One look at this roughed-out piece and Jayne might well realize he was the famous sculptor. His cover would be blown. As long as she was in his house, he’d limit his carving to the hours when she slept.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Was it worth going to bed at this point or should he work another hour or two?
The long section of bare wood begged for him to give it life.
Jayne knocked lightly on the door. The latch must not have caught completely because the door swung open, revealing a neat workshop. Reed was emerging from a back room. He started and quickly pulled the door closed behind him. His face registered surprise and a trace of alarm before he neutralized his features.
Storage room? Or was something hidden behind that closed door?
“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting you?”
“No,” he answered. “It’s OK. Come on in.”
Jayne walked toward a table in the center of the small space. A small antique chest sat in the center, its top sanded smooth. Scott’s boots, loose on Jayne’s narrow feet, scuffed across the floor as she moved toward the piece. “This is nice.”
Reed avoided her gaze by focusing on the furniture. “It’s Mae’s. Some guest’s kid gouged the top.”
Sheba rose from a dog bed in the corner farthest from the kerosene heater. After a full-body stretch, the dog trotted over to Jayne, sat, and presented her with a large paw. Jayne scratched the dog’s chest.
“Is anything wrong?” he asked.
“No.” Jayne shook her head and straightened. The heater was doing its job in the small space. She slipped off her coat and draped it over one arm. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
Reed turned to the sink and washed his hands. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Nightmare?”
The vision edged into her consciousness. Angry eyes, glittering with the reflection of her fear, glared at her through a black mask. Jayne’s chest tightened, and she shoved the images away. Too soon. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Maybe later.”
“OK.” He dried his hands on a clean towel.
Jayne sneezed. The air carried the clean scent of sawdust, with an oily undercurrent. “What’s that smell?”
“Linseed oil. It’s a wood finish.”
“Is that what you’ll use on Mae’s chest?”
“No. I’ll try to match the existing finish. Is there anything I can do for you?” Reed tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and waited for her response.
Erasing her memory would be great.
Blood. Pain. Panic. Her bare legs scraping on asphalt. Agony shooting through her head as he dragged her by the ponytail. Dry terror choking off her screams as her feet kicked and scrambled uselessly for traction.
Time blurred. Wrong attack.
Her eyes squeezed shut as the images raced through her head and collided with one another. Assaults blended together in a terrifying barrage of sensation. The sound of rushing water, loud as Niagara Falls, blocked out her hearing.
Reed reached for her shoulders. “Jayne.”
She opened her eyes. The agony in their turquoise depths cleaved a rift in the center of his chest. And when she straightened, lifting her chin bravely with a shaky sigh, his shield of objectivity shattered. He was open. Raw. As vulnerable as the woman before him.
There was no use pretending her turmoil didn’t touch him.
She mattered. Beyond Hugh’s case. Beyond keeping her physically safe. Beyond any sense of duty. What happened to Jayne mattered to him. He couldn’t abandon her emotional need any more than he could have left her collapsed in the blizzard.
“I’m sorry.” She shifted her weight as if to step back, but her eyes were still liquid pools of pain. Her pulse throbbed visibly in the curve of her neck and she trembled in a valiant attempt to slow her respiration.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” Reed pulled her close, ignoring the screaming of his brain. This is a bad idea. She’s a storm ripping through your soul, and she will leave a hole as great as Sherman’s march to Savannah in her wake. He told his brain to shut up and rested his forehead against her temple. He was taking this minute and storing every sensation for the long, cold season ahead. “Nobody should have to face what you did alone.”
She stiffened for a second, then settled against his chest. Just a few inches shorter than he was, she turned her head so her face nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. A perfect fit. He stroked her spine, the muscles long and firm under his hand, as he inhaled the floral scent of her hair. Her back relaxed under the gentle sweep of his palm.
Her breaths slowed. The pounding of her heart against his lessened. A surge of satisfaction flowed through Reed, along with the sense that he’d just willingly stepped into the path of disaster. Her hips settled against his, and Reed’s next breath locked in his chest for a few seconds as passion awakened inside him from its half-decade nap. He shifted his weight to avoid transmitting his libido’s sudden rise and shine.
Jayne lifted her head. Something flickered through her eyes. Regret? Embarrassment? For what? A momentary weakness? There was nothing weak about the embrace. If anything, Reed could feel strength flowing between them. Mingling. Growing. Making him wonder which one of them needed the contact more. The surge of desire through his veins was primitive, powerful, and raw.
He couldn’t speak. His throat was clogged with things he couldn’t explain, emotions he hadn’t experienced in so long they felt like strangers. He’d thought he’d gone permanently numb, but he’d been wrong. Emotions still chugged through him, like water flowing under a frozen river.
She’d either given him an awesome gift…or pushed him out onto thin ice.
The question remained: What would happen after she left? Would he continue to feel or refreeze?
And would he be able to deal with either outcome?
“Thank you.” She stepped back, moving out of his arms, leaving a chill behind that forecasted a brutal, lonely winter ahead.
Jayne rubbed her arms. Reed’s woodsy scent clung to her nostrils as she fought the urge to step back into his arms, rest her head against his broad chest, and inhale deeply once again. The gentle slide of his fingertips along her backbone mesmerized, soothed— and warmed her from the inside out.
It had been years since she’d allowed a man to touch her. Desire wasn’t the only thing she felt. Reed made her feel strong and capable. Something she hadn’t thought she’d experience again. Her cheeks flamed.
Did he notice her flush? Of course he did. Her skin was so fair, a blush stood out like a signal flare. She tried to look away, but her eyes were locked on Reed’s, where she saw her own confusion reflected right back at her. His detached mask had slipped away, leaving behind equal amounts of shock and sadness.
And heat.
A tingle passed through her belly, and she savored it for a moment. Her body was ready to answer even if she knew her head wasn’t in the right place. She hadn’t felt any amount of attraction for a man in so many years. Just the knowledge that the sexual being inside her wasn’t dead was a relief.
She blinked. The door behind him came into focus and she latched onto a new train of thought. What was he hiding back there?
Following her gaze, he cleared his throat. “We should go back to the house. Check the Internet and phone service.”
She tugged on her coat and moved toward the exit. He grabbed his own jacket, then reached around her and opened the exterior door. As he ushered her over the threshold, his palm settled on the small of her back, hot as a brand. His hand remained on her hip as he walked closely behind her down the path to the house. Did he feel the electricity that flowed between them? She glanced over her shoulder, but Reed’s eyes were busy scanning the surrounding woods.
Oh.
He wasn’t getting familiar with her. He was looking for danger and shielding her with his body. The realization was a much-needed jolt of reality. Lack of sleep must be making her wonky.
Thank God one of them had some commo
n sense. Someone had kidnapped her and held her prisoner. If she hadn’t escaped, she’d be dead. Psychos didn’t abduct women and set them free unharmed.
They left their coats in the mudroom. Reed left the kitchen dark until he’d closed all the blinds. Another reminder of the danger that lurked outside. Who knew where her captor was right now?
“Do you want something to eat or drink? Tea? Coffee?” Reed opened a laptop on the kitchen table. “Feel free to browse the fridge and cabinets.”
Jayne glanced at the clock on the microwave. Four thirty. Too late to return to bed. A dull lack-of-sleep headache thudded through her head. “I’ll make coffee.”
While the computer booted up, Reed picked up the cordless phone. Holding it to his ear, he shook his head. “Nothing yet.”
Jayne measured grounds, filled the pot, and pressed the On switch.
Reed clicked at the keyboard. “Aha. Internet. I’ll send the police chief an e-mail.”
Jayne rummaged for food, coming up with apples and cheese.
“We’re in luck. Hugh’s online. He’ll meet us at his office at eight.”
Jayne set the plate of food next to Reed’s elbow and turned toward the coffeepot, her appetite fading. In three hours, she’d be leaving this house.
And Reed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The heavy vehicle lurched and slid to a stop. Unfortunately, John kept moving. His face slid on the carpeted cargo mat. He tilted his head and drew in a quivering breath. At the edge of the blindfold, a slice of black night appeared through the vehicle’s tinted window.
“Don’t move. I’ll be back.” The whispered command came from the front of the SUV.
Like he could go anywhere. John lay still as possible. The black hood he was required to wear whenever his captor was present blocked all available light. His wrists and ankles were bound and connected to a rope looped round his neck. Any struggling simply tightened the noose. He should pull it tight and suffocate himself. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to die, even though he knew his demise was inevitable.
After all, his captor had already killed Zack and beat John without mercy. The man’s moods were hard to predict. Fits of anger warred with equally terrifying cold-blooded calculation. Oh, yeah. John was going to die eventually if he stayed in this man’s control.
A door opened. Someone rummaged in the backseat. That door closed with a bang, and John was left alone. He could hear movement outside the vehicle. Footsteps. Scraping. An occasional grunt.
An indefinite period of time passed. John waited. Nothing horrible was happening at the moment. He’d learned to live with that. And the drug that chugged through his system kept him unnaturally calm.
The rear of the vehicle opened. Rough hands hauled John to a sitting position. His feet dropped off the tailgate. The rope bit into his neck, cutting off his air. The quick swish of a knife removed the pressure. John gulped cool air. His heart stuttered. Terror overrode the sedative.
Another slice and his feet were freed.
“Walk.”
As he stood, the drape of the hood allowed him to see his feet on the snowy ground. Icy crystals underfoot soaked through his socks in two steps. The hand stayed on his arm as he swayed on a narrow shoveled path. The trek from the car was short, and John was shoved through a doorway. Beneath the hood, he could see weathered wooden boards under his feet.
“I started the stove.”
John concentrated to hear the whispered instructions. Disobeying even a single one always turned out badly for him.
“Wood’s on the porch. There’s nothing around for miles. Scream away. Nobody will hear you. Burn the place down, you’ll burn with it.”
The handcuffs were removed. He rubbed at his wrists as a thick metal shackle was fastened around his ankle, the same one he’d been restrained with at the old house. John heard the clinking of chain links being dragged across the floor.
“Count to one hundred before you take the hood off, or I’ll slit your throat.”
The door slammed shut. The engine rumbled to life, then faded.
But John did exactly as he was told. One hundred seconds later, he lifted the blindfold.
He was standing in a one-room cabin. Heat poured from a cast-iron potbellied stove in the corner. The chain attached to his ankle was fastened around its feet, which were bolted to the floor. John did a quick sweep of the cabin. The chain was just long enough for him to reach the front porch to retrieve wood and take two steps out the rear door. The single cabinet was empty save for a metal bowl and a plastic cup. No knives. No can opener. There wasn’t even a cot, just a sleeping bag on the floor. Logs were piled waist-high by the door. His captor had left the usual supply of protein bars and bottled water.
A tiny seed of hope formed in John’s chest. He could melt snow to drink. Without the tainted water, he’d be able to think. Unless the protein bars were drugged. He’d go without for a while and see if he felt clearheaded.
He pulled the sleeping bag closer to the stove and extended his wet feet toward its warmth. His brain was still mush. Tomorrow, though, he had to figure a way out of here. Moving him to this even more remote location wasn’t a good sign. It meant something was going to happen.
And John knew it wasn’t going to be something good.
He glanced at the small rectangular window high on the cellar wall. Dawn brightened the sky. Tomorrow at midnight he would usher in the winter solstice with three deaths. By the time the sun rose on the darkest day, three men would be reborn.
He pulled a box from the rows of shelves and set it on the workbench. An English associate had sent him the package after a very special request. He carefully lifted the boughs from the white paper wrapping. A white berry fell from the greenery and rolled to the floor.
Fresh mistletoe. Cut from a great oak by a Druid priest with a golden sickle on the sixth day of the new moon.
He began to lay out his ceremonial supplies on the workbench next to the mistletoe.
The burnt stub of last year’s Yule log, along with the thick section of oak he’d selected for the coming ceremony. He wrapped his hand around the amulet that hung from his neck. The tiny vial contained ashes from the previous year’s fire—and therefore a bit of power from the sun’s rebirth.
Two gallons of moose blood in plastic milk jugs went on dry ice in an igloo cooler. The circle must be consecrated.
Sturdy rope.
Three thin leather garrotes.
His boline, its sickle-like blade freshly sharpened.
Three hand-carved oak vessels to catch the lifeblood that would be their salvation.
Only three things were missing: the boy he’d already collected and moved during the night to the cabin near the clearing, the woman who’d escaped, and the final, yet unnamed, sacrifice.
Whom should he choose? Someone who wouldn’t be missed right away. Someone whose disappearance could be easily excused.
The answer came in a sudden rush of divine epiphany.
One of the troubled teens at the Youth Center would be perfect. A few had run away in the past.
Perfect.
Everything was lining up perfectly.
A sign from the gods that he was on the true path to redemption.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I’ll call you later.” Reed watched Scott gather the bag of fresh bagels and the gallon of orange juice from the backseat. The roads in town had been plowed and salted with Yankee efficiency.
“You’ll be here all morning, right?”
“Yeah. Brandon’s mom is working the breakfast shift at the diner. He has to stay with his little brothers.” Scott’s breath clouded in the morning chill.
“Let me know if you guys go anywhere else,” Reed said.
“’Kay.” Scott jumped down from the cab. He paused at the passenger window. Jayne lowered the glass. “It was nice to meet you, Jayne. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Scott. You too.” Jayne leaned out and gave him a quick hug.
&n
bsp; With a final wave Scott walked up the shoveled walk to the front door of the tiny Cape Cod. Across the street, the sun rose over the trees behind the cemetery. Only the tallest headstones poked out of the thick drifts.
With a crunch of tires on ice, Reed pulled back out onto the street. Next to him, Jayne rested her head on the passenger window.
Reed took a gulp of scalding coffee from his travel mug and pushed back the guilt. He’d deliver Jayne safely into Hugh’s custody and make sure that all was well before leaving her there. He’d miss her, but she’d go on with her life. She had a family that loved her. Her three brothers would make sure the scumbag in Philadelphia didn’t bother her.
The very idea of her assailant walking the streets burned in Reed’s gut. He’d seen countless violent predators evade the system. The fact that Reed was well versed in reality didn’t help him deal with the truth. A woman like Jayne didn’t deserve to have the jerk who’d attacked her on the loose. For that matter, no woman did. But Jayne was special.
To him.
Shit. How had that happened?
Jayne didn’t need to be bogged down with him. So why did he feel like someone was carving a chunk from his heart with a spoon? And why had he spent the rest of last night thinking about running away with her to a tropical island, somewhere far away from Huntsville or Philadelphia? In this fantasy land, Reed wouldn’t have to worry about the media. Jayne wouldn’t be in danger. They could get to know each other without the stress of either of their pasts.
He could kiss her without worrying about taking advantage of her vulnerability. He’d barely resisted last night, despite her fragile state.
The spoon’s dull edge dug deeper.
Damn it. He was doing the right thing. She couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t safe.
“It’ll be OK.” He glanced at Jayne, but her face was still turned away from him. She nodded and picked at the edge of a bandage poking from her sleeve.
The ache in Reed’s chest deepened. “Hugh’ll take care of you. He’s one of the good guys.”
Midnight Exposure Page 14