meeting, when he’d barely spoken to her and purposefully kept her off his property. Did he feel like she was intruding on his privacy? He’d acted friendlier when they’d talked at the bookstore, although he hadn’t been forthcoming with any personal tidbits then either. Once again she thought maybe Reed had something to hide.
Jayne swallowed hard as she tried to mimic his self-control. Not likely, but she could fake it. “I’m OK. I’m no hothouse orchid.”
He glanced at her. Surprise flared in his eyes, then a quick flash of humor. “No. That you aren’t.” His mouth opened again, but instead of speaking he clamped it shut. His eyes looked wounded for a second before his features smoothed out into h
is usual blank mask.
“Is everything all right?” Jayne asked, taking a step toward him unconsciously.
Reed backed away, turning to the machine he’d been setting up when she’d interrupted him. He opened the snowblower’s fuel tank. “The storm hasn’t lived up to its expectations. So far, the heaviest precipitation stayed south and east of us. The coast is getting hammered all the way down to DC.”
Jayne lowered the hand that had reached for his forearm to comfort him, sticking it in the pocket of the borrowed parka. “I wish I could call my brothers and check on them. If Washington’s being hit hard, Philly probably is too.”
Scott emerged from the shed, gas can in hand. He flashed Jayne a wide smile. “Hey. Good to see you up.”
Reed cast a glance at the steel-gray sky. “This is clearing out fast. We have satellite Internet. You should be able to able to contact your family tomorrow.”
“OK. Good.” Wind swirled powder around Jayne’s feet and she shivered.
“You’d better get inside.” Reed straightened and brushed snow from his gloves. “You must be hungry. I’ll get you some breakfast.”
Jayne’s stomach rumbled audibly at the cue. “I’m starving. But I really came out here to ask if I could use the shower.”
Reed paused and his shoulders tensed. “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought of that.”
“No biggie. I don’t expect you to think of everything, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“That you are.” Reed nodded, his posture relaxed, and his eyes settled solidly on hers. Heat flared in their green depths as he frowned. There was the same attraction she’d seen in the bookstore, but now he wasn’t thrilled with the idea. Why? Did he resent her presence in his home? Was there some reason he didn’t want her here?
Jayne hugged her arms, the warmth and security she’d felt at seeing him a few minutes earlier abandoning her. Maybe she was just being overly sensitive. He hadn’t mentioned Scott’s mother once. Maybe a bad divorce had thrown him off women.
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