Midnight Exposure (14 page)

Memories flooded her head. He’d found her in the road. He’d
rescued
her. And she’d repaid him with an elbow in the face. Luckily their close proximity kept the strike light. Heat rushed into her cheeks.

“Oh my God. Reed. I’m so sorry.” The words scratched her dry throat. “Are you OK?”

He grunted and closed his eyes for a second. When he reopened them, their gazes locked, and a sense of security slid over her. She was safe with this man. She felt certain down to her bones with every solid thud of his heart against hers. Though she was usually slow to warm up to a guy, he
had
saved her life.

“I’m fine. How are you?” Deep and soft, his Southern lilt caressed her battered nerves.

Jayne took stock. She’d been cold, so cold she’d thought she’d freeze to death. But thanks to Reed, she was warm and dry, cocooned in a thick sleeping bag chest-to-chest with him. He threw off heat like a furnace, and her body had wrapped itself around his muscled body, soaking up his warmth like a cat basking in a patch of sun. Considering everything she’d been through, just being alive felt freaking peachy. “I’m OK.”

Apparently, the heated bliss of togetherness only went one way. Barely two seconds after she woke up, Reed wormed his way out of the sleeping bag. The empty space went cold in his absence. Jayne instantly missed the contact with his warm body—and the perception of security that went with it. Feeling her fingers on her scarred cheek, she lowered her hand, noting thick bandages around her wrists and left hand. She’d have more scars, more
reminders of the violence she’d suffered. Every inch of her body began to ache.

“Do you know how you got here?”

Memories of her imprisonment and flight assaulted her, a fast-forward barrage of terrifying sensations and images. Fear closed her throat, and she could only nod in response.

Reed scooped a shirt off the floor and tugged it over his head, but not before Jayne got a brief glimpse of a rock-hard six-pack. Accepting a drink of water with two trembling hands, she raised it to her chapped lips. The lukewarm fluid felt like liquid silk in her throat as she swallowed. She drained the glass and turned to the fleece pullover and sweatpants Reed set on the floor next to her.

“These are Scott’s. They should fit well enough. Why don’t you get dressed? Then we’ll see what you remember.” He started to turn his back.

Memories she had no interest in dredging up swamped her, intertwining with flashbacks from her past. Jayne’s forefinger traced her scar twice before she jerked her hand down and clasped it tightly with her other one. Enough of that bad habit. Time to get a grip. She’d survived a horrific attack—again. There was no reason for self-pity.

“Are you OK?” Reed caught the movement and squatted in front of her.

“Yeah. Fine.” But Jayne sat up too quickly and wavered. Her sore muscles were stiff and clumsy, her limbs rag-dollish with weakness.

“Easy does it. Here, I’ll help you.” He dropped one knee to the floor and supported her shoulders, then helped her draw the soft fabric over her head and torso. She reached for a pair of white crew socks and fumbled. Her injured fingers refused to cooperate.
A fresh wave of chilling memories washed over her. Without Reed’s body to keep the cold at bay, she shivered. The dampness of the basement was imprinted in her bones. She wouldn’t feel warm right now if she were on a tropical beach. She might never be warm again.

“Let me get that.”

The touch of Reed’s warm hands on her skin brought Jayne back into the present as he stretched a thick sock over her toes. His fingers brushed her bare arch. In one fluid motion, Reed scooped her from the floor and set her gently on the couch. His lean physique was deceptively strong. Jayne’s hand lingered on a heavily muscled shoulder as if she could soak up his strength as well as his warmth. He ducked away to whisk the sleeping bag from the floor and tuck it around her like a blanket.

A door banged, and Jayne jumped. A minute later, a tall, gangly teen walked into the room. “Got the generator going.”

“Great. We’ll have food, heat, and hot water.” Reed gestured toward the youth. “Jayne, this is my son, Scott. Scott, this is Jayne.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. The green eyes and dark mop of hair matched his father’s, but his smile was easy and outgoing, compared to Reed’s more reserved expressions. The teen’s face was ruddy and his hair damp as he spread his hands to the woodstove. “Feel OK?”

“Yeah. I’m good, thanks.”

“Scott, please make Jayne a bowl of soup and a cup of tea, extra sugar. She needs calories and heat.”

“OK.” Scott disappeared through a doorway.

After the teen exited, Reed drew a yellow legal pad from the end table. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Some.” A clock on the wall to Jayne’s left read six o’clock. Darkness pressed on the windows. If it was evening, she’d been
held for over twenty-four hours. Unless she’d been unconscious for more than one night. “What day is it?”

“Friday.” Reed followed her gaze to the window, then crossed the room to open the wooden blinds. The yard was dark but not pitch-black. The view was obstructed by a thick, shifting curtain of snowflakes. Trees across the yard waved in a sudden gust of wind. White dust blew from their limbs. Tiny ice pellets tapped a faint tattoo on the glass, as if the storm were trying to get in.

Definitely evening. She’d only been held one day. Just over twenty-four hours. Seemed like much longer. Jayne crossed her arms and rubbed her biceps.

“It’s OK. You’re safe. I doubt anyone’s moving around out there.”

He was right. The chances that her captor could’ve tracked her here in this storm were slim. With that revelation, the brutal weather morphed from enemy to dear friend.

Reed left the blinds open as if he knew she needed a reminder of the insulation afforded her by the blizzard. He sat down on an ottoman next to her and clicked open a pen. “What did you do after you left the bookstore?”

Jayne took a deep breath. “I headed back to the inn. I got as far as the walkway out front. Then…Nothing. I don’t remember anything until I woke up this morning. The whole night’s a blank. I’m pretty sure he drugged me.”

Jayne gave him a brief rundown of her imprisonment and escape.

He set aside the tablet and perched on the edge of the sofa next to her, sliding his fingertips through the still-damp hair over her scalp. The effect was hypnotizing until he pressed behind her ear. She flinched as pain bounced through her head. He parted her hair and held the lantern closer for a better look. Jayne’s nose
picked up the scent of a musky aftershave layered over wood smoke.

“You’ve got a nice goose egg back here, but the skin’s not broken. Does it hurt?”

“A little, but not as much as when I first woke up this morning.”

“Considering how cold you are, I think we’ll skip an ice pack. Tell me more. Do you have any idea how far you ran before we picked you up?”

She spread her hands toward the woodstove. Heat infused the sensitive skin of her sore fingers. “No. But I can’t imagine it was too far.”

“No. Not in this weather. Can you describe your attacker?”

“Not really. He was wearing a ski mask.” Jayne tried to detach herself from the scene, but fear crawled over her skin like a swarm of insects. She hugged her shoulders and huddled farther under the covers.

“Was he taller than you?”

“I think so.” A memory flashed.
Her body bounced. The world was inverted. Pressure built as blood rushed to her head. A thick shoulder dug into her stomach.
Goose bumps rippled across Jayne’s flesh. “He carried me. Over his shoulder. Fireman-style.”

Reed nodded. “So, he was strong. Do you remember what was he wearing?”

She closed her eyes and refocused, but the mental image of her captor remained a dark blur. “I don’t know.”

“That’s OK.” Reed’s pen hovered over the tablet. “What about the house? Can you describe it?”

The basement she had down cold, but the rest? “Not really. Looked like an old farmhouse.”

“One story or two?”

Once she’d escaped, her mind had focused on getting away, not analyzing where she’d been held. She’d only glanced over her shoulder, but the house had felt taller than normal. “Three, I think.”

With Reed’s pointed questions, Jayne remembered more details than she’d thought. There’d been lights, so the house had electricity. The furnace in the corner of the basement must have been working because the temperature in the basement hadn’t been nearly as low as outside. Not an abandoned house, just neglected. Reed gleaned more facts from her reluctant memory until Jayne pressed a forefinger to her temple, which had begun a slow bass-drum throb.

Reed clicked the pen closed. “That’s enough for now. I’m not sure how many houses are along that stretch of road, but the police chief’ll know. Hugh knows everybody. I’ll put the tablet on the table over here in case you remember anything else. I assume you no longer have the camera you used to take those pictures of the symbols on your Jeep.”

“It was in my purse. He must have it.”

“Do you think you can draw some of those symbols?”

“I’ll try.” Jayne thought his interview skills were awfully well developed. “Are you sure you’re not a cop?”

“I’m sure.” Reed stiffened. For a few seconds he watched the storm rage on the other side of the glass. “But I used to be.” His mouth closed abruptly, and Jayne was sure he hadn’t meant to divulge that bit of information.

“I’ll check on your dinner.” He ducked into the kitchen as if he couldn’t get away from her and her questions fast enough.

So, what was Reed hiding?

He stowed the vehicle in the small shed far in the back of the property, removing his thick waterproof gloves to fasten the door.

Pushing his goggles onto his forehead, he faced the woods. No one was more at home in the forest. People fought nature instead of communing with it, allowing it inside them, to strengthen, to soothe, to heal. He embraced the blizzard. The trees called to him; the storm was a gift from the gods to help him with his quest.

Ice stuck to the exposed skin around his eyes. He ripped off the knitted balaclava and welcomed the bitter wind on his face. The cold was no matter. Huntsville’s isolation and climate had been part of its appeal all those years ago, when he’d moved here, needing a fresh start.

A bit of guilt wormed its way into his belly. He shook it off. Everything he’d done had been for his family’s benefit. Even the things he could never tell them. Especially what he was about to do.

It was a huge request, and the gods rightly demanded a great sacrifice. The woman would be a perfect addition to the ceremony. The gods had sent her to him. He could feel their power in the icy wind. As if answering his prayers, snow thunder rumbled across the empty yard.

Once he recovered her, one more offering needed to be chosen.

Three was the magic number.

If his own life were asked, he’d give it willingly and with honor. The gods assured him that the next life was far superior to this one.

He wondered who had rescued his Brigid tonight. Would he take good care of her? Treat her with the respect she deserved? How difficult would it be to reacquire her? He would do anything
to get her back. A battle against a worthy foe would increase his power and give him the edge he needed.

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.

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.