Midnight Exposure (Midnight #1)(35)

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.