Midnight Exposure (Midnight #1)(20)
Reed led the way, walking slowly and scanning the ground in front of him. He hadn’t gone fifty feet when he saw it. Tucked behind the hedge at the beginning of the path, a Styrofoam cup lay on its side in a puddle of frozen chocolate. His throat constricted as he moved closer and bent down. The beam of his flashlight illuminated a bookstore bag farther under the shrubs.
Everything that had been whirling inside him collided in a dizzying sense of déjá vu. Loss lodged deep in his chest and spread in an empty ache. It took three long breaths of frigid air before his head cleared.
“Hugh, over here.”
The chief squatted down and peered under the shrub. “Shit.”
Reed shoved his clenched hands into his coat pockets. The cold he hadn’t felt earlier now burrowed into his bones. “Jayne didn’t get lost. Someone took her.”
Hugh straightened. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“Did you have a chance to check out the scumbag in Philadelphia?”
“Yeah. Far as anybody knows, he’s still in town. Not due to check in again until Monday next. His parole officer promised he’d try to hunt him down, though, but I’m not holding my breath. I know how many cases these guys juggle.” The sharpness had bled from the chief’s gray eyes, leaving them clouded with sadness and disappointment. Disappointment in the town, his job, maybe the whole human race. Reed knew exactly what was going through Hugh’s head. “I’m not ruling him out, but what are the chances this guy followed her without anyone in town noticing him? If you don’t scoop your dog’s poop, somebody reports it.”
“If it’s unlikely she was grabbed by someone from her past, it’s probably someone from Huntsville’s present.”
“Yup.” Hugh said. “And the mayor can deny it all he wants, but if my gut’s right, she’s the third person to disappear.”
Reed’s gaze swept over the quiet street. He’d come to this town to escape violence. Now one teenager was dead and another missing. Jayne had vanished. Someone in this perfect little town had a deep dark side.
The well-kept houses, the Christmas lights, the wreaths, the picket fences, it all felt like a lie. Under the quaint small-town facade lurked something evil.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Druid kicked open the door and carried his burden down the wooden staircase. His Celtic blood hummed incessantly through his veins.
The only thing that could free him was a return to the old ways. Not the weakened, watered-down religion popular today. Wine for blood. Bread for flesh. Bah. There was no substitute for either. People just didn’t want to get their hands dirty anymore.
Not a problem now that he understood. He needed to return to his roots, to the practices handed down by generations in the Old Country and cast aside in the New World. As he’d learned at his grandfather’s knee, blood, fire, and water were the only real sources of energy. The only ways to restore the natural balance. The fire ceremony on Samhain had been compromised by the boys’ intrusion, especially the one who’d crossed into the sacred circle.
That boy had paid the ultimate price for his transgression. Necessity had fueled the killing. The gods required the boy die for ruining the ritual. But his trespass had been a blessing in disguise. It was when blood had been spilled onto consecrated ground that the gods’ message was revealed.
There was no such thing as coincidence. It was another omen. The gods had intended the boy to wander there. They wanted to show the true path to salvation. Blood was the stuff of life, from man’s first nourishment in the womb until it ceased to circulate upon his death. Only a blood offering could save him. He knew that now.
Blood was his only hope.
He shifted her body in his arms.
Her blood.
He had no time to waste. He could feel his health slipping away, like water through cupped hands. The winter solstice was his last chance. This holiest of Druid celebrations, the rebirth of the earth from its darkest day, the dawning of new life.
He lowered the woman to the floor, grimacing at the filth she’d have to endure. Not for long, though. He only had to keep her confined for a few days.
He removed her jacket, hat, and gloves. Her limp body slid in the dirt as he adjusted her position and clamped the handcuffs around her slender wrists. She was a marvel. Fine-boned and feminine, yet simultaneously long-limbed and strong. His palms stroked up her biceps, squeezed the firm muscle of her shoulder, then moved upward to cup her jaw. And now he knew exactly why she’d seemed so familiar the first time he’d seen her.
His gaze moved to the tapestry he’d brought down and hung on the cinder-block wall. One of the prizes of his collection, it depicted the story of another tall, graceful redhead with creamy skin and a warrior’s bearing: the goddess, the healer, the Druidess, Brigid.
Jayne was Brigid in the flesh. And, like the goddess, she’d been sent here to heal him.
He turned back to his captive. Long eyelashes rested against skin the color of fresh cream. She was lovely. Absolutely lovely. And pure as the clean snow falling outside. His fingertip traced the scar on her cheek. A crude spiral. The symbol for ethereal power. Exactly what he needed to end his torment. The woman had been marked by the gods.
He pulled her camera from her jacket pocket and turned it over in his hands. He scrolled through the digital images. His photo was not among them. She must have another. Perhaps she’d left it in her room at the inn. No matter. He’d get it. The picture wasn’t that important anymore. Not after the revelation had come to him.