Midnight Exposure (Midnight #1)(33)

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.





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.